Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter; this story is full steam ahead from now on. The next chapter should be just about double this length, so it'll be pretty long.
S/N 2: I know Voldemort says "Foe" and "Forcefully", and Barty says "Enemy" and "Forcibly", I did it purposely. I changed a few things in the ritual, too, see if you can spot them.
Chapter 20: Where the shadows dwell
In a room in a large manor, over looking Little Hangleton, two wizards conversed. The fire blazing in the corner from the fireplace was the only light; it created shadows around the place, which danced on the dusty walls with their peeling wallpaper. One man, dressed in a black cloak, bowed in front of a throne-like chair. The occupant of the chair was a small, feeble and ugly creature, who had pale skin, and slits for a nose. "There are difficult spells that we could use, for you were always one of my more…able followers, but the potion and ritual will give me a more powerful body." Voldemort hissed wisely. "Are you sure you can take him?"
"Leave him to me." Barty replied, an arrogant smirk playing at his face. Over the years that his father had held him prisoner under the Imperius curse, the only orders he had given were to not leave the house and to stay under the cloak. So, as a means to pass the time, Barty had read every book that was in the house, learning new spells, charms, and potions all the while. "By tonight, my master." He muttered, turning around and marching out of the room. Once he was past the wards that were in the room, he apparated out to a darkened house, his wand at the ready.
He slowly made his way towards the door, feeling the magic that was around it. Then, as if lightning struck, a red beam came flying out of the window, heading straight towards Barty. Rolling to the side, Barty quickly threw up a shield, blocking the stupefies that came his way. Damn it, he scowled in his mind, I should have anticipated Moody would have known I was here the second I arrived. That darn foe glass! He flicked his wand out, engulfing the shrubs around the house in flames, which quickly spread to the house itself. "Come out, come out, Mad-Eye!" He yelled into the night, ducking under another stupefy spell. He jabbed his wand towards the front door, releasing a purple beam, which blew the door away, leaving it a pile of splinters. He smirked as an aged, battle-worn wizard hobbled out of the house; his lips pursed in concentration. The wizard flicked his wand towards his house, extinguishing the flames in a torrent of water. "The years have not been good to you, have they, Moody?"
Moody narrowed his eyes at the man, recognizing him. It was a face, older, but still the same, that he had seen years ago; back when young Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. "You're supposed to be dead! You died in Azkaban." Moody gasped, gripping his wand more tightly. His scarred and marked face, which was missing chunks, formed into a scowl; he looked as if an artist with only a rudimentary knowledge of the human form had crafted him from wood.
"I'm afraid," Barty smirked, evilly. His eyes had a madness in them, a strange gleam that made him look insane, though he was of a perfectly sound mind—or however sound a mind of a guy like him could be. "That the stories of my demise have been greatly…misinterpreted. And as you can see I'm no longer in Azkaban." He said, arrogantly, showing his supposed superiority to the former Auror.
"I'll see to it that you are!" Moody screamed, throwing a hex at the man. Barty, using his quicker reflexes and speed, dodged it and sent a blasting hex at the former Auror. Moody put up a shield, deflecting the attack and sending it towards a tree on the other side of the yard. Twirling his wand, Moody sent a yellow sphere at Barty, who lazily dodged it, apparently unimpressed. Again, Moody sent an attack, this time with a little more power, but that too was made null by a simple action of Barty's. Barty laughed maniacally, sending a curse of his own at Moody. It hit Moody's arm, burning it to the bone, but not showing any damage. He howled in pain, loosening his grip on his wand. Seeing his chance, Barty sent a simple expelliarmus at the former Auror, which threw the wand ten feet away from him.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen. Your age and injuries have caught up to you, haven't they, Moody?" Barty mocked, summoning Moody's wand into his hands. He looked at Mad-Eye with nothing but contempt, a disgusted look on his pale features. "I admit, I was slightly worried about coming to face you, but this is not what I expected. To be honest, I thought you'd be a lot less pathetic."
