Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. Star Wars is owned by Disney. I am neither a British woman nor an animated mouse. Thus I do not own nor do I claim ownership of either Harry Potter or Star Wars, and I am not profiting in any way through the writing and publication of this story.
Holocron
XI
Saturday, June 24, 1995
The world swirled around him in a chaotic jumble of colors and shapes, the wind howled and buffeted him as if he were in the center of a tornado, and the Force screamed in warning and something that felt like agony as it couldn't seem to maintain its connection to the world.
And then Harry slammed down onto a something hard, collapsing face-first into the ground. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees as he vomited, spewing up seemingly everything he had eaten during the past week. Then he collapsed back to the ground and groaned – dizzy and disoriented, he couldn't seem to get his bearings in the Force.
A harsh voice called out, "Stupefy!"
There was a bright red light.
And then nothing.
OoOoO
OoOoO
It was pain that eventually brought him back to awareness.
A sharp, stabbing pain in his right arm. Harry felt like utter crap. He felt like he'd been run over by a bus and then tossed down a hillside into a fetid swamp. He groaned and tried curling into a ball, but his limbs weren't responding as they should. His mind felt sluggish, like he was stuck in a dense fog that wouldn't let him think. He cracked open his eyes to try and see what was around him.
It was still dark, so it couldn't have been too long since the end of the Third Task. He was in some sort of a graveyard with weathered headstones sprouting up from the ground in crooked rows all around him. Harry discovered that he was tied securely to one of the larger headstones, his wrists and ankles bound by thick ropes that barely allowed him any movement. Directly in front of him was a huge, black cauldron filled with swirling, green mist. It was resting on top of a roaring fire – Harry could feel the heat of its flames against his face.
Then he noticed that he wasn't alone. There were three figures standing around the cauldron. One was clearly Bartemius Crouch, the Ministry Official that had brought him there. Crouch was staring blank-faced into the distance, seemingly unaware of what was happening right in from of him.
The second figure had pale, slightly freckled skin and a mop of fair hair, but his face was lined and marred with the effects of years of anger and hatred. He held two wands in his hands and a fell light shone in his eyes as he stared at the swirling, green mist of the cauldron.
The third figure was turned away from Harry. Small of stature and with a slight hunch to his back, the balding man was speaking in solemn tones as he waved a dagger dripping with fresh blood toward to cauldron. From the sharp pain in his right arm, Harry guessed that the blood was his.
Harry shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, and then reached out to the Force.
It shouted to him in warning.
Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest as he realized the danger he was in. Adrenaline and fear both began to course through his veins. But Harry refused to let himself be ruled by fear. He sank himself deeper into the Force and there found the calm power of Life itself.
He reached out with his senses.
Hatred and malice assaulted his mind, they radiated from the cauldron and from the men surrounding it. Harry pushed those feelings aside and continued to stretch out with his feelings. The wound in his arm was serious. The muscle was crudely torn and it was bleeding freely. He used the Force to slow the bleeding and dull the pain, but anything further than that was beyond his skill. He lightly prodded his bonds with his mind, but they were tight and secure and pulsing with magic. He wouldn't be able to break them.
Harry had no idea what was going on, but he knew it wasn't good. He couldn't get away at the moment, and if the Force was right, he was in a lot of trouble. He needed to do something, but what? He was tied up and without his wand.
But he still had the Force.
He reached out further than he ever had before, searching for a presence that might be able to help him. If nothing else, he might be able to get a message across.
Hermione, he thought. Ron… Hear me…
His thoughts sped off into the distance, but nothing returned. For a moment, Harry almost despaired at the futility of his action, but he kept trying – he had no other choice.
Hermione… Ron…
Then he felt her.
Harry! Her voice resounded in his mind from very far away. Oh, Harry! Where are you?! What happened?! That man just took you! Everything is in an uproar here!
I don't know, he answered, I'm in some sort of a graveyard. There's other wizards here and they've got me tied up while they do some sort of ritual or something.
I'll get the Headmaster, but where are you?! What do I tell him?!
"Blood of the enemy," a haggard voice called out, "forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"
Harry opened his eyes again to see the figure in front of him wipe the blood off the dagger and drip it into the cauldron. The Force screamed in warning just before the fire beneath the now-boiling cauldron erupted into a column of flame that rose up into the heavens. The figures staggered back, but kept their eyes glued to the terrible magic in front of them.
And a dark presence tore its way through the Force and into the world.
Harry closed his eyes for one more moment. He tried to send Hermione anything that might help pinpoint his location – images and feelings of the graveyard, the faces of the wizards around him, names on the tombstones.
Tell Dumbledore something very dark and very strong is here.
Harry!
