Chapter Nineteen

The Coward's Way Out

:.:.:

I felt my feet slam into the ground; Harry had fallen down beside me.

"Demetria?" he said. "What — How did you —"

But I wasn't paying much attention to Harry. Cedric had helped him up but I was more focused on where we were.

We'd left the Hogwarts grounds completely; we'd obviously traveled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. We were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to our right. A hill rose above us to our left. And yet, somehow, there was something eerily familiar about it all...

"Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" Cedric asked Harry.

"Nope," said Harry, looking around the silent graveyard. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

"No," I answered shortly, realizing where we were. "It's a trap."

"How d'you know?" Harry asked, urgently.

"Where did you even come from?" inquired Cedric.

"I can answer all of your questions later," I assured them. "Right now —"

Harry suddenly dropped to his knees, hands on his face. His scar. I whipped around and saw a shadowy figure carrying something . . . No, someone . . . in their arms. Then a high, cold voice said, "Kill the spare."

I pulled out my wand, but by the time I'd remembered the Killing Curse was unblockable, it was too late...

"Cedric!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

I'd moved to push him out of the way, but to no avail. A blast of green light had been cast before me, and the body I tackled to the ground was lifeless. Cedric Diggory was dead.

"WORMTAIL!" I cried out in both anger and sadness. I turned back to face him, because I knew the cloaked figure was him and the bundle he held was Lord Voldemort himself. This was the graveyard I'd seen in my dream about my mother when she first gave me the locket.

"Restrain her," came Voldemort again.

I screamed, the same familiar flash of white light jetting out from, not only my fingertips, but my palms. My entire hand was sending out a wave of magic; it sent both Voldemort's fetal body and Wormtail flying backwards. But when I'd rushed back to grab Harry and the Triwizard Cup, another hooded figure appeared and placed me in the Full Body-Bind Curse. I dropped to the ground, unable to move — a feeling that was quickly becoming far too familiar for my liking.

"Told you I'd see you soon, didn't I?"

Dolohov. If I'd been able to, I would've spat on him.

He rushed off to do Godric-knows-what; the sounds I was hearing didn't give me much of a clue, and all I could see was the blanket of stars I was laying under . . . just as I had been not long ago with Cedric . . . I could feel tears begin to trickle down my face.

It didn't seem real. I was certain it couldn't be. Cedric would wake up . . . he had to . . .

When Dolohov made his way back over to me, he dragged me over to the yew tree, propped me up against it, and began conjuring tight cords around both myself and the tree. I saw Wormtail was doing the same to Harry, except he was being tied to a marble headstone, the name upon it reading: TOM RIDDLE

"I'll have to thank Barty for warning me about you," said Dolohov, smirking. "If not for him, you might've actually saved someone's life today," he laughed cynically, catching a tear that had just fallen from my eye. He then drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into my mouth.

"All right over there, Wormtail?" he called across the ground. "What would he do without me?" But before he'd gone off to help, he took the curse off of me, not that it made much of a difference.

I instantly began wriggling, trying to perhaps loosen the ropes or free a hand or something, but nothing worked. I even tried leaning forward in an attempt to bite it, but I couldn't reach. It was impossible to move an inch; all I could do was watch what they were doing to Harry.

Wormtail began fumbling over the knots, so Dolohov took over. Wormtail instead shoved what appeared to be a similar piece of material into Harry's mouth. Once they were both done with their tasks, they hurried off. I didn't see where they'd gone, but I did see a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where Harry was tied. Nagini.

When Wormtail and Dolohov returned, they were pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. I couldn't see what was inside, but I assumed by the sloshing sound that it was water...or at least, liquid of some kind. Wormtail set a crackling fire beneath it.

Fiery sparks began shooting out of it, steam thickening, blurring my vision of Harry. Voldemort's high, cold voice came again.

"Hurry!"