"Just kill me and get it over with." Moody scowled, seemingly accepting his fate. It wasn't like him to give up, to roll over, but without his wand, without his weapon, what was the point of fighting? He was old and haggard, half of his body being marked by his lifelong battle against the dark arts, he couldn't fight back physically: magic was the only thing he had.
"I'm not here to kill you." Barty said, raising his wand at Moody. He sent a stupefy at him, making Mad-Eye fall to the ground, unconscious. He picked up Moody's wand, knowing that Voldemort would need one, and kept it close to him. "I'm here to kidnap you; much different than killing." He reached into his pocket and took out a rock that Voldemort had turned into a portkey. Grabbing Moody by the back of his robes, Barty activated the portkey, disappearing in a flash, leaving the yard scorched and ruined.
He arrived in a dark graveyard; a large house was situated on a hill above, just a few hundred feet away. He levitated Moody's unconscious body behind him, as he headed towards the center of the graveyard, where a torch was placed above a pile of robes. He dropped Moody to the ground, placed Moody's wand next to the robes, ran up to the house, and returned a few minutes later; once he did return, there was a small pop, barely audible through the night sky. Even so, Barty noticed it immediately, and bowed his head to the pile of dark, black robes. "Hello, master."
"Tie him up to the gravestone," Voldemort hissed from his place in the bundle of robes. His small frame stared up at Barty, who nodded and flicked his wand out at Moody. Moody flew up onto the gravestone, and cords wrapped around him, wreathing themselves tightly around the wizard's haggard frame. "Good," The Dark Lord muttered, grinning evilly. "Wake him up."
Barty did as he was told, following commands loyally, sending a rennervating beam at the ex-Auror. Moody's eyes snapped open, as his fake eye began to twirl in its socket, studying his surroundings, scanning the area in constant vigilance. "What do you want?" He sneered to Barty, not noticing the baby-like—although no baby was that ugly—Voldemort.
"Your blood, my dear Alastor." Voldemort hissed from Mad-Eye's side. "Once we have it, you'll be free." Voldemort said almost easily, as if taking someone's blood was the most common and innocuous thing to do.
"Voldemort?" Moody gasped, amazed that the wizard was still alive: after so long with no sign of him, even the cautious, even paranoid, Moody had thought the Dark Lord was dead and gone. His eyes flicked over to Barty, as the wizard pushed a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water—Mad-Eye could hear it sloping around—and it was larger than any cauldron the old Auror had ever seen; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in. Barty busied himself with his wand at the bottom of the cauldron, then, suddenly, there was a crackling of flames beneath it.
Voldemort stirred more persistently in his bundle of robes, as though trying to free himself. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface not only began to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as if it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring Barty's image to Mad-Eye, as Voldemort hissed out into the night. "Hurry."
The whole surface of water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds. "It's ready, Master." Barty said, pulling open the robes and allowing Mad-Eye to see Voldemort with his non-magical eye for the first time. It was as if the Death Eater flipped over a rock, revealing something ugly, slimy, and blind—but worse, a thousand times worse. He was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. His arms and legs were thin and feeble, and his face was flat and snakelike with gleaming red eyes. Voldemort seemed almost helpless; he raised his thin arms, put them around Barty's neck, and allowed the man to carry him over to the cauldron.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly taken. Flesh of the servant, willingly given. Blood of the foe, forcefully stolen." Voldemort hissed, before allowing Barty to dunk him into the fiery liquid. Voldemort vanished below the surface, his frail body hitting the bottom of the cauldron with a soft thud.
"Drown you disgusting ferret." Moody growled from his place against the headstone. Barty sent him a look, as to quiet the aged wizard, but otherwise ignored the comment. Apprehensively, half of Moody's attention was on the ritual with his real eye, while his other swirled in it's socket, looking for a way out, a way to alert Albus Dumbledore that Voldemort was about to return.
