A/N - I'm not dead and neither is this story. while JK still owns Harry potter, much to many folks disappointment, I am still alive and writing away. We are nearing the end of fourth year, and what a year it has been. I'm ironing out fifth year, and dealing with some other stuff, but more great story is still to come so don't lose faith. And now, without further ado, The Next Chapter!

35 The Return

Harry staggered as the portkey deposited him back to the ground. He hated portkey's enough when he was expecting them; the unexpected journey nearly saw him losing his dinner. He grabbed the stone before him to keep his balance, letting his vertigo pass before looking around at his surroundings.

He stood in a small graveyard. It was an old one, the headstones were moss covered and the grass unkempt. In the distance he could see a large house, sitting atop a hill with overgrown gardens surrounding it. A head of him, facing him, was a large plot, a grim reaper statue atop it staring at him. Looking around, and seeing no one, he slowly approached the statue, hoping to form some clue about where he was and why. Reaching out an unsteady hand, he wiped the grim away and read the inscription.

TOM RIDDLE

1905-1943

"I see you've met my father," a high, sickly voice simpered from behind him, "Bind him!"

Harry tried to dodge, but he was just too shocked and surprised to do it quickly enough. Ropes whipped around him, smashing his legs together and wrenching his arms to his sides. He fell hard. His head glancing off a headstone on his way down. Ignoring the pain, he turned his head, trying to see his attackers but there was too much between him and the voice.

"Good job, Wormtail, now bind him to the statue and prepare for the ritual," the voice

commanded. Harry's ire rising at the hated name.

Harry felt himself levitated up, rising and turning to face his attackers. Before him, the feral face of Peter Pettigrew. Still distinctly rat-like, with beady eyes and a protruding nose. The sight of the man who betrayed his parents sent Harry into a frenzy trying to escape, struggling hard against his bonds.

"Now now, Harry," the voice crooned, "don't exhaust yourself uselessly, I have plans for you…"

Harry turned his attention to the source of the voice. Sitting on the ground behind Pettigrew, in a nest of blankets, lay a ghastly sight. The size of a small child, but withered and feeble, it looked like some dog's old chew toy. An unnaturally thin head topped stooped shoulders, a stick thin arm held a wand pointed at him that was not much larger than the arm that held it.

"Crucio." The casually cast spell the thing sent at him sent pain through every nerve in his body. Every piece of him felt like it was on fire, screaming with agony. His limbs still thrashed, but this time in the throes of agony as he writhed. A scream ripped from his throat and did nothing but encourage the cackling coming from the thing.

By the time Harry regained himself, he was trussed up to the statue, his arms and legs securely bound and his wand nowhere to be seen. Deep breathing seemed to be all he could do without excruciating pain, so he focused on that.

As he did, he watched, Peter hauled out a giant cauldron, one big enough he thought Hagrid could take a bath in it. It sloshed a silvery green liquid as it moved, and the skreech the thing emitted when some almost spilled was almost amusing. Peter soon had a fire going, and the liquid started to bubble.

Harry knew he was in trouble, and also feared it was more than he ever had before. As sickly and decrepit as the thing commanding the rat was, Harry knew there was more to it. Given the prophecy Trelawney had given him last year, he thought it was a good bet it was Voldemort in some form or another. Add to that the location and the obvious delight the small creature was experiencing, Harry feared that soon Lord Voldemort would walk the earth in a body of his own, and there was no way to stop it.

Harry sighed softly to himself. He had finally found something worth fighting for, someone worth fighting for, and his arch nemesis was about to resurrect himself and he doubted Voldemort planned on letting him live much past that point. Wait a second… Harry's mind raced. Hermione, the link they had, could he call for help? Given the limited experience they'd gained experimenting, he had no idea, but he'd far rather spend his time trying than feeling defeated.

Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.

He poured everything he had into the link, every ounce of his being and every bit of love he had for her. He sent the name Tom Riddle. He sent Voldemort and Pettigrew. He sent Resurrection. He called and pleaded for her to help. He asked her to be safe.

He watched Peter stir the potion, following Voldemort's instructions carefully, and Harry prayed help would arrive in time.


"Move! Out of the way!" Hermione pushed and shoved, trying to force her way towards the stage as everyone else tried to do the same. They wanted to hear what happened, she just wanted to know Harry was ok.

Bursting out of the crowd, she saw Fleur, Victor, and Cedric arguing loudly with the judges, or at least Dumbledore. Maxime seemed concerned about something, while Bagman appeared concerned but more about the bad image they were projecting than about whatever was being argued.

"What happened? Where is Harry?" she demanded, breaking into the argument.

"Miss Granger, let us do our job," Dumbledore shooed her away, "There is nothing you need to know."

"Nothing I need to know? Where is Harry? Why did he not return with the others?" Hermione bellowed,

"I'm sure he is fine, Miss Granger," Albus tried to placate her, "It is just a little mishap, nothing to worry about."

