A/N: Well, it's been a while since I've updated. One month, to be exact. Lots of stuff has happened, but now it's time to get back into it. So, with no further words, On with my chapter!
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Chapter 19: Attack and Discovery
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It was early evening when the attack happened. Voldemort was hitting the last protection wards that Harry had when not in school. He'd done some research, and discovered what type of wards Dumbledore had set up at Harry's relatives house. It would be a quick surgical strike, ending the lives of Harry's last remaining blood relatives. Without a blood relative to feed the protection, it would fade, leaving Harry defenseless. It would also cripple the boy emotionally, knowing that Voldemort had killed off more people close to him. Voldemort pressed the mark on his servant's arm, and waited for his followers to arrive. While he was waiting, he remembered the encounter that he'd had with Harry that summer, in the very same house.
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Darkness shrouded the street where Voldemort apparated. His research had finally paid off, just as his servant in the Order of the Phoenix had brought him the excellent news. The wards at Harry's home were based on Harry's blood, and detected any kind of magic done inside them. The research told him that as long as he didn't do any kind of magic, the wards would recognize him as the boy, and would think nothing of his presence. He pulled the silver dagger from his robe as he swept silently through the street.
The boy had once used the Gryffindor sword to defeat Slytherin's Basilisk. Now Voldemort would use Slytherin's dagger to defeat Gryffindor's golden boy. He had no idea whether or not Potter was any kind of descendant of Gyffindor, but it didn't matter anymore. He would soon be dead.
The door was locked. Normally, he would blast the door off its hinges with a reductor curse, but that would trip the wards. Fortunately for him, he had learned a few things from that muggle orphanage he grew up in. He knew how to pick a lock. Thinking about the orphanage brought back memories. He'd killed every one of those muggles when he'd risen the first time. So many screams…Ah, those were the days. Shaking himself out of his memories, he heard the lock catch unlock.
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It was not a good night for Harry. Over the last month, he'd been feeling progressively worse. At first, he though it was just depression, but he didn't feel depressed anymore. He had been feeling depressed when he got back to his Aunt and Uncle's house, but the longer he thought about it, the less depressed he felt. It was almost as if his godfather's death was meant to be remembered, but not dwelled upon.
It was almost like he felt sick, but not sick. He was not weak, but stronger than ever. It was just a feeling that something was wrong with him. He just couldn't place it.
It was the creaking step that first announced a foreign presence in the house. Harry was instantly wide-awake and prepared for company. He had his wand, and was ready to defend himself if necessary. He sat on his bed, waiting for his unexpected guest.
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Damn the creaking step! Voldemort had begun to walk up the stairs, and the bottom step had creaked loudly. The dark lord froze in his tracks, waiting for any sound or indication of movement. Nothing. Voldemort almost chuckled. The most powerful wizard in the world was out for his blood, and the boy wasn't even losing sleep over it. Thinking about it again, Voldemort got angry. The boy wasn't losing sleep? That implied that he wasn't afraid. He'd better be afraid…
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It wasn't hard for Harry to figure out who was creeping up the stairs, due to the fact that his scar was growing steadily more painful as it got closer. It was in that moment, just after the realization that Voldemort was on Privet Drive, that Harry knew that Dumbledore was only human after all. In his eagerness to protect Harry, he'd allowed Voldemort free access to him.
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Voldemort eased the door to the boy's room open, and crept inside. There, he found a small surprise. The boy was awake, and watching. Voldemort smiled, cold and deadly. The boy was losing sleep.
"I assume this is about last weekend?" Harry asked casually, as if talking to a business partner, not his mortal enemy. "You should have kept out of my mind."
Voldemort snarled. "Potter, I have come to end your pathetic life. You should be grateful. I'm sending you to meet your parents." Voldemort had tried to invade Harry's mind the previous weekend, but found himself standing in a chamber with a vault in it. Standing in front of the vault was Potter, and he had a large wooden club of some kind. Vaguely, he remembered the muggle boys at the orphanage had played some sort of game with them. He'd tried to curse Potter, but found his magic didn't seem to work. Harry then beat him unconscious with the wooden club. It had taken him three days to recover.
Voldemort had learned from past mistakes. To this day, he'd always been arrogant towards the boy, and the boy had always survived somehow. This time would be different. No speeches, no banter, no duels; just a dagger, and a dead Gryffindor. Voldemort had trained himself with the dagger, so that he could throw it with perfect accuracy. Quick as a blink, the dagger was in his hand, and Voldemort noticed with pleasure that the boy became frightened. He pulled his arm back, and threw the dagger. It seemed to claw through the air, begging to taste the boy's blood. The dagger was inches from the boy's chest, when the boy vanished. The dagger buried itself in the wall. Voldemort was stunned in his disbelief. The boy had learned to apparate somehow. Voldemort growled his frustration, then crept back out of the house.
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Voldemort was shaken out of his memories by several of his followers apparating in. He had only called about a dozen Death Eaters. It was one house, after all. There was one house and two targets, which meant two killing curses and one really big explosion. Voldemort didn't even need to lift a finger. But he did. He raised his wand to the sky and fired off his dark mark. Taking their cue, the Death Eaters charged the house.
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Harry watched the attack from afar, through the observation spell he'd set up in the streetlamp outside his Uncle's house. He'd warned them, before he left, that the house wasn't safe for them. He'd left a note, telling them what had happened the previous night, and told them to leave. They had not listened to him. It was almost a shame. It would have been truly a shame, if the Dursleys hadn't been such useless people. Well, they had served their purpose in life, and now they were no longer needed. It was odd, thought Harry with a derisive snort, that the most useful thing his Aunt had ever done was help power the wards that had kept him safe, even though she was completely unaware that she was doing it.
It was sad that he was now without family, but he consoled himself with the thought that he could make a large family with Hermione after this war was over. Thinking about that, Harry went to tell Hermione about the attack, and possibly practice for when they wanted a family.
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It was a successful night for Voldmeort. The boy's Aunt and Uncle were dead, and the cousin was being found. Soon the boy would have no family left, and then he would die as well. Voldemort rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
The feeling of glee quickly vanished when the skin peeled off of one of his fingers. Pain shot though his arm, and he lost movement in the finger. Looking down at it, the flesh was yellow and rotting. Something was wrong with him. Voldemort strode quickly to his library; hand in his pocket, to find the book on reanimating spirits.
He quickly found the correct book, and began to scan though it. He finally found the passage he was looking for, and his eyes widened with horror.
When using this particular method of resurrection, it is important that the enemy dies soon after the ritual. If the servant should die before the enemy, the resurrected body will begin to deteriorate within a few days. The only way to stop this deterioration is for the enemy to die by the hand of the resurrected.
Wormtail was the servant he'd used, and Wormtail was dead. Potter, however, still lived, much to his annoyance. The biggest problem was how to get Potter into his clutches. Voldemort sat back in his chair, and thought about it
Finally, he hit on the perfect idea. He summoned two of his servants, who held a very specific position in the world, and told them what to do. Tomoorow would be a very interesting day for Harry Potter.
A/N: Voldemort is coming apart at the seams! Harry is in trouble. Next time, Surprises for Harry, and an Encounter with a Dark Lord.