Hermione's anxiousness was palpable in the Force, but he pulled his presence back to himself and focused on what was happening before him.
A moment later the pillar of fire was gone, leaving a dense could of smoke that slowly cleared away to reveal a tall, slender man. He was naked - his pale, scaly flesh seemed too bright in the darkness of the night. Long, boney fingers reached up to feel his smooth, hairless scalp. His face might have once held handsome features, but now its nose was simply gone, replaced by two small, reptilian slits. Finally, he opened his red eyes, and peered at the scene around him with malevolence.
"Robe," he spat in a voice that was high and clear.
The man with pale hair and lined features rushed forward and wrapped the figure in an elegant black robe before falling to his knees in worship.
"My Lord!" he cried in joy, "you have come back to us! The Dark Lord has returned!"
Dark Lord? Harry thought. Oh, shit.
"Indeed I have, Barty," the figure said, "you have done well, and shall be rewarded. And I see you have brought you father – he shall be a useful tool."
"My Lord," the hunch-backed wizard called out while staggering to his knees and holding up his bleeding stump of an arm, "my Lord, please…"
The Dark Lord seemed almost dismissive of the man that had performed the ritual. "Barty, summon your brethren. And tell me, where is my wand?"
"Yes, my Lord. Wormtail has your wand, my Lord," Barty answered before placing the tip of his own wand against his left forearm.
"Please…" Wormtail continued to whimper.
"My wand, Wormtail."
The quivering man reached into his robes and drew out a long, white wand, which he quickly handed over. The Dark Lord seemed to grasp the implement with loving care and he inspected it with what was almost a gentle caress. Then he flicked it at the cowering figure and turned to walk away.
Wormtail screamed and fell writhing to the ground. Harry watched in horror as a silvery liquid latched onto the bleeding remains of the man's arm. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as it fused itself there before it shifted and molded itself into a bright, silver hand.
Wormtail panted and whimpered, but he eventually managed to gasp out his thanks.
"Th-thank you, my-my Lord…"
But the Dark Lord paid him little mind, as he was stalking toward Harry.
Harry could feel the hatred and anger radiating off of the wizard before him like heat from a furnace.
"Harry Potter" he said, "do you know who I am?"
Harry kept silent, refusing to speak.
"I am Lord Voldemort," he went on, seemingly without a care about Harry's lack of response. "Soon, I will be your death. And it will be slow, I assure you. For what you did to me, for what you made me endure these thirteen years, you are going to suffer! You are going to beg for death!"
Harry could feel the dark wizard's hatred spike and flare in the Force. Those were definitely not empty threats.
But then Voldemort smiled.
"As soon as my wayward followers are here, we'll see what the legendary Boy-Who-Lived can do."
A few moments later, Harry felt the familiar warning in the Force of someone about to appear through Apparition. Over the next several minutes, figures in dark robes and masks with snake-like eyes popped into being throughout the graveyard. They gathered around their Lord, and Voldemort strode up and down, berating them and exhorting them, speaking of great plans, magnificent destinies, and terrible punishments for those that failed him.
Harry paid them little mind.
Instead, he focused on the Force. He let its Energy flow through him and fill him. He surrendered his anxiety, his fear, and his pain to its peace. The Force was his ally, his only ally at the moment. It would see him through whatever was to come next.
Suddenly his bonds were gone. He started to fall, but vice-like hands clasped him by the arms and threw him into the circle of robed figures.
Harry held onto the Force and the peace that it brought.
"Now," Voldemort continued his ranting speech, "that you might be sure of my power, you shall bear witness to the end of this so-called Boy-Who-Lived! You shall see that his apparent victory was nothing but mere luck! That his feeble power is nothing compared to my might! He is nothing but a freak! And only blind chance allowed him to survive this long."
Harry glanced around, looking for a way out, a way he could run. But he was completely surrounded.
"Let's watch the little boy dance!" Voldemort continued. "Imperio!"
Harry felt a dark presence enter into his mind. It was alien and cold, but also oddly familiar somehow. He staggered backwards, but then exerted his will and thrust the invader out of his head.
Voldemort smiled.
"Very good, Harry, very good." The Dark Lord turned to his followers with distain. "It seems the boy is stronger than so many of you and your claims of being placed under the Imperius Curse!"
Several of the assembled Death Eaters cowered back from their master.
"Barty!"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Give the boy his wand."
Barty acted without question and threw Harry's familiar holly and phoenix feather wand at his feet. Harry bent down to pick it up.
"Now, then," Voldemort turned back to him, "we shall have a traditional wizard's duel. First we bow…"
Voldemort swished his wand and Harry felt a great weight pushing down on his shoulders, forcing him into a low bow.
