AN: This is my version of the graveyard scene as it fits into my story and version of events. It is placed before the start of the main story and was inspired by a question from Theisaryz-Eufuelle

I purposefully didn't have the book version of events at hand when writing this, so there might be some things off. Just count them as changes made that start the deviation from canon ;)

I wish Happy Christmas to all that are celebrating! And to all of you a Happy New Year as well ;)

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The Graveyard

or

The Lost Prologue

Voldemort was impatient. Had been for months now, but getting the brat out from under the protections placed by Dumbledore wasn't at all easy. At least he knew he had reliable eyes inside of Hogwarts for a while. Enduring the bumbling and often times incompetent care of Wormtail was even harder than waiting. Although with the people he had had available, taking the bumbling fool to care for Lord Voldemort had been the wise choice. It also had been a nuisance.

But now the evening of his success was finally here. Today he would regain a proper body once more and would be able to once again strive for his goal. Would hold his wand again after all that time.

Bundled up inside the robes, Voldemort didn't see much of what was happening around him the moment the portkey – manipulated and placed by his faithful Bartemius – deposited the one reaching it first in the middle of the graveyard. But he could see that there was more than one boy stumbling around, trying to orient themselves. "Kill the spare!" Voldemort ordered his servant who had the audacity to actually use his Master's wand to cast the killing curse. But in the end it wasn't that important now. Wormtail would pay for that mistake later.

After that the ritual went smoothly. Wormtail gathered Voldemort up from the ground – reverently, as was proper – to lower the much too small and frail body into the cauldron. Voldemort welcomed the encompassing warmth. He had been almost constantly cold since he had taken possession of this temporary body some months ago. Knowing that these were the last moments he would be at the mercy of a lesser being felt wonderful.

Then with the snivelling, squeaky voice of Wormtail calling out "Bones of the father, unknowingly given, you will revive your son!" particles were added to the potion and power started to fill the weak muscles of the homunculus' body.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly offered, you will restore your master!" The splash of something heavy added more power coursing through the potion and Voldemort's temporary body. Distantly he wished that Wormtail wouldn't be snivelling and crying the whole time. It did tarnish this glorious event, if even only a little.

The next line of the spoken part of the ritual Voldemort had invented went unheard by the small form reveling in the power moving through the cauldron but he provided it in his thoughts all the same. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe. The blood was added and the process started.

Pain. Overwhelming pain. World-consuming pain. Soul-crushing pain. There was no room for anything else but The Pain. If he had had a voice he would have screamed, but while the body was formed there was no way to make his anguish heard.

Then the pain was gone. No, not completely gone, but faded to a dull throb in all the muscles, bones... all of his body. The body was bigger than the homunculus he had inhabited, but that was all Voldemort could say at the moment.

He was stunned. A little discomfort was what he had expected. But what had actually happened left him shaking in his hunched position.

With the lessening of the pain came terrible confusion. Had Wormtail made too many errors? Had the snivelling fool ruined the ritual? The fact that his body was much bigger now, and that the fluid in the cauldron no longer covered him indicated that all had gone reasonably well. But something had changed the ritual, or at least it felt as if something had happened that Voldemort hadn't anticipated.

Shivering, he shoved his worries over what might have happened aside. Now wasn't the time to ponder what exactly had happened. Voldemort knew what a type character Wormtail had, and he knew his own position. Naked, wandless, weakened from pain. If he showed any of his weakness and confusion to his cowering servant at this time, there was the possibility that the rat would kill him and run back to the Aurors in the hopes of getting out of the mess he had gotten himself into.

Voldemort had to project strength at all costs until he had Bartemius back at his side, or at least his wand back in his hand. Everything else would have to wait.

So with his mind concentrated on the task of masking the shaking in his cold limbs, Voldemort stood in the cauldron, examining his new body. The height was alright – it felt like he was again as tall as he had been in the past – but when he saw his own hands and the glittering pattern of scales, he had to repress a hiss of shock, barely managing it. What had the incompetent fool done? How Voldemort wished that he could have trusted Severus. The Potions Master wouldn't have ruined the potion to create… this!

"My robe!" Even his voice didn't sound like his own, there was too much hissing in it, making him sound like he was almost speaking parseltongue when he wasn't. Wormtail was going to suffer for this! With careful movements Voldemort stepped out of the caldroun.

Wormtail took longer than he should to hand his Lord the robe that had been waiting, and when he finally managed to hand over the robe, Voldemort was happy to cover his body quickly. Some parts of his upbringing were harder to get rid of than others.

