Hi, everyone! I'm glad to finally upload this chapter. It was quite tricky actually. Omg, recently I've nearly had a stroke at thinking that I lost my flash drive where the most part of this chapter was. I've been searching for almost two days when I finally gave up only all of a sudden to find it... dramatic drumroll... in the USB connector of my TV. It's either a display of magic outside Hogwarts or me just being an idiot. So, here we go!
Chapter 1
The feeling of being pulled onwards that followed him and Cedric touching the Triwizard Cup Harry was acquainted with. Distinctly he remembered experiencing it during his travel by the portkey that had swished the Weasleys and him to the Quidditch World Cup camp. His hand was literally glued to the Cup not letting him pull away. But the tugging was such a short occurrence that Harry didn't even have time to be confused by this set of circumstances.
When their feet finally touched the ground, Harry fell forwards as his injured leg gave away. He'd hardly caught himself before he smashed his face. The ground underneath his palms was solid and cold. Cedric came to him and extended his hand which Harry gratefully grabbed onto and let the other boy hoist him back in the vertical position.
"Thanks", Harry murmured.
Both of them silently looked around. The view that opened to them chilled him to the core. The Cup had brought them to the overgrown graveyard – to the last place Harry would have expected to be brought as a winner of the Tournament. Through the mist that was surrounding that godforsaken place they could see a small church beyond a large yew tree to their right. On the opposite direction the landscape was shifting into a hill on the slope of which they could make out the outline of a fine old house. Harry had an anxious feeling in his gut that he had already seen that house. But where? It wasn't certainly in Hogsmeade. And such a building couldn't be found in the ridiculously neat outskirts of Little Whinging.
"Is it some sort of an additional challenge?" Cedric asked bemused as they passed the Cup and now were moving deep into the graveyard.
For the lack of other ideas Harry only shrugged. The graveyard though seemed pretty real for his liking. What if they were awaited by a merry pack of zombies? How was a wizard supposed to get rid of one? DADA books had never mentioned about their existence but you could never guess with the mysterious wizarding world. One of the tombstones caught his eye rousing him from his musings. Harry abruptly stopped and looked at it more thoroughly. The name engraved in it made the boy's heart miss a beat. 'TOM RIDDLE'. Judging by the date of death, that was Tom Riddle Senior but it didn't make things less creepy because now Harry remembered why the house on the hillside looked vaguely familiar. In that very house Voldemort had killed the poor groundkeeper. Harry had seen it firsthand in his vision. They must get out of here as soon as possible!
"That's hardly likely", Harry answered belatedly with his throat dry from anxiety. "Look, Cedric, we…"
Harry was cut off by a sound of approaching footsteps. Somebody was shuffling around on the yellowish brown of dead grass. The boys froze watching as a short, hooded figure swam out from the mist. Seeing an audience, the figure stopped and happily proclaimed in a high-pitched, raspy voice, "He is here, Master, but it appears he brought a friend with him".
Whom was he speaking with? Did he really expect to receive an answer from any of the dead men six feet under the ground? Maybe his preposterous thought of zombies wasn't so preposterous after all? But to Harry's horror, somebody answered nonetheless. And what was more confusing the sound came from the bundle of dirty rags in the stranger's hands. "Kill the spare", the voice wheezed.
As the man raised his wand on his mysterious master's order and pointed it to Cedric, Harry felt his body already moving towards the Hufflepuff who was frozen to the spot. Harry had been in enough obstacles to know that moving could save your life. Not paying attention to a pang in his leg, he lunged at the other boy and knocked him over just a second before a green light swished above their heads. The figure was going to repeat his attempt but the same voice as before angrily hissed, "Stop, you fool! You could have hit Potter!"
Now one of the missing pieces of puzzle clicked into place. Harry figured out he was supposed to touch the bloody Cup and eventually end up here for whatever sick purpose. But Cedric was the spare and he would die if Harry didn't make up something and fast. Not that a counter curse to Avada Kedavra or a shield that could repel it ever existed. In such a case he, Harry, would be a living shield between their enemies and Cedric. He jumped back to his feet and put himself in the line of fire, his own wand in hand. Only insane people truly didn't fear death, and Harry wasn't insane by any means. But what he did fear more was him being the cause of someone's else demise. To his mind, having two people already dead was quite enough.
