Chapter Eighty-Four - The Death Eater
Harry hit the ground hard, falling onto his knees and finally releasing his hold of the Triwizard Cup. Climbing slowly to his feet, he observed his new surroundings with trepidation. It seemed he had travelled many miles, perhaps hundreds. The mountains that surrounded Hogwarts were gone. In their place, Harry saw scores of scattered gravestones. He was in a cemetery.
A desperate part of his mind nursed the hope that this was merely some unexpected part of the third task, but logically, he knew that couldn't be true. He knew that this was all part of a greater plan, and that by grabbing the Cup, he had played right into the hands of whoever cast his name in the Goblet of Fire.
Sirius had warned him of his, Harry realized as he stood shivering in the dark. He had suggested that whoever wanted him in the competition may have wanted him to win all along. But Harry had been so focused on completing the final task, of getting out of that maze and showing everyone that they'd underestimated him. If he'd been smarter, he would have known that the maze was too easy from the start. He'd been suspicious, and yet he let his ambition get the better of him.
Cursing himself, Harry held his wand at the ready. He had no idea where the portkey had taken him. A Muggle settlement or a magical one didn't matter to him now. He considered lighting his wand to better inspect the graveyard, but then he noticed a figure slowly approaching him from the gathering mists.
He watched silently as the figure gradually took discernable shape. It appeared to be a man, though his face was obscured by the hood of his cloak. He was carrying something in his arms… A baby?
The man had to be a wizard. Muggles didn't often go around wearing cloaks, and Harry knew he hadn't been dropped into a place at random. The man must be there to meet him.
Gathering his courage, Harry called out in a shaky voice for the man to stop, raising his wand higher as a warning. The man froze, but before Harry could say anything more, pain ripped through his scar. It was an agony worse than anything he'd felt before, and he fell to his knees again, his wand slipping from his grasp as his hands flew to the source of the pain.
Wordlessly, the man in the cloak placed his bundle on the ground and grabbed Harry, dragging him to a nearby headstone. The pain in his head diminished just enough for Harry to make out the name on the stone before he was slammed into it: Tom Riddle.
If Harry had any doubts about who was behind the plot against him, they were gone now.
The cloaked man had conjured several ropes from thin air, which he now used to bind Harry to the headstone. Fighting the pain that still throbbed in his head, Harry tried to struggle out of the man's grasp, but was met with a sharp smack. The man had struck him, and even in the midst of his panic Harry noticed that he was missing a finger on his hand.
"Wormtail!" he gasped, defaulting to the old nickname he'd so often heard in his dreams.
For the briefest of moments, Peter Pettigrew paused, as if the name still meant something to him. Harry used the space to berate Wormtail for his treachery.
"You sneaking, traitorous, disgusting coward!" he screamed, "It wasn't enough that you betrayed my parents? Now you serve their murderer! You ba.."
Wormtail stuffed a length of black fabric into Harry's mouth before he could continue, muffling the rest of Harry's curses.
He turned away, and Harry noticed for the first time a huge snake slithering through the grass at his feet. It was good that Wormtail had gagged him. Given the opportunity, Harry would have tried parseltongue to turn the creature against him.
The Triwizard Cup was still on the ground several yards away. Between it and Harry lay the bundle that Harry had believed was a baby. Looking at it now, his scar began to sear with fresh pain. A feeling he couldn't put a name to, but something very like dread, told him he didn't want to know what was in that bundle.
He turned his attention away and resumed his observation off Wormtail, who had brought forth a stone cauldron. It was larger than any cauldron Harry had seen and seemed to be filled entirely with a clear liquid.
The thing inside the bundle began to stir fretfully, as though trying to break free of its swaddling. Wormtail used his wand to light a fire under the cauldron. The liquid inside seemed to heat instantly. The surface bubbled and emitted bright sparks. Steam rose from the cauldron in thick clouds, blurring Wormtail's outline as he returned to the small bundle and gathered it in his arms.
"It is ready, Master," he whispered.
"Now… Hurry…" said a high, cold voice.
Harry knew that voice. It sent a wave of terror through him. He wanted to look away as Wormtail pulled back the fabric and revealed the creature inside, but he could not. His scream was dampened by the fabric. He had once believed that the face on the back of Professor Quirrell's head had been disgusting, but the thing that Wormtail now cradled in his arms was much, much worse. It looked like a bent and deformed human child. It's body was hairless and shining, the flesh a dark, reddish black, as if its skin had been peeled away and burned. Its arms and legs were bone thin, and its face was flat and reptilian. Even Wormtail seemed revolted as he carried the creature to the cauldron.