Crouch was speaking; his voice was strong and confident, with an air of excitement in it. He raised his wand into the air and spoke to the night. "Bone of the father, unknowingly taken, you will renew your son!" The surface of the grave at Moody's feet cracked, opening a thin crevice in the hard ground. Curious, Moody watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Crouch's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the liquid sparked and gurgled, turning a poisonous-looking blue color.
Barty gave a sadistic smirk as he pulled out a long, thin, shinning silver dagger from inside his black cloak. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" He stretched his left hand out in front of him, gripped the dagger tightly with his right, and swung it upwards. Barty bit down on his lip as a wave of pain overtook him, blocking his mind from thinking about anything but his severed hand that fell to the ground, limp. Crouch panted a little, picking up his hand and dropping it into the blue liquid with a sickening splash. The potion turned into a burning red as soon as the flesh entered the morbid stew.
Moody watched as Crouch wrapped a piece of cloth around his stub, grabbed the dagger from the ground, and tramped over towards him. Then, stopping just a foot before the Auror, Crouch called into the night. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly stolen, you will resurrect your foe!" Not being able to put up a fight due to the ropes, he grimaced as Crouch ran the silver dagger down his left arm, creating a line of blood that rushed out of the wound. Crouch held a glass vial up to the cut, allowing the trickle of blood to fall into it. Then, staggering back to the cauldron, Barty poured the blood into the cauldron. The liquid within, instantly, turned into a blinding white. His job done, Crouch fell to the ground, his back against a headstone, cradling his stump of an arm.
The cauldron was simmering, sending it's burning sparks out in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned everything else into ebony darkness. Suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron extinguished, leaving an eerie silence in its place, as if it were the calm before the storm. Then, with one great puff, a surge of white steam came out of the cauldron, blinding Moody from everything but the vapor hanging in the air. Through the mist in front of him, Moody saw an outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from within the cauldron.
"Master," Barty said from the ground, bowing next to the cauldron. Sweat was on his brow, and his face was pale and tired-looking. "Your robes." He held out a set of black robes in his hand, trying to rise to his feet to robe his master; he stumbled a bit, the lack of blood disorienting him.
"Stay," Voldemort ordered, making Barty stop what he was doing. The Dark Lord climbed out of the cauldron, grabbed the clothes from his servant's arms, and tossed them over his head, pulling them down so they were covering his body. Moody closed his eyes in horror, having hoped to never experience this wizard's destruction again. Being whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils, Lord Voldemort had risen again.
Voldemort examined his new body. His hands were like large, pale spiders, with his unnaturally long fingers as its legs. They caressed his chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed menacingly through the dark night. He held up his arms, flexing his muscles and fingers, his expression rapt and jubilant. He turned his scarlet eyes upon Moody, releasing a high, cold, mirthless laugh. Then, with long, fluid strides, he strolled over to Barty, who raised his right arm towards him. Voldemort rolled up Barty's sleeve, revealing a red tattoo of a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull. It was, undoubtedly, the sign that froze people's minds and hearts in fear, the Dark Mark. It's back, he thought to himself, they will have noticed it and now, we shall see…we shall know. He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Barty's arm, forcing it to turn jet black. Dropping Barty's arm, the Dark Lord turned and walked a few steps, stopping as a cat ran across the lawn in the distance.
"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" He whispered more to himself than to Barty, though the wizard had heard it. His gleaming red eyes rose to the stars, as a cruel smirk appeared on his pale face. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?" He began to pace up and down before Barty and Moody, his eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. He bent down and picked up Moody's wand, pocketing it for use later—his wand having been left at the Potter's twenty years ago. A huge snake slithered out from the shadows suddenly, circling around Moody and heading towards Voldemort. "Ah, Nagini, I was wondering where you've been." Voldemort said, turning his attention to the snake. Then, suddenly, the air was full of swishing cloaks. "Now my true family returns!"