"I disagree, Headmaster," Cedric cut in, "we all had not seen Harry, nor any sign of him, since we entered the maze. Since none of us activated our portkeys, they were remotely activated."

"By your own instructions," Victor continued, "that would only happen if the winner picked up the cup. So where is the winner and the cup? It had to be Harry so where is he?"

"I'm sure the portkey must have failed for some reason, so he is merely in the center of the maze. He's perfectly safe," Dumbledore assured them.

"He's perfectly safe in the middle of the Maze?" Fleur asked incredulously. "You are insane! There are so many dangers in there it's not funny."

"Headmaster," Cedric struggled to contain his growing fury at this man's idiocy, "how can he be safe surrounded by Bogarts, Dementors, Skrewts, Fire Crabs, and everything else Hagrid found to stuff in there?"

"If he gets hurt because of your… your…." Hermione trailed off, something buzzing at the back of her head, like a memory she couldn't quite find.

Harry, she realized, turning from the confrontation. Harry was trying to tell her something. She tuned out the noise, she looked inside. She found Midnight waiting for her in the mindscape.

"I need help, I need to find Harry," She told the cat. "Can you help?"

They looked over as Shadow jumped out of Midnight's shadow.

#Tom Riddle#

#Voldemort#

#Resurrection#

#Peter the rat#

#Help#

#Be safe#

#I Love You#

The cat winced, shaking itself as if in pain.

#Can't stay. I must return. Help us.#

Shadow jumped back into Midnight's shadow, vanishing once more and leaving Hermione crying.

#Fear not, we shall find them# Midnight purred, batting Hermione's hand with her head. #Together we shall find them. We need Professor Tabby and Old Bones. They can help.#

Hermione opened her eyes, turning back to the argument that seemed to be repeating itself. She let her power go, let it rip and storm around her as she marched in front of Dumbledore. She barely noticed everyone get quiet as she closed the distance.

"Tom Riddle," she growled as power swirled around her, "who is he and where do I find him?"

Albus's shock at what he faced was evident. Before him stood a student, one of the brighter to be sure, but a student confronting him on things only he should know. He saw something different, something primal in her eyes. His mage sight was shocked at the writhing power he could see around her, rivaling even his, though it had been years since he had used his full power.

"I beg pardon?" Dumbledore temporized.

"Tom. Riddle," Hermione repeated. "Tell me everything you know."

"Well, what I know is actually very little…" Albus trailed off as Hermione growled and her aura flared again. "I really don't know much. He was a Muggle, lived near the Gaunts. He died over 50 years ago."

"And?" the menace in her voice shook the last bit out of Dumbledore.

"I think he may have been his father," he whispered.

"WHERE?" Hermione's demand was matched by a wave of power that pushed everyone else back a step.

"Little Hangleton." Dumbledore sighed.

"Thank you." Hermione turned, and spotted Professor McGonagall and Director Bones off to the side, as if waiting for her. As she stepped towards them, the waiting crowd parted, making a path for her. She walked down it, barely noting the looks of fear in the eyes of those she passed.

As she reached the older women, they parted, moving to either side and matching her pace as she shifted her target to get to the main gate.

"What do you know?" Madam Bones asked worriedly.

"Not much, just bits and pieces really," Hermione told them. "Tom Riddle, who Dumbledore thinks is Voldemort's father, lived in the village of Little Hangleton, he thinks. I know it's somehow related to wherever Harry is so we'll start there. Peter Pettigrew is involved, as is Voldemort. I think they're trying to resurrect him."

"Pettigrew? But he's dead." Amelia protested.

"No, he's been hiding as a rat for twelve years. We found him last year but he escaped. He's the one who really betrayed the Potters to Voldemort back then," Hermione informed her evenly. "We'll sit down and fill you in on everything soon, but now, we need to get to Harry."

"Boss, wait up!"

The trio turned to see Auror Tonks jogging to catch up. The out of breath auror slowed as she joined them, huffing as she asked if they needed help. Less than two minutes later, the foursome disappeared just outside the Hogwarts gates.


Harry tried to worry the ropes holding his right hand as Pettigrew started what appeared to be the final part of the ritual. He'd dumped the decrepit thing commanding him into the potion, so unless he intended to drown the thing, it would be over soon.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

The ground beneath Harry shook and slowly, as if burrowing it's way out, a human thigh bone rose from the dirt and floated into the cauldron. The potion turned white, simmering away on the flame.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master."

Peter held his right hand over the pot, and with a squeal, cut it off with a wicked looking knife. The potion became blood red, swirling and turning as it stirred by some invisible force.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Peter brought the wicked knife over, and sliced it up Harry's left forearm. He scraped the knife up the cut, gathering Harry's blood and unknowingly, a little acromantula goo as well. He returned to the cauldron, and tapping the back of the knife, dropped four drops of Harry's blood and sweat, into the cauldron. The Potion within hissed and boiled, turning a putrid green before becoming darkest black. The hissing continued to grow in volume as Peter backed up. It was good he did as moments later the cauldron exploded, sending shards everywhere and breaking the statue Harry was tied to.

