Chapter 31
Loki was instantly alert. 'Anti-apparation wards are up,' he said. 'Judging by the robes and mask, these people are Death Eaters. There are fourteen of them around you; your options are—'
'I know,' Harry replied. 'Stay in the middle and hope that my reflexes are fast enough to make them hit each other instead of me, or get on the outside and do my best to disappear.'
'Which are you going to go for?'
'The former for a while. The second as soon as it becomes too strenuous, using our secret weapon as we do so.'
"So," Harry said, "I don't surprise this is all actually part of the task and you guys are actually KKK members who have dyed your robes in order to prank me."
They were silent and still, remaining with their wands pointed at Harry.
He sighed. "Do you guys even know who the KKK are? My jokes aren't very funny when no one gets them."
One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, carrying a bundle in his arms in the way one might carry a baby. Except this baby was hissing. "Harry Potter," it said. "Let me see him!"
Harry wasn't sure he wanted to see it. That belief was solidified as what appeared to be a snake-human crossbreed's aborted baby with red eyes was turned towards him. The thing opened its mouth to speak, and Harry suddenly realised what—who—it was.
"Hang on a second," he said. "Are you Voldemort?"
The thing looked angry. "I am Lord Voldemort."
Harry couldn't help it. He sniggered, and couldn't stop. For five seconds straight he laughed, and then immediately straightened and sent a blasting curse at the ground in front of Voldemort. As dirt was kicked high into the air, Harry was already spinning, his free hand unsheathing his sword from nothingness.
He darted forward, slicing a curse in half, and then someone's hand off, and then someone's head. Immediately, he was throwing himself backwards, his senses screaming for him to dodge the sickly yellow curse which went on to hit another Death Eater.
"Do not kill him!" came Voldemort's shrill voice.
Harry didn't plan on offering them the same courtesy. Three icicles burst from his wand every second as he spun and dodged between curses, the vast majority of them missing or smashing against shields, but some found their targets, each marked by screams or gurgles.
He spun between spells, reflexes superhuman. With the Death Eaters wary about hitting each other—they surrounded him in a circle—he managed to dodge most spells. The others, he could hopefully allow to hit: while he wasn't fully inhuman, stunning spells were designed to be just powerful enough to knock someone out without any further damage, and so they only made him drowsy.
Other spells didn't hurt him as much as a regular human, and at their lord's command, the Death Eaters weren't exactly throwing around strong spells.
Finally, someone acted smartly: they sent a spell Harry could not dodge or shrug off. A wall of force barrelled towards him and he only just managed to throw himself aside, but it still clipped him. As he spun through the air, he was already reaching for his waist, pulling out the secret weapon he had developed. With a surge of magic, it activated, and he hurled it forward, onto the ground where he had just been standing.
He crashed into the ground fifteen feet away and bounced, the dirt next to him exploding as a purple spell hit it.
Silently, Harry brought up a shield spell. Hastily erected, it blocked only one spell before a cutting curse nicked his arm.
And then the world exploded into a flash of light. Even as his eyes stung, Harry couldn't help but grin, knowing what was coming next.
It was a spell he had discovered in the journal of Lord Potter, too powerful for even its creator to cast without immense preparation. It had taken Harry a month of work to create a device able to store it and use it at a later date. It would probably take him a similar amount of time if he sought to ever replicate it.
Nonetheless, it had been entirely worth it to use it now. The flash was just the first part, and then came the immensely increased amount of gravity localised where the thing sat. Harry didn't see it, but he heard men scream as they were yanked from their feet and towards the device, helpless against its immense force.
Bones broke and flesh squelched. And then came the explosion. Those who had been pulled nearest to the device became pink mist. Those who had been slightly further out became body parts and blood.
His vision clearing, Harry climbed to his feet, grinning as he surveyed the broken corpses. No one had stood a—
His skin tingled and he felt his limbs lock into place. A moment later, he tumbled to the floor, sword and wand falling from his grip.
"Most impressive, Potter!" hissed Voldemort's voice.
Somehow, Harry didn't think it was a Star wars reference.
"Perhaps if you had not been so arrogant, I would be a spirit once more." Voldemort's servant—Harry was unsure as to whether or not it was the one who had been holding him before—stepped into view. Voldemort had probably been able to shield them, even in that pathetic form of his.
"Prepare the ritual, Malfoy."
Harry was helpless as he was levitated into the air and tied to a stone statue. His limbs loosened, but his movement was still incredibly slow. And without moving his now restrained hands, he couldn't do any form of wandless magic that wouldn't result in further harm to him.
And so he did nothing as a boiling cauldron was filled with ingredients, Malfoy listing them off as though they were a shopping list. Nothing but desperately try to figure out a means of escape.
'What the hell do I do, Loki?'
Loki cursed. 'You're going to have to wait until you have full control of your body. Before that I cannot do much to help you.'
A fear that Harry had not felt in years welled up inside him, as, for the first time, he was truly helpless, at another's mercy. It just so happened that the one whose mercy he was at hated him. Just his luck. Why couldn't he be kidnapped by benevolent people?
He was torn from his thoughts and Malfoy attempted to cut his wrist with a knife. Disregarding his fear as best as he could, he stared down at Malfoy, smiling as he failed once again to open his skin.