Harry watched in stunned horror as Wormtail lowered the hideous creature into the frothing potion, which gave off a soft hiss.
Wormtail began to speak, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son…"
Beneath Harry's feet, the stone of the tomb cracked in two. From the fissure, a fine dust rose into the air, falling into the cauldron. The diamond white liquid suddenly turned to a deep blue.
"F-Flesh of the s-servant…" Wormtail continued, now with a nervous stutter that betrayed how he felt about the task he was about to perform, "W-Willingly… given… You will… revive... . your master…"
He raised his right hand, the one with the missing finger. In his left, he drew a dagger. Harry knew what he was about to do the moment before it happened, but still he was unable to look away. Wormtail severed his own hand from his wrist in one quick motion, letting it fall into the cauldron. As his scream filled the night, Harry was finally able to close his eyes against the horror of what he was witnessing. But he could not block out the light that the potion was emanating. The color against his closed eyelids shifted from blue to red.
"Blood… of the enemy… Forcibly taken..." said Wormtail with labored breath.
Harry's eyes snapped open at the words. Sure enough, Wormtail had turned toward him, still gripping the dagger he had used to mutilate himself in his left hand.
"You will resurrect your foe," Wormtail concluded.
He pressed the end of the dagger against Harry's arm. It didn't hurt as badly as Harry had expected, but there was nothing he could do to stop Wormtail from gathering a few drops of his blood in a glass vial. He tipped the contents into the potion, and the liquid became blinding white once more.
All at once, the sparks were extinguished, and a white vapor billowed out of the cauldron. Harry prayed to whatever powers would listen that the ritual hadn't worked. He hoped that the wretched thing had drowned. Instead, a thin, skeletal man rose from the mists.
"Robe," he demanded in a cold voice.
Wormtail hurried to obey his command, gathering up the black shroud that once swaddled the infant-like creature and pulling it over the man's head. He then stepped calmly out of the cauldron, turning toward Harry with a face straight from his worst nightmares. White as a skull. Eyes red like old blood. A flat nose with slits like a snake. Lord Voldemort had returned.
Voldemort spent some moments examining his new body, running his large, spider-like hands over his chest, arms, and face. He did not seem to notice Wormtail, who lay sobbing and bleeding at his feet, nor the giant snake, who continued to circle Harry while hissing hungrily.
Harry watched as Voldemort drew a wand from one of the deep pockets of his black robes and pointed it at Wormtail. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent Wormtail flying into one of the nearby tombstones. Wormtail redoubled his sobs, while Voldemort let out a merciless laugh.
After what he had done to contribute to the situation, Harry could not pity Wormtail. Instead, he was studying the wand. He wondered if it was the same one that killed his parents, or if it too was destroyed the night Voldemort had tried to kill him. Perhaps it survived to try again tonight...
"Get up Wormtail, you coward," Voldemort hissed. "Hold out your arm."
Wormtail stifled his sobs as he struggled to his feet, ready to obey. He seemed to think he was about to receive a gift, as he thanked Voldemort several times and presented the stump of his right arm. But Voldemort studied him with blank red eyes and corrected, "The other arm, Wormtail."
Sniffling pathetically, Wormtail did as he was bid and extended his left arm before the Dark Lord. Voldemort pulled his sleeve back, revealing what appeared to be a large tattoo. The image of a skull with a twisting snake protruding from its mouth was depicted in vivid red ink. If Harry hadn't been gagged, he might have gasped. It was the Dark Mark, the same he had seen that night at the World Cup. Voldemort pressed his finger to the mark, and its color deepened to black.
"Now we will see how many are brave enough to return," remarked the dark wizard to himself, "And how many are foolish enough to stay away..."
Harry wondered if Voldemort would speak to him now, or if he would continue to be ignored. He wasn't sure which alternative he preferred. On the one hand, he was not eager for Voldemort's notice. Bound, gagged, and helpless as he was, there would be nothing to prevent his swift and certain death. At the same time, any change would be better than waiting in anxiety for something to happen.
He only had to wait a few minutes. All over the graveyard, new figures were stepping from the shadows. Wizards had apparated to their location, and were now walking toward Voldemort with uncertain steps. Each one wore a hood and a mask that resembled a skull. They looked like a small congregation of grim reapers.