The bundle laughed. "I find myself in a familiar situation. Asking you to move away is a lost cause, I guess? Is it worth dying for him, Harry?"
Harry stubbornly kept silent, afraid of losing focus on the stranger's wand. He didn't want to miss an attack. The rustle of grass told Harry that Cedric was now on his feet too. The older boy stepped from behind him and stood by his side. Though as little as this move was, it gave him encouragement because Cedric made him know he wasn't alone in it.
"Yeah, it's worth it, Tom", Harry bravely said stressing the man's name. The puzzle wasn't really that difficult to solve. All the hints led to the conclusion that the creature in the stranger's hands was none other than Voldemort himself, or what had left of him for that matter.
"You know him, Harry?" Cedric asked nervously. For the one who'd nearly got killed he was holding himself well.
"Sort of", Harry shrugged, "The bastard killed my parents".
Cedric took a sharp intake of breath and involuntarily backed away. "B-but You-Know-Who is dead… isn't he?" His voice sounded pleading. As a reply Harry tightened his grip on his wand.
"Why am I here, Tom?" Harry asked hoping he'd masked the fear from his voice well. Voldemort didn't want him dead, well, not now by the way. And Harry had quite a good guess he had entered the Triwizard Tournament thanks to him which meant somebody at Hogwarts was working for him. Instantly Malfoy's threat popped to his mind. The ferret definitely knew something was going to happen. But Harry didn't believe he acted alone. He wasn't so powerful to confound the Goblet of Fire. Who was the culprit?
"Patience, Harry, you'll see. Please, Wormtail, proceed with the plan", Voldemort cheerfully said. His politeness fooled nobody present there.
So Wormtail then. Trelawney's prophesy loomed over Harry menacingly: 'The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever before'. The boy had an unpleasant suspicion that sooner rather than later he'd be a witness to the very thing. The prospect was positively terrifying.
Voldemort's words sounded too promising to Harry's liking. Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to like his plan at all. He needed to do something. But what? Thinking hard and suppressing his fear (Empty yourself of emotions, Potter! His conscious barked at him in Snape's impatient voice), the boy tried to find flaws in his opponents' position. Voldemort seemed to be helpless lying like that in his follower's hands. Wormtail would be very careful with his burden, so his actions were limited. Okay, well, then it was settled.
"Stupefy", Harry shouted aiming his wand at Pettigrew. Then he clasped Cedric's hand and tried to summon the portkey in desperate hope it would work both ways. But the Cup's flight was disrupted by the giant snake. It curled around the Cup blocking it from Harry's sight completely. 'Slither away', Harry hissed at it in most demanding tone he could master now. The snake didn't even stir.
"I see you here possess a rare skill, Harry", Voldemort said appearing not to be nonplussed by the boy's attempt in the slightest. "It's a pity you declined my offer to join me three years ago. I didn't lie to you then; with my aid you could have become the greater wizard than this school of yours could shape you in. But you Gryffindors tend to repeat the same mistakes. That's why you will die, Harry Potter. The Death doesn't care whether you meet it on your knees or with your head defiantly raised".
Apparently Wormtail had dodged Harry's hex. Cradling his precious burden to his chest he started slowly advancing on the boys, and the nearer he came the more pronounced Harry's head was hurting making it harder to think. "But it matters to me! 'Slither away'", he tried again not quite hoping for a different result.
Voldemort chuckled. It wasn't the sound Harry would have wanted to hear ever again. "Poor boy. Nagini follows only my orders. She won't let you escape so easily". Then after a long agonizing pause he thoughtfully added, "Wormtail, I've changed my mind. I'll mercifully keep the other boy's life. He can be useful to us. However, the naughty brat should be punished for showing up here uninvited".
Pettigrew slashed his wand through the air, "Crucio!". The instant the word left the man's lips Cedric dropped to the ground screaming his head off. With his vision blurred from pain, Harry helplessly watched Cedric whirling uncontrollably. "Stop it!" he shouted clutching to his forehead. His scar now felt as if somebody had put to it a glowing piece of metal.
"Don't be upset, Harry", Voldemort purred, "Your turn will come soon".