He was stirring restlessly on the ground inside the bundle of robes. He was so small, so feeble . . . I could've so easily just rid the world of him right then and there. The desire to do so was enough to start wriggling again. I knew it was probably hopeless, but no one was paying attention to me, and something was bound to give eventually if I kept trying. It took a lot of energy to move at all, though, being that it was so difficult to do so. After very few attempts, I was already feeling tired and sore, the cords practically cutting into me.

"It is ready, Master," said Wormtail.

"Now..."

Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, Harry letting out a strangled yell as the creature inside was revealed. I had to admit, even though I knew Voldemort wasn't looking his best these days, I was shocked and disgusted to actually see it for myself.

It looked as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The almighty Dark Lord may have been the shape of a crouched human child, but it couldn't've looked like anything less. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face was flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes. It put its thin arms up, around Wormtail's neck, and he lifted it, carrying it to the cauldron. He lowered Voldemort into it, and all was so quiet, I could actually hear his frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud, even from the distance at which I stood.

"Don't fuck this up," I heard Dolohov tell Wormtail who began speaking, voice shaking.

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

I wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but it looked as though a fine trickle of dust had risen into the air from the surface of the grave, and fell softly into the cauldron; it sent sparks in all different directions.

Wormtail began whimpering now, pulling a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.

"Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand which had a missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand, swung it upward, and then brought it back down. Wormtail had chopped off his own hand; he deserved worse.

The cauldron began to shine burning red as he dropped it in. Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. I watched that slimy bastard suffer. Then he placed himself right in front of Harry.

"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe."

Wormtail dug the dagger into the crook of Harry's right arm, blood now seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for something I couldn't see at first . . . something to catch Harry's blood . . . it was a glass vial. He staggered back to the cauldron and poured it inside.

The liquid turned a blinding white, shining out onto Harry, almost like my own . . . Bloody hell, why didn't I think of that sooner?!

I was no longer watching whatever Wormtail was doing, instead I looked over at Cedric, sprawled on the ground some twenty feet away. I could see his grey eyes were still open, wide and staring up at the sky. I thought of how I would never again be able to stare into those eyes and see them glitter with warmth and love as they often did when he looked at me. I thought of how I would never again be wrapped in his arms or feel his lips on mine . . . I thought of how Wormtail took all of that away from me, took away my love. I thought of how someone else — and I wish to Salazar I knew who — took away my parents. I thought of how Voldemort stole my family from me and tortured my grandfather into feeling as though he had to keep the truth about my life from me.

But no matter how hard I tried to fill myself with boiling blood and anger, I couldn't. All I produced were more tears.

Suddenly, I turned my attention back to the cauldron, the sparks emanating from it extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of me, so that I couldn't see Wormtail, Cedric, Harry, or Dolohov; nothing but the vapor hanging in the air.

But then, through the mist in front of me, I saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry, his back to me. But I didn't need to see the undoubtedly pale, scarlet-eyed, snake-like face of this man to know who it was — Lord Voldemort.

He paid me absolutely no mind, not even Wormtail or Dolohov. He admired his new body while Wormtail lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, and Nagini returned, circling Harry and hissing.

Voldemort retrieved his wand and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. He then turned his focus to Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

"My Lord . . ." choked Wormtail, wrapping the stump of his arm in his bloody robes. "My Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise . . ."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master . . ."

He extended his bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master, please . . . please . . ."

I could practically feel bile rising in my throat. Wormtail . . . Dolohov . . . Death Eaters . . . they were such pathetic cowards, it made me sick . . . And yet, I was to become one. I was staring at my future...

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and began examining his Dark Mark.

"It is back," he said softly. "they will all have noticed it . . . and now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . ."

Voldemort pressed a finger to Wormtail's Mark, causing him to let out a howl of pain. Dolohov also cried out, his own sleeve rolled up. Both Marks turned from vivid red to jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and looked to Dolohov now.

"You have proven most useful and loyal, Antonin," Voldemort told him; Dolohov bowed. "Now, how many will be brave enough to return when they feel it? And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

It seemed as though I would be reuniting with Grandad after all...

