Uh. WARNINGS for torture and character death. And... language? So. Yeah. This shit is M rated right here.

Harry was in a graveyard. With Poliakoff. Who had suddenly morphed from bumbling Durmstrang student to hostile attacker.

Stumbling away from the gravestone on his hands and knees, Harry panicked as he felt hands grab his arms and tug him to his feet again. Before he could react, he was being dragged bodily across a graveyard toward a bubbling cauldron.

There was a small creature standing next to the cauldron, and as Poliakoff slammed him against another headstone, Harry realized it was a house elf, holding what looked like a baby.

The whole situation was surreal, and Harry forgot to struggle as Poliakoff bound him to the headstone. He was too busy staring at the elf and the baby and the cauldron, wondering what the combination could possibly mean for him.

"I see you finally managed to get away." The voice was high and cold, and Harry felt his headache redouble with the words. He nearly didn't notice the enormous snake slither past, hissing. Nearly. It reminded him of his own snake, and he only then realized she was gone. He hoped she was okay.

"My lord, I apologise," Poliakoff said, but his voice was different. Harry twisted his head and caught sight of Poliakoff's features melting into someone he hadn't seen in years.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry nearly choked on the name. The last thing Harry remembered hearing of him was that he had duelled with Dumbledore over the Stone. Harry had assumed he'd died or something. Apparently not.

"Crouch should be along in a minute," Quirrell said, ignoring Harry except to shoot a spell at him. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. His alarm redoubled. "I gave him the signal before I left."

"Good," the voice said. Harry realized with horror that it was coming from the baby-shaped bundle in the house elf's arms. There weren't many people that voice could belong to, considering the way Quirrell had addressed it. Quirrell left Harry's side and lit a fire under the cauldron. Harry's headache redoubled as the house elf stepped out of Quirrell's way and ended up nearer to Harry. He gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to breathe normally. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't.

A sharp crack sounded, and Harry nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Karkaroff is unfaithful." The gruff voice belonged to Professor Moody, and Harry was officially panicking. Moody was in on this too? Did that mean that Crouch, whoever he was, was still coming?

But no. The man who appeared in Harry's vision a few moments later was not Professor Moody, though he was holding an eye and hopping along as he walked. His actual leg was in process of growing back, and the wooden leg had popped off. Behind him, another man floated through the air, unconscious.

"Brought him along for you," Not-Moody said. Behind him, the cauldron spat what looked like diamonds as Quirrell continued tending to it.

"It's ready, Master," Quirrell said, stepping back from the flames. The house elf handed the bundle off to Quirrell, who removed the cloth swaddling it. Harry received a nasty shock when he saw the scaly, reddish black parody of the body of a human child inside. The face was less a parody and more a disgusting non sequitur.

His head was hurting so badly now that it felt like his skull was burning, but he squeezed his eyes shut. Getting out of here as soon as possible was his highest priority. Nothing good could come of what was about to happen. Ignoring the pain in his head, he focused on breaking the silencing spell.

He had just managed it when he heard a splash, and in the silence afterward, the soft thud of the awful creature's body hitting the bottom of the cauldron.

Not-Moody (Crouch, Harry thought through the pain and fear. Who else could he be?) intoned solemnly, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

A noise at Harry's feet made his eyes snap open. Dust rose from the grave he was standing on, causing him to turn his face away and scrabble to move his feet from the cracks in the ground. It floated over and settled in the cauldron with a hiss. The diamond colour was replaced with an awful blue. Harry really needed to get out of here right now. He strained against his bonds, looking for a weak point, but Quirrell had tied him tight. Without any slack to struggle against, there really wasn't much he could do to free himself.

Quirrell pulled out a dagger next, and there was a brief moment when Crouch and Quirrell stared each other down fiercely before Quirrell finally bowed his head and handed the dagger over. Harry held his breath at the sight of it, but he needn't have worried so soon.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given," Crouch said, stretching out his right hand over the cauldron. His voice was far too triumphant for what he did next. "You will revive your master."