Harry felt his body rising from the ground. For a moment he was hanging in the air like a rag doll. Then he was smashed hard to the Riddle's Senior tombstone and glued to it. The impact took the wind from him, and it took him quite a while to regain his breathing. Due to the ringing in his ears he didn't notice at once that Cedric's shouts had ceased. The older boy was now quietly whimpering where he'd collapsed.
The sound of footsteps resumed and Harry was surprised to see Wormtail going away. Unfortunately, the traitorous rat stopped not far away from him so that Harry could still see what he was doing. There was a huge cauldron in front of him and the man lighted the fire under its base. Then Wormtail did something that almost sent Harry to a hysterical giggling fit. He bumped his Master's pitiful body right inside the cauldron causing some droplets of unrecognizable liquid to drip over the rim. Wormtail recoiled in disgust. After a few long moments of clear hesitation on his part he began to speak; his voice was shaking and the words came from his mouth with stutter, "B-bone of the f-father, unknowingly g-given, you will renew your son!"
The ground beneath Harry's feet gaped open. Dread coiled around inside his gut at the sight of a fine stream of dust shimmering in the faint light from the flames under the cauldron flowing from the cleft and right into the boiling potion. The growing awareness of inevitability was painfully, little by little sending Harry into mild panic attack. He couldn't remember the time he felt so helpless and scared.
When he was little he'd taken his punishments with resignation, speculating beforehand on what amount of damage he'd undoubtedly receive. There hadn't been any room for imagination. He had always known that he'd be hurting all over after his Uncle was finished with him. That was all the life had had in store for little Harry. It was quite counterproductive to fear your everyday routine. But it was not an everyday occurrence to witness your mortal enemy being attempted to resurrect. With the monster alive Harry wouldn't have a need to worry about several broken bones or bruises. Voldemort could inflict much more pain upon his victims. He could rip away from Harry the very reason for living people he cared about. Harry was ridiculously close to try to nip this in the bud but, unfortunately to the whole world, muggle and wizarding, he couldn't move a muscle. The only thing left was to stoop to silent praying.
'Please God let him be drown! Please… let the potion kill him…'
Wormtail was seemingly more terrified than the boy for at the next words his voice broke into whimpering, "F-f-flesh… of the s-servant… w-wil-willingly given you will r-revive your m-master". When the man stretched his right hand out in front of him and pulled out from his robe pocket a shining silver dagger Harry understood why he was so petrified. Simultaneously disgusted and captivated by what was about to happen, he watched the man slowly taking the dagger to his skin and then nervously yanking it away, as it were rehearsing, unable to gather his courage to cause a handicap.
Upon hearing Wormtail's sobs intensifying, Harry squeezed his eyes shut knowing that was it. The scream that followed the sound of the dagger piercing through the air was too anguished and loud for Harry to manage to block it. Peter's appendage fell into the cauldron with the resounding splash. Having suppressed the nausea, Harry opened his eyes. His parents' traitor was cramped on the ground nursing his bloody stump. His hood fell from his head revealing beads of sweat dripping down from the round deadly pale face. Feeling the surge of vindictive streak, Harry mocked him, "First it was just a finger, now it's your hand. What next? You will cut your arm up to your elbow or straight to shoulder not to waste time on trifles, right?" Even if Pettigrew had heard him he didn't react to the barb. Instead he glanced at the potion that had turned an ominous red and then, taking in short shallow breaths, at Harry.
It couldn't bode well. Not at all.
The evidence to it showed itself as Wormtail began advancing on Harry, muttering this time without a stutter, "Blood of the enemy forcibly taken you will resurrect your foe". The dagger in the rat's remaining hand was shaking ever so slightly but the determined gleam was present in his beady little eyes. Was he going to chop him too? It was funny though that after the great amount of Snape's threats of being posed as potion ingredients the honor to actually fulfill them eventually belonged now to this pathetic excuse of a human being.
"Don't touch him!" muffled voice cried.
Harry had nearly forgotten there was somebody else except for him, Wormtail and Voldemort. Speaking of the latter, wasn't he dead by any chance? Something prompted him it was not the case by any means. What's a pity though.