Harry tumbled down, unnoticed by the others in the graveyard. Quietly, he scrambled behind the ruined edifice, peeking through a gap to watch the figure rise from the ruins of the cauldron. Tall and deathly pale, the bald figure rose, almost elegantly, and turned to where Pettigrew cowered.

"Robe me, Wormtail," a smooth, commanding tone spoke.

The cowering rat jumped at the command, but hurried over to a pile of cloth he'd set aside earlier. Picking up the rich silky looking robe, he brought it to the figure, slipping it on the man.

"My wand." The simple command again saw worktail scurrying, this time into his pockets to produce the item. The wand appeared, and was quickly reclaimed by the man who was obviously Voldemort. He turned to the rat, and Harry saw his face at last. Long and drawn, still hairless and missing his nose. It was his eyes though, that truly defined him. Dark and merciless. He wasn't sure how they were that, just that they were, and there was no other way to describe them. The other thing that Harry noticed was the veins. Whether it was an effect of the potion, the ritual or something else, Voldemort's veins stood out against his pale skin, dark, with a green tint, he swore he could almost see the blood flowing through them.

"Your arm, Wormtail."

"Oh thank you, Master. Thank you." The rat simpered in relief, holding out the stub of his right arm.

"Your other arm you fool," he snapped, and Wormtail cringed, fearfully holding out his left arm. Voldemort ripped it back, exposing the dark mark tattoo hidden there. With a gleeful smile, he pressed the tip of his wand into the skull, and a dark, oozy energy was released. "Now, we see who returns."

Cracks echoed into the night as people began to appear around the pair. Each stood tall in dark robes of pure black, a death's head mask covering each face as they scrambled into a circle around them. There were holes though, spaces where others should have stood. Harry saw a full dozen standing in the circle, but here were spots for twice that number.

"So. here we are again…" The smooth voice conveyed such menace that several of those assembled cringed. "We are assembled as we should have been years ago."

"My Lord, if we had had any clue..." one stammered in a voice Harry recognized.

"Lucius, there were clues," the smooth voice returned, consoling almost before hardening and grabbing the mask from his face. "You just didn't look for them." He twirled, grabbing masks and shouting their names. "Crabbe. Goyle. McNair." He waved his hand and all the masks disappeared. "All of you are failures."

Harry struggled against his bonds, finally slipping a blood-soaked hand free. Scrambling free, he spotted his wand beside the other items Wormtail had placed nearby. When he had pulled Voldemort's robe from the pile it must have slipped free. Quickly grabbing it, he moved to the side, hiding behind a gravestone. He dared not run for it, there were too many of them to hope to slip away unnoticed. He'd wait and bide his time.

Voldemort swirled, facing an empty spot next to Malfoy. "Dear sweet Bella would've found me. She was loyal. She went to Azkaban for me; she never lied to save herself. She shall be rewarded."

"I was loyal," Peter muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

"You came to me in fear!" Voldemort snapped, turning to face him, his robes billowing behind him. Then he paused. "But you did find me. You did return me to my body, and so, shall be rewarded." His wand flicked out, a silver mist lifted from the tip and coalesced around Wormtail's bloody stump. The mist curled and solidified, until where once there was a bloody stump, now there was a bright silver hand.

"Now, before we adjourn, there is one last thing to do." He turned to the damaged statue and roared. "Where is he!?" he turned to Wormtail, his dark eyes red with fury. Seizing his distraction, Harry jumped up, aimed, and fired a curse at the abomination's back.

"Reducto!"

Voldemort spun and flicked his wand, diverting the spell to his right. He didn't even bat an eye as it impacted one of the other death eaters behind him, blasting his arm into uselessness. His return spell had Harry dodging back under cover of the statue. More and more spells impacted, both from Voldemort and the death eaters.

"Enough," Voldemort called, and the spells stopped. "You have determination, Harry, I'll grant you that."

Harry peeked out a second, then ducked back as a death eater fired another curse, blasting a chuck of stone loose.

"I said enough," Voldemort bellowed, casting a silent curse that sent the death eater flying. "Come out, Harry, face your death like a man."

Harry paused, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Looking around he didn't have much choice, there was no cover near him, nowhere to run or to hide. Then he felt his breathing ease, and his heart slow. He felt a gentle caress as his link to Hermione burst to full strength again. Looking away from the house on the hill, he knew she was near. She was coming to help, and she had friends with her.

He stood, facing Voldemort. His Jaw set and his mind focused.

"Leash your dogs, Tom," he snapped. "Just you and me, just like every other time I've kicked your ass."