Then he accepted his wand back – not paying any attention to Wormtail crumbling on the ground – and carefully turned it over in his hands. It seemed his wand hadn't taken any damage during the time it had been separated from him. It had been quick thinking from Wormtail to take the wand from the scene of Voldemort's failure that night. Until he had learned it was in the animagus' possession, he had always tried not to think too much on what might have happened to it. It had been a possibility that it had been destroyed the instant his body had been destroyed, or broken later by someone from the Ministry, or stolen and kept as a trophy somewhere, or… He wrenched his thoughts away from useless speculation. He still wasn't out of trouble quite yet. No time to waste on thinking about possibilities and risks. He needed to follow the plan and ban all other things from his mind for now.

"Give me your arm, Wormtail," he demanded, again hiding his discomfort at the hissing voice coming from his mouth. "The other one!" Voldemort sneered. That rat really was pathetic. But at the moment, even with one hand missing, Voldemort wasn't sure he would be able to defend himself, and that uncertainty was really frightening.

With a pulse of magic – what a relief that this was still working – Voldemort called all his Death Eaters to him. The Mark that had been dark again now flared hot red, before returning to its normal dark black appearance on Wormtail's forearm.

"And now we have to wait." He had planned to taunt Potter at this point, had spent hours imagining this exact moment, telling Potter of his brilliant plan to gain immortality, how he had managed to get his hands on Potter to make him an unwilling participant in this ritual. But now with the moment actually here, he didn't feel inclined to actually do it. So he instead stayed silent, subtly pacing near the fire, to loosen his cramped muscles and warm himself by the fire. It wasn't a cold night, but despite that he felt cold. What had gone wrong?

But there was no time for Voldemort to ponder his state and what have might influenced the ritual as the first sound of apparation reached his ear. Bartemius hopefully was now on his way out of Hogwarts towards one of the safe houses that hadn't been found after that disastrous night. It had been rather vexing, the way the young wizard had insisted he should stay at the school and watch how Dumbledore and his fools would react the moment they realized that Harry Potter had died. But Voldemort had insisted that Bartemius leave the castle the moment he felt the Mark burn. He wouldn't lose such a loyal and useful servant just to sate his curiosity. Not when he couldn't be sure how many would answer his call.

But it seemed there were quite a few still loyal, or at least afraid enough, to come to his side when he called. One after the other dropped to the ground, crawled over to him, kissed the hem of his robe in proper greeting, before they retreated again to stand in the circle around him, the now-empty cauldron, the whimpering Wormtail, and Harry Potter, still bound to the headstone, shaking and pale.

After the sounds of apparation had stopped, the number as big as it was going to get, Voldemort prepared to give Wormtail his promised gift and payment for his services these past few months. "You came back, not because you are loyal, but because you are weak, searching for protection. I gave you a task to earn your place among mine again. And now you will get what I promised you. Lord Voldemort always keeps his promises." And he did. Some promises others would call threats, but he always kept his word. So with his own wand in hand, Voldemort concentrated as fiercely as he was able to cast the spell he needed to keep Wormtail from bleeding out. A silver form coalesced in the air, creating the likeness of a hand, which then was directed to attach to Wormtail's bleeding arm.

After this was finished, Voldemort turned his attention to the circle of people around him. There were spots empty he had known would stay empty. Those that had died, those that had ended up in Azkaban. Severus was missing. By all accounts Wormtail had been able to provide him with, the man was a traitor, or a very good actor looking out for himself. Voldemort wasn't really that sure at the moment. The speech he had prepared for this moment came flawlessly to his lips. If the hissing quality to his voice was an asset or a hindrance, Voldemort wasn't so sure. The shudders and reactions – one was even unrefined enough to throw himself to the ground, begging – certainly were satisfying. If there weren't the dull throb in his head, and the soreness of his muscles, it would have been magnificent.

Their reaction to the presence of Harry Potter was as expected. He had planned to include an explanation of his intricate scheming in his speech, but if he wanted to get rid of the troublesome child easily, he needed to cut this short. So after he had completed the circle – making promises to some and threats to others, comments on their lack of action – and cut off Lucius' attempt to ask for an explanation of how this was at all possible, he sauntered over to Potter. He had planned to show that he was able to touch the boy, but suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore. What if this strange weakness that had cost him the help of Quirrell had carried over to this new body? His current state wasn't one he would call strong, he certainly wasn't willing to risk everything for just touching the boy.

"Old magic was able to shield this child. But now, now he will finally end by my wand, here in front of you all." Clearly the boy was already weakened by the challenges of the maze, the portkey travel had seemingly not agreed with him either, and he still was losing blood through the cut Wormtail had made. All that was no reason not to weaken him further.

"Crucio!"

The boy screamed a blood curdling scream, muffled by the rag Wormtail had shoved in the boy's mouth. It felt good to see another in pain, helped Voldemort to ignore his own pain. The fact that magic still seemed to come easily was a relief. For a short moment he had feared… but now wasn't the time. All around him the Death Eaters were laughing. Voldemort still needed to establish his dominance. No time to ponder his pains, his confusion, or that unprecedented doubt making an appearance again and again.