Cedric was on his knees, seized with slight tremors. He was obviously frightened but nonetheless tried to hold his face. Harry was touched by this display of loyalty and bravery. He didn't expect to be stuck up for by anyone aside from Hermione, Ron, and maybe the rest of the ginger family. But here they were.
Wormtail wasn't impressed. He pursed his lips and impatiently dropped the dagger to the ground replacing it with his wand. Harry's eyes widened. Now the older boy would be punished because of him. "Cedric, run!" But it was too late. Another torturing curse struck the Hufflepuff precisely in the chest sending him back to the sea of unbearable agony. When the spell was finally broken, Cedric's eyes were dull and bloodshot from tears that were still running down his cheeks unchecked. Cedric mouthed 'Sorry' to him and it made Harry choke back his own sob. It was he who must apologize; after all it had been his stupid nobility that made Harry offer to share victory by touching the Cup together. It was all his fault.
The dagger was returned into Peter's hand and then its point penetrated the crook of Harry's right arm. Blood was sliding down the blade. When the man was satisfied by its amount he withdrew the dagger and, holding it gingerly in front of him, retreated back to the cauldron. Wormtail tilted the dagger above the surface of the potion letting the drops of Harry's blood fall down. The simmering liquid instantly turned a blinding white.
'Be dead' Harry pleaded once again. But his prayer was left unheard.
The throbbing in his arm faded away in comparison with the surging pain that erupted inside his head. His scar was in flames. That could mean only one thing the potion had done its evil job. After a moment of complete silence, the cauldron exploded in the swirl of bright flashes. Through the thick steam one could distinguish a fuzzy shape of something definitely alive. The scene in front of them was unfolding in the best tradition of a horror movie that muggle producers had got into the habit of churning out in great amount trying to impress their viewers. The figure was uncontrollably twitching from one angle to another producing disgusting sounds that resembled a slippery membrane being ripped apart. Even the stuff floating inside the jars on the shelves in the Potions classroom hadn't once made bile rise up Harry's throat as this scene did now. Pain in his scar didn't help either.
When the figure quit twitching, it slowly straightened up, now bearing the shape of a human being. But with the steam having been scattered afterwards, Harry wasn't so sure in his assumptions any more. The… thing (for the lack of a better description) could only pretend to look like a human. In reality it was a snake-like creature with burning red eyes, slits for nostrils, and uncharacteristically white skin through which one could see a dark-blue net of vessels. The creature bore his eyes into Harry's and let out a low, sizzling chuckle.
Voldemort was officially back.
Not tearing his intense gaze from Harry he ordered Wormtail to robe him which his servant did, albeit not without difficulties, having being left one handed. Clearly tired of his whimpering, Voldemort pulled his wand from the folds of his black robes and waved it above Wormtail who recoiled in fear of being hexed. But his fear seemed to be fruitless. Where previously had been his hand from flesh and blood now was a quite functional prosthesis made of a glistening, silvery substance. Pettigrew looked at it in complete awe and started throwing out 'thanks you Master' only to be waved away like an annoying fly.
Voldemort strode to where Harry was glued to the tombstone and took a halt only few inches away from him. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person, Harry. There's talk of you being famous for vanquishing me fourteen years ago. Now as it not quite true don't you take offence if I'm not inclined to ask you to give me an autograph. You in turn don't ask for mine as it seems I've already graced you with one", he gingerly, almost lovingly, brushed Harry's fringe aside with his long spidery finger revealing an inflamed scar that for far too long had been the symbol of his fall.
Harry shuddered at this gesture. The tension in his body made him shake and lose the grip on his emotions. Somewhere on the edge of his mind he continuously ordered himself not to look in Voldemort's unhuman eyes. Snape's warning about the bastard's skills in Legilimency was still fresh in his memory. He didn't want to give him a chance to turn his mind upside down. Since his Professor threw him out of his office Harry hadn't had any practice in Occlumency but dutifully continued to occlude before going to bed. He didn't want to test if it would be enough to stop an enemy's mental attack.
The wizard made a few steps aside and raised his left hand in front of him. The broad sleeve of his robes slipped down making an ugly tattoo of a snake slithering out of a skull's mouth visible. It stood too pronounced on the white skin. "How do you think, Harry, should I call my friends to tell them the true story about the Boy-Who-Lived?"