Between graves, behind the yew trees, in every shadowy space, wizards were apparating. All of them were hooded and masked, hiding their true identities from not only outsiders, but each other as well. One by one they moved forward, slowly, cautiously, as though they couldn't believe their eyes. They all fell to their knees, crawling up to Voldemort and kissing the hem of his robe, before backing off and forming a silent circle, which enclosed Voldemort, Moody, and Barty Crouch. Yet, even with twenty plus Death Eaters, they left spaces open as if waiting for people to fill them, though Voldemort looked like he didn't expect more.
"Welcome, Death Eaters." Voldemort said, quietly. He gazed around the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling ran around the circle, like it had shivered. "Twenty years…twenty years since we've last congregated. Yet you answer my call as if it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then!" He leaned his head back and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. "I smell guilt. The stench of guilt is upon the air."
Voldemort ran his eyes around the circle, counting how many open spaces there were. "Sixteen." He whispered under his breath, trying to figure out who wasn't there. "Eleven imprisoned, two dead, and one too much of a coward to return. Plus," he said, his eyes flicking over to Barty, who was hunched over, leaning against a gravestone. He swirled his wand, creating a ball of silvery liquid, which went flying over to the downed Death Eater, formed into a silver hand, and attached itself to the man's stump. Still, there's one more missing, he thought to himself, but who? "My most loyal!" He yelled out, impressed by the fact that the man didn't cry or beg once for Voldemort to complete on his promise. He strolled towards a Death Eater, making the man flinch as his lord came his way. Throwing himself at Voldemort's feet, the Death Eater began to beg for forgiveness. "Twenty-years, Avery! I want you to repay me for those twenty-years. Crucio!" He screamed out, sending the red beam of magic at the wizard.
Releasing the magic, Voldemort moved onto the spot next to Avery: it was a man of medium height and build. He wore a bone mask, blocking his face from view. "Lucius, I expected more from you. Do not betray me again." He threatened, an icy venom to his voice.
"Never again, my lord." Malfoy bowed, kissing Voldemort's robes. His long, white-blond hair cascaded out of his hood and over his shoulders, allowing all to see. His hair, his looks, were well known around the wizarding world, so his lack of tact in allowing his hair to be shown was a sure way for him to be profiled.
"The Carrows," Voldemort sneered to two plump people, who bowed in response. Then, moving his eyes over to the spot next to them, to a man with that seemed to stiffen at Voldemort's gaze, he said, "And Yaxley; three people who all escaped Azkaban by denying their loyalty to me. You will all pay dearly for that." He promised, moving on. "Crabbe, Goyle, looking as stupid as always, I see." He laughed, mockingly, and then walked away, passing them. "Walden Macnair, I've heard you have secured yourself a job executing beasts for the Ministry, is that right?" At the Death Eater's nod, he smiled. "Good, keep that position as our spy within the Ministry; since Rookwood was betrayed by our own, we'll need one. I promise that you will receive better prey as a result."
He continued on around the circle, stopping in front of a wizard with slumped shoulders. His body, though hidden beneath his black cloak, looked aged and worn. "Nott, still alive, I see? Very well, your services will be needed." Voldemort's eyes fell upon the Death Eater next to Nott. "Snape? Loyal still?" Voldemort said, somewhat surprised.
"Always, my lord." Snape replied as he bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the shadowed grass beneath him. Through his white mask he could see Voldemort's bare feet, bony and chalk-like, point towards him, showing that the Dark Lord had yet to move.
"We shall see." Voldemort hissed after a moment, striding past Snape without another look. "Three Lestranges loyally locked away in Azkaban." Voldemort said, staring at an empty spot within the circle that usually housed three of his most loyal Death Eaters. Then, he moved past a Death Eater, and looked at another row of empty posts that was big enough to hold five wizards. "Avery, Sr.," He glared at the younger Avery, who was still sprawled out on the grass, trying to get back up from the Crucio. "Mulciber, Gibbon, Travers, and Jugson; they will all be freed." He turned his attention back to the Death Eater he had just passed. "Rosier? Still loyal to me even after losing your son?"