"And now we fight! I'll even let you cast the first spell, Harry," the Dark Lord said as he crossed his arms in contempt. "Go on, take your best shot."
Harry thought furiously. He didn't really know any combat or serious dueling spells. He'd never had any need for them. He knew a few jinxes and hexes, sure, but he'd never even thought about being in a real magical fight. But he had to try something.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.
Voldemort just contemptuously swatted the flash of light aside.
"Is that all you have, Harry? Surely you can do better than that!" Voldemort actually laughed and a few of his followers hesitantly joined in as well.
Harry knew that he had no chance of beating Voldemort in a wizarding duel. He simply didn't know the right kind of spells or how and when to cast them, and he'd be no match for the Dark Lord's decades of experience. But magic wasn't the only tool available to him. So he gathered the energy of the Force to himself and held it like a coiled spring.
"Go on, Harry," Voldemort taunted, "I'll give you another shot."
Harry threw his arms forward and released the power of the Force.
It burst out of him in a concussive wave that threw Voldemort and his Death Eaters through the air. Harry crouched low as his enemies were still tumbling away from him, and ran from the now scattered wizards, sprinting with Force-assisted speed.
"Stop him!" Voldemort cried out behind him. "Stop the boy!"
Bright streaks of spellfire lit up the night. They slammed into the ground all around him, shattering tombstones and tearing up the earth.
Harry let the Force guide his movements. He dodged and spun and jumped and tumbled, he flowed from one movement to the next, never stopping his graceful race away from his deadly enemies.
The Force called out its familiar warning, and with a crack one of the Death Eaters appeared right in front of him with wand raised.
But Harry was already spinning, his leg extended in a kick that shattered the man's knee. He cried out in pain, but didn't have time to fall, as Harry had already thrown him through the air with the Force.
He continued his dash through the gravestones, but he made little progress. The Death Eaters had him surrounded, and they kept apparating around him to cutoff his escape. Harry pushed and pulled at them with the Force, flinging them around like ragdolls as he ran and dodged their curses, but there were too many of them, and he couldn't afford to stop and fight back without making himself an easy target.
The Force called out in warning again, and Harry leapt as high into the air as he could just as the ground around him erupted into a thicket of sharp spikes.
But then something grabbed at him in midair, and he was thrown downward.
Harry screamed in pain as he slammed into the ground. There was a loud snap and a splash of liquid as pure agony erupted through his body. He looked down at himself to see his limbs twisted at odd angles, and a dull red spike protruding from his ruined stomach. His body twitched in pain and he coughed up blood. Cruel laughter answered his cries of agony as the spikes winked out of existence.
"It seems I underestimated you, Harry," the Dark Lord said as he strode up to the bleeding young wizard. "You did well, better than I thought possible. But you are no match for my power."
Harry felt Voldemort's hatred spike in the Force once again.
"You need to learn your place, boy. Crucio!"
Pain like nothing he'd ever felt before surged through Harry's body. He twisted and screamed on the ground as white-hot agony assaulted every fiber of his being. His body contorted itself, further tearing his wounds, his blood flowing freely into the cold earth. The pain was simply too much, and Harry felt his hold on the Force slip away from him.
Eventually the curse was lifted, and Harry curled into a quivering, bleeding ball. His vision was starting to fade, but he could still hear his tormentor's muffled voice.
"And now, Harry Potter, death has come for you."
But then there was a loud crack! that split the night air.
And then another and another.
"Tom," a new but familiar voice said. "Leave the boy be."
Harry summoned what remained of his strength to lift his head. His darkening vision was barely able to make out Dumbledore standing amidst the gravestones along with several witches and wizards all dressed in red robes.
"You're too late, old man!" Voldemort cried. "I've returned! I've returned from death itself! I am immortal and nothing you do can stop me!"
"We shall see about that," the Headmaster calmly replied.
And then light and sound and chaos exploded from everywhere all at once.
Harry wasn't able to follow what happened next. It was too fast, and he was too injured. He knew that he was bleeding out and that he needed to do something soon, but his body simply wouldn't do as he wanted.
And everything just seemed so dull and far away.
And then it all just faded into cold and darkness.
AN: Thoughts?
Right. I'm back. The last month has been… interesting. Real life is being quite demanding of me at the moment, so I'm afraid that I'm not going to be able to return to the once-a-week posting schedule; it's simply not possible and it would result in me posting chapters that simply weren't up to snuff. At this point, I think it's safe to say that you can look forward to a new chapter about once per month. At least for the foreseeable future.
Don't worry though, I've actually got quite a bit of this drafted, so there's no danger of it being abandoned. I just have very little free time at the moment to work on it. Hopefully that will change soon.
Thanks for your reviews, and thanks for reading!