He swung the dagger in a graceful arc, and Harry barely clenched his eyes shut in time. The splash was bad enough.

"Blood... of the enemy," Crouch continued, panting, and Harry's eyes snapped open. "Forcibly taken. You will resurrect your foe."

Sure enough, Quirrell was walking toward him, holding the bloody dagger and a vial. Harry had thought he was panicking before, but now his entire mind was given over to blank terror. He did not want that dagger coming near him.

Quirrell reached down and grabbed Harry's arm roughly, and Harry's terror lashed out. The bonds he'd been restrained by only seconds prior were snapping at Quirrell's head and chest. He dropped to his knees on the ground as Quirrell shielded his face with one arm and shouted something.

Harry scrambled to his feet, already darting through the gravestones, but he had forgotten that Quirrell wasn't the only other person present. A spell caught his feet, sending him crashing over a headstone as Crouch approached.

"Blood of the enemy," he snarled, grabbing Harry and hauling him off the headstone with the one hand he had left. Harry clutched at his ribs with one arm and wheezed as he was dragged across the grass to the cauldron by his wrist.

"Forcibly taken," he continued, and Quirrell was there, helping Crouch to lift Harry's arm to hover over the liquid in the cauldron. Harry struggled, scrabbling to find his feet on the damp grass, but Quirrell kicked him in the back of the knee and Harry went limp for long enough for his former professor to cut a long gash along his inner elbow. His blood splashed into the cauldron.

"You will resurrect your foe," Crouch spat, tossing Harry on the ground next to the cauldron and stepping back to wait.

Harry lay in the grass, gasping for breath as tears pooled on the bridge of his nose. Quirrell stood over him with a wand, but Harry didn't move. His ribs were on fire and his arm was bleeding profusely, and this was aside from the splitting pain in his head that had only been getting progressively worse. He spared a thought for the creature in the cauldron, and hoped that it had drowned. He also wanted Quirrell and Crouch to fall dead where they stood, but he wasn't picky.

The light from the cauldron suddenly vanished and Harry stiffened, knowing he had to roll over and look, knowing that whatever was behind him now wouldn't disappear because he couldn't see it, but still not managing to compel his frozen muscles into action.

Quirrell rushed past Harry to the cauldron, holding a set of robes. Harry blinked the blurriness out of his eyes and finally forced himself to sit up and look. His eyes locked immediately with those of the man who had just stepped out of the cauldron.

Harry didn't have to be told who this was, and suddenly the name wasn't very funny anymore.

Voldemort.

"My Lord," Crouch said, and when Voldemort looked up, Crouch bowed and held out his undamaged wrist. He examined Crouch's arm with satisfaction and pressed a long finger to the vivid mark that decorated it.

Harry felt his headache surge. He closed his eyes and checked on his Occlumency walls. They were still strong and shifting, and chains of useless thought still filled the forefront of his mind. Harry retreated behind them, feeling a little bit less hysterical.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it? And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?" Voldemort looked up at the stars, apparently in contemplation. Harry had barely enough time to be relieved that Voldemort wasn't looking at him anymore before he suddenly was. An alarming smile settled on his snakelike features.

"I have heard so many things about you, Harry Potter," he said, pacing closer to where Harry sat huddled in front of the cauldron. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced. I am Lord Voldemort."

The snake slithered past again. Harry struggled to his feet, though he remained silent. He tried not to let his eyes dart around too obviously in his search for an exit strategy.

"The circumstances of our introduction are quite fortuitous, Harry," Voldemort said in a soft voice. "This is the night of my resurrection, and my faithful followers will be here soon!"

He continued pacing as though Harry was as harmless as the house elf that had now subsided behind the cauldron, awaiting instructions. "I'm glad you could finally make it. We've been postponing the party for you, you know."

Voldemort stopped pacing suddenly. "Ah, and here come the guests."