A wave with his hand had Wormtail scuttling towards the boy, cutting the ropes, removing the gag, handing the brat's wand back. Now was the time to kill the boy, make sure he wasn't a threat, and remove all doubts from his followers' minds.

"Have you learned to duel?" He needed to appear in control of the situation, being strong, when all he really wanted to do was curl up with his snake, a pot of tea, and a blanket in front of a fire. He was so damn cold.

Just as expected the boy didn't answer, but struggled to stand straight, his wand held defiantly out before him. It looked like he was favouring one leg, and still here he stood, preparing to fight for his life. So much more courage and backbone than any of the adults standing around them in a circle, now closing in to make escape almost impossible.

"We bow to each other," Voldemort almost hissed again. This voice was unpleasant, he would need to find a way to rectify that, and maybe one to duplicate it. In the right circumstances it would be an excellent tool. He gave a short, curt nod with his head, not really a bow, but why should he bow? "Come now, Harry. You should follow proper procedure! It's only polite! Bow to Death!" Again the Death Eaters laughed.

The boy didn't bow, the fire of defiance burning brighter in those green eyes. While admirable, it wouldn't do, so with a flick of his wand, Voldemort made the boy bow by simply forcing his body to move as he wanted by affecting the air around the boy.

"And now face me, brave and proud, just as your father, moments before his Death." The last word again ended in a hiss, and just because he could, and because his people would expect some grandstanding and playing – like a cat with a mouse – the first spell Voldemort cast at the unbound child was a Crucio.

After the spell was lifted the last Potter staggered to his feet, colliding with the wall of dark-robes figures surrounding them, being pushed back to where he had started. Impressive. Most people would stay down much longer after one of his crucios. Maybe they had become weaker?

Maybe a little more taunting would be enough to meet expectations before he could kill the child, and then find rest and some potions against his pain. "That hurt, didn't it Harry? Do you want me to do that again?" He made his tone mocking, trying to stand at ease, smiling a predatory smile. Why couldn't this be already over?

But the boy said nothing, his eyes frantically searching for any openings he could use to escape. That wouldn't do. "I asked if you want me to do that again! Answer me!" He cast an Imperio, instructing the mind he came in contact with to answer with a no, or even some begging. Begging would be nice. But the spell didn't feel all that strong. Was that because he wasn't in his best form at the moment? Or because the boy's mind was strong enough to actively fight him? Bartemius had reported that the Potter boy had shown promise in that regard.

"I WILL NOT!" The shout startled Voldemort, and brought hisses and incredulous shouts from the Death Eaters around them.

Then the duel started in earnest. The boy started to dodge Voldemort's curses, and he quickly moved from crucio to the death curse. He couldn't let the boy get away. And it couldn't look like he had lost control of the situation. So he laughed like a maniac, like someone having fun chasing their prey until it keeled over from exhaustion. Hopefully it would be enough to fool the people looking on.

Suddenly the boy popped up from behind one of the headstones and they both cast a spell almost at the same time. Voldemort cast the killing curse, and judging by the light of the spell flying towards him, Potter had cast an Expelliarmus. How droll.

But then something unexpected happened. The spells collided in the air, and suddenly a golden beam connected their wands. Horror was the primary emotion Voldemort felt as they both were lifted into the air, moved and set down again a little away from the place where the ritual giving him back a body had taken place.

What the hell was this?

Everything that happened after that went by in a blur. And it ended with the boy gone, Voldemort in a fury bad enough that he cursed many of his Death Eaters with the Cruciatus, before he sent them away. Now wasn't the right moment for all of Wizarding Britain to learn of his return. Mostly operating on automatic, Voldemort instructed his people to keep a low profile. "Lucius, you will have the honour of providing me with shelter for the time being. Leave to prepare rooms for me, and to inform your wife." He was so very tired.

"I'm honoured, my Lord," was Lucius' reply, delivered with a deep bow before he left via apparation.

Wormtail was instructed to clean up the place, so the Aurors most likely to come to the place soon wouldn't find anything worthwhile, and after that was taken care of, Voldemort apparate himself and his familiar Nagini to the comforts of Malfoy Manor. Something to eat, a warm bath, and a bed sounded like a pretty good plan at this point.

This boy had more luck than anyone had any right to.

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Thanks to Jordre and Jake for helping to improve my spelling!

First published on the 24th of December 2017

AN: I cut out most of the Priori Incantatem Scene… but I guess that should work out well enough. What do you think of my adaption of this? Makes sense? Still missing important information?

I had fun writing this and hope other questions will inspire my muse to offer more little interesting tidbits ;)