With that said, he touched the Dark Mark with the tip of his wand and looked around in anticipation. While he was waiting, he broke into reliving his family history. He told Harry that the remains the boy was hold above were of his late muggle father, that the house on the hillside used to belong to his mother's wizarding family, about the drama between the two of his parents, and his personal feelings to both of them. There was no love lost between Voldemort and them. And was he even capable of something so pure as love? To Harry it was a rhetorical question.
One by one Voldemort's followers popped to the clearing between tombstones. All of them were wearing dark robes with hoods over their heads and silvery masks. There were collective gasps at the sight of their master standing in front of them in all his terrifying glory. Harry wondered if someone of them truly respected the monster or if they simply were all afraid of him.
"Is it the proper way to great your Master, gentlemen?" Voldemort patronizingly asked them seemingly absentmindedly toying with his wand.
It wasn't a reprimand for the lack of manners. It was a clear threat. Death Eaters knew that too well to dare not to take amends. They fell to their knees and by turns crawled towards Voldemort and kissed the hem of his robes. Afterwards they stood up and formed a circle around him, Wormtail, and two boys. Though there were gaps between them it seemed impossible to move through, Harry observed dully. Not that he could have been able to do anything of the sorts in his unenviable position. But he could try nonetheless. 'Finite Incantatem', Harry thought, not daring to pronounce the counter curse aloud. Voldemort was busy belittling his Death Eaters for living their cozy lifes and not working their asses off to resurrect him, and it wouldn't be prudent of Harry to interject, now would it? He'd managed to shake off the Imperius curse once. Maybe he would able to gather enough willpower to break the one holding him put either?
So, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to brush aside all his five senses. They weren't now of much help anyway. While using his wand he usually didn't have the need to contemplate how it all actually worked. The pieces of wood with individually selected cores did the job of concentrating wizards' energy in the right amount and intensity just fine on their own. But now Harry didn't have the luxury of it cuz his wand laid on the ground a few feet away from him and he was incapacitated at the moment. The Gryffindor turned all his attention inwards in desperate hope of seeking his magic. Young children could drive their magic out of them at feeling strong emotions as it hadn't been trained yet. And these outbursts weren't usually directed at something particular. In such cases, Harry remembered from his own experience, it was magic that decided what would be done about the situation. Because it had never crossed his mind to turn his teacher's hair blue when he'd been disappointed in her way of handling the problem or popped to the primary school's rooftop while trying to run away from Dudley and his friends.
No, there should be a way to call for his magic on a whim. And what was the better time to find it out if not now? But no matter how much did he repeat the incantation in his head his magic wouldn't give in. Drowning in frustration, Harry didn't notice that Voldemort was again standing near him. The bastard's voice at first sounded as through the thick of water.
"Resting, are we, Harry?" He smirked, mirth not touching his cold eyes. "Perhaps, you're wondering why it must be your blood to find its way into the resurrection potion. I'll happily enlighten you on that. You see, Harry, I have a lot of enemies to choose from but none of them possesses the power to burn me to ashes at the mere contact of our bare skin".
"You've got what you deserve", Harry spat out and repeated it back to him, "I'll happily shake your hand if you unstuck me". He put on a brave face as plausible as he could. Let Voldemort his displeasure out on Harry. Better him than Cedric.
"Surely, My Lord, it can't be true. There's not anything special about this brat", sounded a vaguely familiar voice on Harry's right. A moment later the shadow stepped in his line of sight. It was lacking its hood letting long blond hair cascade down to its shoulder blades. And why, one wondered, wasn't Harry surprised to see Malfoy Senior by the side of the most darkest wizard of their century?
"Lucius", Voldemort sneered at him, "Are these the notes of fear I hear in your voice?"
Malfoy instantly backed away and hastily bowed his head in the clear gesture of total remorse. "No, My Lord, of course not! There is not even an ounce of hesitation in me. On the contrary, I believe that it is him who fears you. Look at this pathetic boy, My Lord, he is terrified of you".
Voldemort turned back to Harry and mockingly asked, "Are you terrified, Harry?"
Yeah, he was. But he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. He could admit this to himself but not to the murderer of his parents. If he is going to die tonight well, more likely when he would do it with his dignity intact. So, he gathered all his courage, or better say recklessness in this case, and spat at his enemy right on his left cheek. It would be hard to find a more pronounced answer.