Suddenly, one of the figures lurched forward. He threw himself to the ground and crawled forward on his knees, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes as he muttered, "Master… you have returned…"
The rest of the Death Eaters followed their companion's example, each approaching and kissing Voldemort's robes before falling back. They formed a loose circle with Harry, Voldemort, and Wormtail in the middle. Harry noticed that there were gaps in this formation, as if they were waiting for more people to arrive.
But Voldemort did not seem to expect any more. His gaze passed over each hooded face slowly, and a tremor of fear ran through the group.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said quietly, "It has been thirteen years since we last met, yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. It would seem as though we are still united under the Dark Mark… And yet…"
He let this word hang in the night air like a threat. A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member longed to flee, but did not dare move away.
"Where was this loyalty," Voldemort continued, "when I lost my power? Did you believe me broken, defeated, gone?"
He paused again, but no one spoke. Only Wormtail continued to emit pathetic squeaks, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.
"But how… How could you believe I would not rise again? You, my closest friends…Who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? Did you believe in a still greater power than mine? One that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort? Perhaps you put your faith in that champion of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledeore?"
Voldemort had named the headmaster, but Harry saw the faces of the Death Eaters twitch almost imperceptibly toward him. Voldemort had also detected the direction of their gaze, and Harry was terrified that the dark wizard would finally acknowledge his presence in their midst.
Instead, a Death Eater chose that moment to break free of formation and collapse at Voldemort's feet.
"Forgive me, Master!" he shrieked, "Forgive us all!"
Voldemort began to laugh. He rewarded this passionate plea with the Cruciatus Curse. The Death Eater writhed and screamed. None of the others made a move to help him. Wormtail looked on, his own cries quieter now, as if he were soothed by the fact that he was no longer the only one suffering.
After what seemed like many long minutes, Voldemort raised his wand, and the tortured Death Eater lay gasping on the ground.
"Get up, Avery," Voldemort said softly, "Stand up. You have made a grave error in asking for forgiveness. I do not forgive. I will not forget. I waited thirteen years to be reborn. I require thirteen years' repayment before any of you will be forgiven. Wormtail here has already repaired some of his debt, have you not?"
He looked down at Wormtail, who let out a frightened squeak, followed by another miserable sob.
"You alone returned to me, Wormtail. Not out of loyalty, but from fear… Yet you helped me return to my body. Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me in my time of need, and Lord Voldemort rewards those who are helpful to him…"
Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A ribbon of molten silver hung in the wand's wake. Shapeless in the soft night breeze, it began to writhe, reforming itself into a replica of a human hand. Then it floated down, attaching itself to Wormtail's bleeding wrist.
Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly, though his breathing was still harsh and ragged as he raised his head, staring in disbelief at the silver prosthetic, attached seamlessly to his arm. He flexed the fingers, picked up a small twig from the ground, and crushed it into dust.
"My Lord… Master… It is beautiful… Thank you…"
Wormtail observed the same obsequious behavior as the other Death Eaters, scrambling on hands and knees to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes before he too assumed a place in the circle. Voldemort's attention was now drawn to the man standing on Wormtail's right.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I am surprised to see you here. I was told that you had renounced the old ways… That to the rest of the world you present a respectable face… And yet you always took the lead when it came to torturing Muggles… Did you enjoy your exploits at the World Cup?"
It was no surprise to Harry hearing that it had been Draco's father who had orchestrated the attacks that night. The Malfoy family had always been a proud, prejudiced group of wizards. He got a small amount of satisfaction watching Mr. Malfoy attempt to excuse himself in front of the Dark Lord.
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert. Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have flown to your side immediately. Nothing could have prevented…"
Voldemort interrupted him, stating, "And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky?"
Mr. Malfoy was silent. This argument had stumped him. He did not have his speech prepared. Harry wondered what sort of expression he was making under his mask as Voldemort shook his head sadly.
"You have disappointed me… All of you… I expected more faithful service in the future…"
Mr. Malfoy could only stammer his thanks at Voldemort's mercy, then fall silent again as Voldemort moved on. Next to Mr. Malfoy was a space large enough for two people.