"Good luck with that, Malfoy," he said. "When I get out of here, I'm going to see how easy it is to cut your skin. I think the human body can live with over two hundred cuts. Shall we see how much I can prolong that with magic?" Harry bared his teeth in a grin. "When you finally bleed to death, I think I'll see if your son holds up any better."
Voldemort was apparently not at all phased by Malfoy's failure to cut Harry. "Use a cutting curse, you fool."
The first cutting curse failed. So did the second. The third—one that would likely take the wrist off a human—finally did the job, and Harry could only watch as his blood spilled downwards into the cauldron.
And then Malfoy lowered Voldemort Junior into the cauldron.
'A body restoration ritual,' Loki murmured.
Harry paused. 'You're thinking that might work on you. Is this really the best time to be thinking about that?'
'No,' he admitted, 'but still…'
Promptly, Harry stopped all conversion as a horrid sight rose before his very eyes: Voldemort. Ever so slowly, the man—if he could still be called a man—was rising from the cauldron, his pale, scaled body naked, bald head shining in the moonlight and eyes glinting with malevolence.
The newly-resurrected Dark Lord threw back his head and cackled. Harry felt his limbs become free once again. He would only have one chance. Voldemort was powerful, but hopefully, in his new body, he was also vulnerable.
Like he had practised a thousand times before, Harry, ever so slowly, began to weave an illusion about himself.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, moving up to Harry. Then he turned, exposing his back as he took his robe and his wand from Malfoy. "You thought you could defeat me."
"Actually," Harry said, "I didn't believe I could beat you. I only turned up here because of a dodgy Portkey, and, quite frankly, don't want to be here. That applies to the whole wizarding world, actually." He frowned. "If some idiot hadn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire, I wouldn't have had to be here at all." He glared at Voldemort. "Did you put it in there?"
"Yes, it—"
"At least it wasn't Dumbledore—and I asked if you put it in there, not why. I don't need your bloody life story."
Harry spoke no further as Voldemort walked up to him and let his wand hover and inch from his cheek. "Crucio."
Harry didn't react. Only looked at him, his expression unchanged. If it had been a moment later when Voldemort had realised something was wrong, Harry would've gotten his spell off. But no, Voldemort was adjusting his aim downwards to where Harry crouched as the illusion of him flickered out of existence.
Voldemort would have finished his spell much faster than Harry. Luckily, Harry's wand could turn into a spear in a split second. And at such a close range, when it warped and elongated, it was suddenly through Voldemort's torso, angled to go through both his left lung.
Somehow, he still finished his spell, even if his aim was thrown way off, his spell crashing into the statue and bringing it tumbling down towards him. Even with a spear through him, Voldemort managed to stop it falling on him with relative ease.
Harry had no time to get his wand from inside Voldemort, and so he snatched Voldemort's from his hands before he could react. And then he did the only thing he could think off: ran towards the Portkey, ever praying that it was still working. Even with Voldemort wandless, Harry didn't doubt he was no match for him—at least not with him not having his own wand either, when he could apparently survive the destruction of his his lung and continue breathing.
As if in accordance with his thoughts, a spell rushed through the air behind him and forced him to dive aside. When he turned, he saw that Voldemort already had another wand, one with a hilt of shining silver—Malfoy's by the looks of it.
There was only one spell Harry could see working. "Avada Kedavra!"
He had performed the spell before, when calm and using his own wand. Now, neither was the case, and all he produced was a pathetic shower of green sparks.
After being forced to dodge another spell, he tried again. "Avada Kedavra!"
This time, it worked, and the spell flew true, heading for Voldemort with deadly precision.
With a flick of his wand, Voldemort dragged Malfoy across the graveyard and in front of the spell. It splashed against his chest, and Harry did not doubt he was utterly dead.
And then Voldemort truly began to try. Barrage after barrage of curses were let loose upon Harry, and he frantically dodged between them, shielded them or was forced to let them hit him.
He screamed as a cutting curse tore into his arm, and then another into his torso. If Voldemort had been using killing curses, he would probably be dead. Hell, the only reason he wasn't was the spear through him, its magical energy probably the only thing keeping him from magically yanking it out.
The spell that came next from Voldemort was rasped more than hissed. It shouldn't have been possible for Voldemort to speak. It also shouldn't have been possible for him to continue living. He did both.
"Crucio."
Harry had no time to contemplate such matters as his world became pain. Thousands upon thousands of fiery blades were suddenly tearing themselves through each inch of his skin, carving themselves into his very soul.
'This magic is too powerful for me to numb with any amount of longevity.' Loki sounded scared. 'But he will not be expecting you to break free from it.'
'I'll only need a few seconds.'
'I hope you are right.' So did Harry.
As the spell relented, Harry was instantly up, three banishing curses flicking from his wand in just under a second and sending Voldemort tumbling backwards, head over heel.
He dived for the trophy, and in mid-air, yelled, "Accio Malfoy."
At the same time came, "Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort's spell struck the already dead Malfoy, and then Harry was touching the trophy and was gone, his world once again spinning.
A/N: Woo! Harry lost a fight for once-and got utterly wrecked, at that! You may have noticed I made Voldemort a bit stronger so this doesn't get boring.