"I've been loyal since our days at Hogwarts, my lord." Rosier bowed deeply, his eyes firmly on the ground, refusing to meet Voldemort's. Evan Rosier was his son, a wizard who had died young in Voldemort's service, during the last war that Voldemort had led against mudbloods. Though his loyalty had strayed slightly, the older Rosier had come tonight to see Voldemort with his own eyes, to see if his mark truly did burn by the Dark Lord's call. He still had yet to make up his mind on what to do, though he was leaning one way; he was toeing a fine line.
"Good, good." Voldemort nodded, continuing on past him and the empty spots he had just critiqued, until he came upon the beginning of another empty place. "Dolohov's spot." Voldemort murmured to himself. "He will be freed, as well. Karkaroff's spot," He said, noting the empty space. "He will pay for his betrayal." He hissed angrily, having heard about what Igor had done, snitching on the Death Eaters for his own freedom, from Barty.
He studied the last few spots of the circle, noticing they were empty. "The rat known as Pettigrew." Voldemort sneered at the empty space. "Surprisingly loyal, he will be freed. Evan Rosier, dead in my service." He muttered. His eyes flicked over to the spot next to Rosier's former one. "Wilkes dead in my service, as well." Then his brow furrowed as he tried to remember who was next to Wilkes. "Greyback?" He looked up, noticing the full moon. That's the other missing one, he said in his head. "He better show up tomorrow, or else he will pay with his death." Then he came across the last two spots: one of them being Barty Crouch's regular spot, that is before he was upgraded to standing in the center with his master. "Finally we have Rookwood's spot; imprisoned in my service, he will be freed." Voldemort noted. "Quirrell will be freed, too, for his loyalty."
"My lord," Lucius Malfoy said, taking a step into the middle, somewhat confidently; he was a little more confident than the rest of the Death Eaters. "Please, we need, we crave to know…we beg for you to tells us how it was possible for you to come back to us."
"Ah, it's quite a tale, my friends." Voldemort started, strolling about the circle, gazing at his servants. "When I attacked the Potters, that miserable mudblood whelp used ancient magic to deflect the Killing curse I threw at her son back onto me, destroying my body in the process. Pain, unimaginable pain is what it was; I was less than the meanest ghost, yet I was alive. I, the person who has gone the farthest on the path to immortality, was alive; powerless and without body, but still, I was alive. I knew the Aurors and Hitwizards would be on my trail so I fled to the Black forests of Albania, where humans weren't plentiful. There I lived away from humans, away from magical folk that were still searching for me, by using the only power I had left in that of possession, possessing random creatures to stay alive: snakes being the most preferable. I waited for my loyal followers to come and help their master for ten years. Surely they would come, come to the aid of their master, and perform the magic that I couldn't without a body. I remember forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second to exist, but none came and I waited in vain." Voldemort's gaze ran over the group, sending another shiver up their spines. They new, instinctively, that he was envisioning them being tortured by his hand for their disobedience, for their failures.
"Finally, at long last," He started again, resuming his speech. "A young wizard came through the forest, and I was able to entice him into helping me. With his help, I concocted a plan to get myself a new body, but that fool Dumbledore foiled that plan, forcing me to run to Albania once again, where I would wait for another ten years. Then my most devoted, my most loyal follower—who has been chained these last twenty years—came looking for me, and brought me back to my home. Using a ritual of my own creation, I fashioned myself a new body; it wouldn't be as powerful as the one I would have had if I had used the Sorcerer's stone, but still, it was a body. And now, here we are my family, reunited once again!"
"Incredible, my lord." Lucius said, silkily. The sun was rising in the distance, it's burning glory masked by the night's darkness. As the rays began to pour down on the Death Eaters, there was a loud pop off to the side, signaling the arrival of another.