My insides went cold as Voldemort's gaze fell upon me, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face. He walked toward me.

"Ah, and here is our little heroine," he said darkly. "I certainly hope you know where your loyalties lie, Demetria Harris."

I only stared back at him, eyes and expression void of any emotion.

That was all he said to me before turning back to Harry. I actually wished he would've said a bit more, like maybe what he planned to do with me... After all, if Barty Crouch Jr. really had been posing as Moody, Voldemort undoubtedly knew that I was the one who let it slip that Crouch's son was alive...

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," Voldemort hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool . . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child . . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death . . ."

Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, Nagini continuing to circle in the grass.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was . . . He didn't like magic, my father . . ."

"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage . . . but I vowed to find him . . . I revenged myself upon him, that fool, who gave me his name . . . Tom Riddle . . ."

Still he paced.

"Listen to me, reliving family history . . ." he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental . . . But look, Harry! My true family returns . . ."

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree to which I was tied, in every shadowy space, Death Eaters were Apparating, all hooded and masked. One by one, they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. One of them fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master . . . Master . . ."

Like I said: pathetic...

Each Death Eater moved forward to do the same before standing up and backing away, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, Dolohov, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, and one was directly in front of me.

"Dolohov, see if young Harris would care to join," hissed Voldemort, eyes piercing through me even from across the way.

Dolohov moved rather quickly over to me, grinning wickedly, as he often did.

"Well, what say you, Switzerland?" he asked. "Friend . . . or foe?"

He removed the gag from my mouth; it took me a moment of coughing to find my voice. I looked to Harry...

I'm sorry.

"Friend," I said.

"We'll see about that, won't we?" he said, now freeing me from the ropes.

Voldemort waited for Dolohov and I to join the circle before speaking again. I didn't dare look at Harry.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years . . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were only yesterday . . . We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.

"I smell guilt," he said; I hoped it wasn't me. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air."

I would've been worried, if one could actually smell guilt... Although, I didn't feel guilty about what I'd done, telling Dumbledore about Crouch Jr. The only thing I felt guilty for was what I'd just said to Dolohov . . . that I'd taken the coward's way out.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt appearances! — and I ask myself . . . why did that band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke. No one even moved except Wormtail, who was still upon the ground, sobbing over his bleeding arm.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort. "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment . . .

"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them, as did I.

"It is a disappointment to me . . . I confess myself disappointed . . ."

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet, and I couldn't tell who it was until he spoke.

"Master!" he shrieked; it sounded like Lucas Avery. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Avery writhed and shrieked until Voldemort raised his wand again, Avery laying flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive, I do not forget. Thirteen long years . . . I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail. "please, Master . . . please . . ."

I had to be careful now, because I was no longer gagged, and people would be able to hear me if I scoffed or made some other disgusted noise.

"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me . . . and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers . . ."

Worthless and traitorous . . . I was no better than Wormtail. I switched sides to save myself and the people I cared for . . . did that make it a noble act, or simply a cowardly one? Was I no better than the Death Eaters currently rotting away in Azkaban? They did not betray their master, turn their back on their loyalties . . . they stood by their beliefs . . . and they may've been the wrong beliefs to have, but at least they had some. I was beginning to feel I had none . . . that I'd simply do whatever it took to survive . . . like Wormtail . . .

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Master . . . it is beautiful . . . thank you . . . thank you . . ."

He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.

"No, My Lord . . . never, My Lord . . ."

Bullshite.

Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.

"Lucius," he whispered, halting before him.

Though it was a rather unimportant and silly thing to be thinking, I couldn't help wondering how the sodding hell Voldemort knew who was who. I'd seen these people almost every day for nearly eight years and I could barely tell, what with the hoods and masks. There was one Death Eater I was able to point out without first having to hear their voice, though, and he was standing right next to Lucius Malfoy.