"The Lestranges should be here," he said, almost sadly, "But they are in Azkaban. They were loyal. They searched for me. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce the old way… And they will be rewarded when the prison is broken open. The dementors will join us. They are our natural allies. And the banished giants will be recalled… We will have an army of creatures whom all fear…"
He walked on, passing some of the Death Eaters in silence, while stopping to speak to others. Among them was Macnair. Harry recognized the name. He worked for the Ministry of Magic, in the department that dealt with the disposal of dangerous magical creatures. If Harry and his friends had not intervened, Macnair would have been the one to execute Buckbeak, Hagrid's hippogriff.
Crabbe and Goyle's fathers were there as well, just as large and unintelligent as their sons. Suddenly, Draco's alliance with Vincent and Gregory made sense to Harry. He could just picture them, running about in their fathers' masks and pretending to be Death Eaters themselves.
Voldemort passed another stooping figure by the name of Nott before he paused again. He stood before the largest gap of missing Death Eaters, staring at the space with his red eyes.
"Here we have five missing Death Eaters," he said, "Three are dead, killed in my service. One, too cowardly to return…" He stopped to laugh cruelly to himself at some private joke, "He is already paying for his cowardice. Then there is one who has already entered my service. He remains my most faithful servant…"
Voldemort had reached the last figure in the circle. He stopped before the Death Eater and hesitated before he added, "I had hoped to reserve that title for you, Severus."
In a quick, swift motion, he had pulled the death's head mask from the Death Eater's face. Even with the gag in his mouth, Harry screamed in anger. It was Snape, but if he heard Harry's muffled cries he did not show it. He stared at Voldemort with an expression that was impossible to read.
"I assumed that you were lost to me forever," Voldemort continued when Snape did not speak, "I confess, I am surprised that you dared to return."
"You thought me a servant of Albus Dumbledore," Snape replied, "But it was only a façade. I played my part well for you, my Lord, pretending to serve him while I awaited your return. I am now Dumbledore's closest advisor, all in the hope that I could one day use the position to serve you…"
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. His anger overruled his fear, and he began to strain against his bonds, desperate to send a curse at Snape, heedless that he would never reach his wand before being struck down by Lord Voldemort.
His fruitless activity drew Voldemort's attention, as well as the attention of the other Death Eaters. Only Snape kept his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord, as if unwilling to meet Harry's eye.
"Your role also placed you in a position to watch over Harry Potter," Voldemort commented in the same soft voice he'd used before, "You could have killed him at any time, and yet you failed to avenge your master."
Voldemort was looking for a reaction. Snape gave him none.
"If I had," he coolly replied, "It would have prevented your glorious rise to power, my Lord."
This answer seemed to please Voldemort, who abruptly turned away from Snape to address the rest of his flock.
"Yes, Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor. You have all heard the rumours of what brought about my downfall? You know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him? Perhaps you even thought that Harry Potter, no more than a helpless baby at the time, would grow into a wizard even more powerful than myself?"
The Death Eaters shifted on their feet uncomfortably, all except Snape, who continued to fix Voldemort with a resolute stare.
"You were wrong…" Voldemort continued, "It was his mother that did it. She died attempting to save her son, and unwittingly provided him with a protection that I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy, could not harm him without harming myself…"
Voldemort turned to Harry, taking only a few steps to stand before him. Harry froze, fearful of what would come next, but Voldemort merely raised one of his long white fingers, putting it very close to Harry's cheek. Harry did not want to look into Voldemort's red eyes. He stared instead over his shoulder, and realized that for the first time, Snape was looking back at him. With his face turned away from the other Death Eaters, Snape mouthed a single word… Wait.
Harry didn't understand. What was he waiting for? But Voldemort was speaking again of his mother's sacrifice… That it was old magic, something Voldemort should have remembered, but forgot…
He placed his finger against Harry's cheek, and Harry thought his head would burst from the pain. Voldemort laughed cruelly, then removed his finger and continued to address his Death Eaters.
"I miscalculated. The woman's foolish sacrifice protected the boy from me. My curse rebounded onto myself. I was ripped from my body, less than a spirit… But I survived. The steps I took to achieve immortality… to conquer death itself… They worked. But I existed in some form even I did not understand. I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand. Still, I forced myself to go on, fled to a faraway place, and I waited… Waited for one of my loyal Death Eaters to find me and restore me to my body… And for thirteen years I waited in vain…"
He was not going to let the Death Eaters forget their debt to him easily, that much was clear. He allowed the silence that followed his words to drag on before he continued.