The silence that had stretched above the graveyard afterwards was even deader than its mute occupants under the ground. Death Eaters were so appalled that they didn't even lunge into defending his Master's pride. Voldemort, on his part, indifferently wiped the spit with his palm. Then he smiled. And this smile was as wide as it was dangerous. Harry sensed it and thought in silent panic if he would manage to spit at him one last time. If you're going to die, do it gracefully.
Voldemort made a lightning-like swish of his wand and Malfoy dropped in a heap to the ground and screamed in pain. After the curse was lifted the blond-haired man gasped, "Why, My Lord?"
"You lied to me, my slimy friend. The boy doesn't seem to me terrified. And it was your job, all of yours, to install that feeling in him in my temporary absence. But you failed. It's what you are punished for. As for another sin of yours", Lucius screamed again, "You've dared to question my actions towards you. It's inexcusable".
"I beg for your forgiveness, My Lord", whispered Malfoy after he had managed to regain his breathing. Voldemort jerked his chin up indicating that he could resume his position in the circle, not gracing his follower even with a short answer. Malfoy scrambled on his feet and shakily hurried to back away.
"I believe, Harry, we're interrupted", Voldemort addressed the boy again. "Your mother's sacrifice on that Halloween night triggered a very ancient magic to show itself. Your very blood refused any interference from my part. This magic bounced my killing curse condemning me to the existence between life and death. I was just a ghost, a shadow of my past self but definitely not dead like all the fools in the wizarding world believed me to be. I was patient. I was slowly regaining my strength back. You should admit that with Quirrell it was a nice try except one thing you, Harry. After eleven years of preparations only to be defeated by the very brat because of whom I found myself in this position at first place is quite unnerving, don't you think so?
Harry snorted.
"But then I reunited with my most loyal servant", he pointed to Wormtail. "Even if his sentiments were motivated be fear only, he was more than useful what I can't say about the delicate lot standing now around us. He brought to my attention that I had one more servant, still eagerly loyal but being kept restrained. Wormtail freed him for me and that man played his role to the letter judging by your presence here. He provided me with the last ingredient to my resurrection. And because of your blood running through my veins your mother's protection can't shield you from me any longer. It's just a theory but I'm inclined to test it right now. Aren't you as curious as I am, Harry?"
Harry wanted to tell him that he was far from curious but couldn't make his tongue moving. He was petrified eyeing a long bony finger that was slowly getting closer and closer to his forehead as if teasing. From somewhere he knew that Voldemort's theory was flawless. Voldemort knew that too.
When a cold finger pad was finally pressed to his already inflamed scar, Harry felt as the world had been dissolved. The searing pain engulfed all his being. It was as if his head was split open. His vision blurred and maybe he went deaf as well because it was no way he wasn't screaming. His muscles were aching and the body burning hot. He couldn't remember where his was and even who he was. All that matted was pleading for the pain to stop.
But there was that nagging thought that was knocking on his consciousness like a woodpecker. Harry caught at it and raised it above his agony. Because somehow it was important. Somehow it was more urgent than the state he was currently in.
'Finite Incantatem', he shouted inside his head.
This instant the pain stopped. Heaving, Harry laid on the ground at the foot of his enemy. Wait a minute. On the ground? Did it mean he had succeeded in wordlessly and wandlessly casting a counter curse? Well, what next? Right, he needed to get his wand back. This thought had worked out as a summoning charm. In a second Harry was feeling the familiar warmth of his faithful weapon in his hand. Wow, that was unexpected.
Apparently, Voldemort thought the same.
"Well, Harry", he stepped on the boy's hand, "It appears Dumbledore has known for all this time that I was going to return. Tell me, boy, what other little tricks did he teach you? What did he tell you?"
"Nervous, are we, Tom?" Harry chuckled, feeling every bit exhausted. The display of magic he had produced and a fine round of torture left him completely drained. "Sod off, by the way".
"Oh, Harry, there is more than one way to make you speak".