"Carlisle," Voldemort addressed him as well. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you both present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you neer tried to find me . . . Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay . . . but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, we were constantly on the alert," came Lucius's voice swiftly from beneath the hood, behind the mask. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, we would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented us —"

"Oh, I believe Carlisle would have . . . But you, Lucius? You ran from my Mark when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer..." Voldemort said lazily. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius . . . You have disappointed me . . . I expect more faithful service in the future.

"Of course, My Lord, of course . . . You are merciful, thank you . . ."

"Carlisle, do keep a closer eye on our slippery friend."

"Yes, My Lord, as you wish," said Grandad calmly. It wasn't something one should be particularly proud of, but Grandad had become a pro at shite like this.

Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space — large enough for two people — that separated Grandad and the next man.

"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than denounce me . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us . . . they are our natural allies . . . we will recall the banished giants . . . I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all will fear. . ."

He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

"Macnair . . . destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide. . ."

"Thank you, Master . . . thank you," Macnair murmured.

"And here" Voldemort had moved on to the two largest hooded figures. "we have Crabbe . . . you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master . . ."

"We will, Master . . ."

"The same goes for you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Goyle's shadow.

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —"

"That will do," said Voldemort before reaching another hooded figure that I recognized. "Turner . . . take young Harris under your wing . . . and I'm sure I can expect nothing but your most unquestionable loyalty from here on out?"

"Yes, of course, My Lord," Benjamin said quietly.

Voldemort then reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return . . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever . . . he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service."

Everyone in the circle stirred.

"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our guest of honor arrived here tonight. . ."

Barty Crouch Jr. ...

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction, mine included. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party."

There was a silence, then Lucius stepped forward.

"Master, we crave to know . . . we beg you to tell us . . . how you have achieved this . . . this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us . . ."

"Ah, what a story that is, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins — and ends — with my young friend here."

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. Nagini continued to circle.

"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, red eyes upon Harry. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen . . . I could not touch the boy."

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek.

"His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice . . . This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it . . . but no matter. I can touch him now."

And so he did. Harry looked as though he was about to burst from the pain, I only could've imagined how badly his scar must've been hurting... Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued addressing the Death Eaters, er, well...us...

"I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah . . . pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know . . . I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked . . . for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself . . . for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand . . .

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist . . . I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited . . . Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me . . . one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body . . . but I waited in vain . . ."

The shiver ran once more around the circle. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

"Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where the other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals — snakes, of course, being my preference — but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic . . . and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long . . .

"Then . . . four years ago . . . the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard — young, foolish, and gullible — wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of . . . for he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school . . . he was easy to bend to my will . . . he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted . . . thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter..."

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. I wondered if anyone was simply just pretending to be as interested as they all looked.

"The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as I had ever been," Voldemort continued. "I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn't then fear that I might never regain my powers . . . Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour . . . I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess . . . and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me..."

One or two of the masked wizards shifted uncomfortably, but Voldemort didn't notice.

"And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last . . . a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumored I was hiding . . . helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them...

"But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food . . . and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic.

"Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail — displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him — convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her . . . he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined it all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams . . . for — with a little persuasion — she became a veritable mine of information.

"She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things . . . but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Wormtail's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients of true rebirth . . . a spell or two of my own invention . . . a little help from my dear Nagini, a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided . . . I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.

"There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer's Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower . . . I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength.

"I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant...

"My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe . . . Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me . . . as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago . . . for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too...

"But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy's protection as long as he is in his relations' care. Not even I can touch him there . . . Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup . . . I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt to kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him?

"Why . . . by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament — that he touched the Triwizard Cup first — the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is . . . the boy you all believed had been my downfall..."

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

I watched Harry suffer, his eyes rolling madly in his head, and knew there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

"I've had to learn to restrain myself from reaching out and helping the people suffering. It didn't mean I was born without a heart, honestly, I was just…trained to function without one."

Voldemort ceased and left Harry hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," said Voldemort. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini," he whispered to his snake, who then glided away through the grass to where we all stood watching.

"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."