"There was a time, four years ago, when the means of my return seemed assured. A wizard - young, foolish, and gullible - wandered across my path. He was not one of my servants, not one of you… But he was ambitious and easy to bend to my will. He too was a teacher at Hogwarts," Voldemort added, turning his eyes to Snape once more, "I took possession of his body… I seem to recall you threatening him at the time."
"I believed that Quirrell was acting out of selfishness alone, My Lord," Snape replied without even a sign of shame, "Had I known that you had achieved this… miracle… I would have sought to help him succeed."
"He was acting out of selfishness," Voldemort conceded, "He wanted the power that I offered him… But no matter, the plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. My servant died, and I was left as weak as I had ever been…"
Harry was barely listening to him. He had continued to stare at Snape with malice. Voldemort had murdered his parents, had tried to kill him… He hated and feared Voldemort, but the betrayal of Snape felt much worse, somehow. Snape had lied to him. He pretended to have cared about Harry's mother, but how could he, when he'd been a Death Eater the entire time? He hoped that Snape could feel how much he hated him.
Voldemort was explaining how Wormtail eventually found him, seeking his master's support when he escaped Azkaban. He had used the rats, who told him of a place, deep in the Albanian forest, where many of their kind had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them…
"He stopped on his journey at an inn," Voldemort explained, "When who should he meet but Bertha Jorkins, a witch with the Ministry of Magic and an old school fellow? She recognized him, was curious how he had escaped… Wormtail promised her information, got her to follow him, then overpowered her. He brought Bertha to me as a gift. Had she survived, she might have ruined everything. Instead, she was a mine of information. It was Bertha who told me of the Triwizard Tournament. And she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would help me, if only I could contact him. Once I had the information I needed, I disposed of her myself."
Voldemort smiled then, a cold and terrible smile.
"I could not possess Wormtail's body as I had Quirrell's. He was on the run, the same as I. But he could be the able-bodied servant I needed to restore me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own. Using a potion of my own invention, concocted from snake venom and unicorn blood, I resumed an almost human form, and was strong enough to travel.
"I was still weak, but there was an old piece of Dark Magic… Another potion that would revive me and fully restore me to my old body. For this potion, I needed three ingredients. One, the flesh of a servant, was already on hand… Wasn't it Wormtail?"
Voldemort smiled again at his own joke, then continued, "The bone of my father… Again, simple. I had only to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of an enemy… Ah, that was more difficult. Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, anyone who hated me. But that would not do. To rise again, stronger than I was before, I needed the blood of the one who stripped me of my power… I needed Harry Potter's blood. Needed it, so that the power that had protected him would reside in my veins.
"But how to capture him? Harry Potter has been better protected than I think even he knows. His location during the summer was kept a carefully guarded secret. There was the Quidditch World Cup, but I was not strong enough then to attempt to kidnap him in the midst of scores of Ministry wizards. Then he returned to Hogwarts, where he would be under the nose of that Muggle-loving fool… What could I do?
"Naturally, I used the information provided by Bertha Jorkins. I used my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that Harry Potter's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Then, I had only to wait. My Death Eater would ensure that the boy was the first to touch the Triwizard Cup, transformed into a portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection… And now here he is… The Boy Who Lived… The one you all believed had been my downfall..."
Voldemort turned his face toward Harry once more, and this time Harry could not avoid looking him in the eye as Voldemort raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
It was pain beyond anything Harry had experienced before. His bones felt like they were on fire, and his head was surely splitting along his scar. He wanted to black out… To die… Anything that would end this pain… But he did not lose consciousness. It was as if the curse itself would not allow him even that pitiful relief.
Then it was gone. He hung limply from the ropes that still bound him to the headstone of Voldemort's father. The night rang with the sound of the Death Eater's laughter. Harry listened intently, wondering if he could pick out Snape's voice among the others. Instead, he heard Voldemort speaking again, his voice louder and stronger now.
"You see how foolish it was to suppose this boy could ever be stronger than me? Let there be no mistake in your mind. Harry Potter escaped through no merit of his own. And I will prove that my powers have fully returned by killing him, here and now, in front of you all. He will have his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will no longer doubt which of us is stronger.
"Wait a little longer, Nagini," he hissed to his snake, as the creature glided away through the grass, "You will have your meal soon. Now untie him, Wormtail. And give him back his wand."