He was medium height, and of a stocky build; muscles could be seen underneath his long, black cloak. His movements were slow and shaky, as if he was worn out or otherwise tired. As he neared Voldemort, he fell to his knees, bowing deeply, silently asking for forgiveness. "Get up, Greyback." Voldemort hissed to the Death Eater, allowing the werewolf a sliver of mercy, if not for any other reason than because he had come the second the sun had risen. "I have a mission for you already. It's easy, really: go and recruit the werewolves to my side."
"Right…right away, my lord." Fenrir Greyback, the world's most vicious werewolf said, bowing his head. With sallow skin, wild black and gray hair, and amber eyes with a tint of red, he was as scary as a human as he was as a werewolf. Bloodthirsty without even transforming, Fenrir took pleasure in mauling people through physical combat, loving the feeling of blood between his fingers. The man was notorious for turning young children into werewolves and raising them in his clan, as well. Greyback scanned the Death Eater circle before apparating out, presumably to the werewolf clans of the country.
"Disgusting." Voldemort sneered at the spot Greyback just left, cringing at the thought of non-humans. Then, looking over to a tall man, who seemed rail thin in his cloak, Voldemort gave a small smirk. "Macnair, I want you to go to the giants; and as payment for your betrayal these last twenty years, I'm forcing you to supply the gifts. Remember, if the giants don't like the gift, they'll kill the gift bringer. But that's not too different than what I'll do to you if the giants aren't on my side, either, so take your pick on who'll be your executioner."
"Of course, my lord." Walden Macnair said, shakily. The wizard had always been good at controlling beasts all through his life, hence Care of Magical Creatures being his best class way back in his Hogwarts years. In fact, he got such good scores in the course that it came as no great surprise that he had gotten a job with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry straight out of graduation; Magical Beasts Division in particular. Bowing, he said, "I'll be in contact about my progress, my lord." Then, with a pop, he apparated out of the circle, leaving an empty space where he was just seconds ago.
"As for the rest of you," Voldemort muttered, as if he were in thought thinking about some great important mission for them. He closed his red eyes for a second, a flood of ideas rushing into his mind, all of them cruel and vicious.
"Anything, master, just tell us what!" Avery, jr. yelled out from his place in the circle, begging to be in Voldemort's good graces once again.
"I'll get to that, Avery." Voldemort growled, his eyes now open and scanning the area. They whipped to Mad-Eye, who was still chained to the gravestone; he was pale and sweaty, his arm still bleeding, now only rather than a trickle, it was profusely rushing out. He would be dead within minutes if it kept up like that. "Ah, Alastor." The Dark Lord hissed, smirking. He flipped his wand out, allowing the Auror to fall to the ground, where the old wizard gave a great huff, trying to catch his breath. "Now, for some entertainment. Crucio!" Voldemort hissed, sending a red beam of energy at the Auror, who screamed out in pain as a thousand daggers ran over him. He wasn't one to feel pain, but Voldemort's Cruciatus curse was like no other; it was a thousand times worse. Canceling the attack, Voldemort stupefied Moody, allowing him to fall into peaceful unconsciousness.
"Go, my friends! Recruit your sons and daughters, recruit all those who are loyal to our cause, and bring them to me so they can receive their marks." They bowed before disapparating away, leaving Voldemort and Barty alone, with Mad-Eye's unconscious body crumpled a few feet away. Nagini hissed through the air, coming out of the shadows for the first time since the Death Eater's had left. "Leave us," Voldemort said to Barty, who bowed and apparated out. "Get up, Moody." Voldemort sneered, rennervating the old wizard. Moody's eyes shot open, as he struggled to his feet, looking around defiantly.
The Dark Lord flicked his wand towards Moody, sending a sickly green beam at him, which hit the Auror directly in the chest, killing him before his corpse hit the ground. Then, immediately after, Voldemort swished his wand, reciting an ancient spell lowly as a translucent blue sphere of energy traveled down his arm, through his wand, and into Nagini. The snake convulsed for a second, before settling down, and a slithering away as if nothing happened. Smirking evilly, Voldemort turned and headed towards the Riddle house, intent on planning out his coming actions.