Before Voldemort aimed his wand at him, Harry already knew what that was about. He raised his mental shield in a matter of seconds bracing himself for the violent intrusion. And he wasn't disappointed. Voldemort's presence in his mind felt like a cannonball hit his ribcage. Destructive and unstoppable. But Harry didn't need to stop him. Voldemort would have stopped on his own as soon as the desirable caught his eye.
What had appeared before Voldemort's eyes wasn't looking like the Mirror of Erised. Harry wasn't stupid enough to try to trick him with something he was acquainted with. So, the boy had changed the appearance of his shield. Now it was a bare room with a little window that, to Voldemort's mind, had been cut in one of the walls due to his power.
"I see, Harry, Occlumency has been on the curriculum this year. But did you really hope this pathetic attempt would prevent my looking into your mind?"
No, I'm just going to play on your pride. Never in a million of years would this man admit that he had been outsmarted.
Voldemort peered in the window and Harry helpfully threw under his sight picture after picture of memories of the most trivial things. Some of them were more emotionally coloured as to not sparkle a hint of hesitation in the intruder. He even showed him some mild sad memories from his life with the Dursleys. By the example of Snape he now knew that the lack of bad memories could be suspicious.
Harry showed him his conversation with Dumbledore at the end of his first year at Hogwarts and then abruptly changed the flow of memories with the surface of the Mirror of Erised. The boy was curious to see what this episode could bring from the depth of Voldemort's heart. The maniac had been quite adamant earlier in his assumptions that the Headmaster had told Harry something important.
The mist in the surface formed into Dumbledore and Harry. The former was holding a blue luminous orb where someone's ominous voice was coming from.
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… This power will shield him once in doing so giving him a great chance to defeat the Dark Lord…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…'
After the scene had played out, Voldemort withdrew from Harry's mind. The boy was panting heavily, chilled by what he had heard because Voldemort was looking too smug not to take it seriously.
"You see, Harry, there is a prophecy concerning the both of us. I've heard only the part of it. Not wanting to tempt fate, I tracked your family down. The denouement of it you know, of course. I'm really lucky I've done it when you were an infant, because, oh lucky me, you weren't old enough to take a chance to vanquish me as the prophecy states. Now, Harry, you are no longer the Boy-Who-Lived. You are soon-to-be the Boy-Who-Failed the wizarding world. I'm unstoppable now and I laugh at the face of death".
Harry's heart was pounding with such a force that it was painful. The ringing in his ears was deafening. The feeling of dread was eating him alive but not over the reason Voldemort might have thought. If the snakeface had heard only the part of the prophecy it meant that the last statement in it was false. It meant that actually Harry did have a chance to defeat him someday. Someday, not now! He was only a fourteen-year-old boy, not a match to the fully-grown wizard with the power that could compete with Dumbledore's. How it would have reflected on the wizarding and muggle worlds, if he died in that graveyard?
He had always questioned why it was always him. Now he had his answer. He was destined to fight. Not to have a loving family and a happy future. If he had been lying now on his bed in the Gryffindor dorms he would have been furious at the unfairness of having a stupid orb decided on his fate. But it was not a soft red blanket beneath him. It was the ground of the graveyard where he would die. And the only thing he could do now was to try to get Cedric out of here.
"You've won, Tom", Harry rasped. "But you need a mean to pronounce your victory to Dumbledore. And I…" he swallowed, "I want someone to tell goodbye for me to my friends. Let Cedric go to tell the others that I've tried".
Voldemort was scrutinizing him for long five minutes. Surely, it was a plot to save the other boy, but nevertheless Potter's words made sense. It was a pity though he wouldn't be able to see the old fool's expression while he would be standing by the empty coffin of his precious Boy-Who-Lived.
"The Dark Lord is merciful", he finally said. "I will honor your last wish, boy".
With that he summoned the damnable Cup and came to Cedric who regained the sitting position and now was trying to distance himself as far as he could from the approaching monster.
"Quit squirming, boy", Voldemort hissed. "You've heard what you must do".
He threw the Cup at him and Cedric caught it not quite believing in what was happening. But he didn't have the time to process it because in a second he was gone.
Voldemort turned back to Harry and aimed his wand at him. "Now, Harry, I believe, I haven't properly punished you for using my pathetic maggle father's name while addressing me".
No, he hadn't, Harry thought absentmindedly before his world once more was reduced to only one thing pain.