As they gathered around Voldemort, one of the cloaked wizards dropped to his knees and crawled forward instead, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes and murmuring. Harry backed away from the crowd slowly, hoping that the distraction might be enough to give him time to run.

He held his breath as he moved, but the sound of something heavy slithering nearby made him pause and turn. The snake was right behind him, rearing up and showing a full set of fangs as it hissed at him. It was more of an order than actual words, but Harry got the gist anyway. He wasn't leaving in that direction.

The Death Eaters formed a circle around Harry and Voldemort when they had finished their demonstrations. Crouch and Quirrell made their own demonstrations last as the only unmasked figures, Crouch still clutching the stump of his arm and crawling awkwardly on his elbow. Soon it was just Harry and Voldemort in the centre of a crowd.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said.

Harry swallowed and stared around the circle of Death Eaters. They were all intent on watching Voldemort as he spoke to them about loyalty. There were gaps in the circle. He could make a break for it if he got close enough to one of them. He held his bleeding arm to his side and inched toward the nearest, largest gap as Voldemort spoke.

Harry froze and watched in horror as Voldemort cast the Cruciatus curse on one of the wizards and laughed as he screamed. After he let go of the spell, he chastised the circle gently.

"I want thirteen years of repayment before I forgive you," Voldemort said. "Crouch and Quirrell here are the only servants who can be said to be truly loyal. Quirrell, when torn from my side, immediately began searching for a way to return to me. Crouch has spent our years apart imprisoned to prevent him from seeking my presence, and has given his own right hand in pursuit of my return. These are true friends. What so great has kept the rest of you from my side?"

As Voldemort created a silver hand for Crouch and began interrogating his followers, one by one, Harry inched toward the gap in the circle again. If he could get close enough, he thought he might be able to ignore the pain in his head and chest long enough to make a break for it.

Harry was nearly there when he heard Lucius Malfoy's voice respond to a question directed at him from Voldemort. He was cool and swift, and Harry tried not to choke on the fact that this was Draco's father. He and Draco had been best friends, but now, Lucius Malfoy's attention never wavered from Voldemort.

Voldemort moved swiftly along the circle, and cut off Harry's hope of escaping when he stopped in front of the large gap he'd been inching toward. "And here we have five missing Death Eaters," he said. "Three dead in my service. One who I believe has left me forever. He will be killed of course. And one, too cowardly to return. But do not worry. We have found him."

The Death Eaters stirred, and the unconscious man that Crouch had brought with him floated into the centre of the circle, fully conscious now. Harry recognised him from Snape's rooms. It was the headmaster of Durmstrang.

"And of course, I would be remiss if I did not introduce my new friend, who has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party." Voldemort turned and looked directly at Harry who was rooted in place, bare feet from his escape. Voldemort held out a hand as though to present him to the group. "Harry Potter, everyone."

The Death Eaters stood in silence as Voldemort grinned at Harry and Karkaroff.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and spoke to Voldemort. "Master," he began. Harry glared at his cloaked form and swayed on his feet as Lucius spoke, casting around for another means of escape. If only he could get his wand back.

Voldemort responded to Lucius' question at length. Harry listened with one ear, eyeing all the Death Eaters in the hope that one of them might give him an idea or make some kind of mistake that would allow Harry to get away.

"...I was forced to flee after Quirrell's failure, and had thought him dead for many years. I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you then that I didn't fear that I might not regain my powers.

"Despite these worries, Quirrell was stronger than he had first appeared, and returned to me again after a long period of searching. He followed my instructions to return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own..."

The snake wound its way past Harry's feet, corralling him back toward the centre of the circle and hissing wordlessly as Voldemort spoke.

"...I used the information recovered from Quirrell's research to position my two loyal Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Harry Potter was my downfall, but, as I am certain you all know, he is also a Slytherin..."

Voldemort glanced at Harry, his cruel red eyes filled with amusement.

"In fact, Quirrell has uncovered a plethora of information about young Harry's loyalties from his time spent at Hogwarts, posing as a Durmstrang student with an interest in the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry's mind rebelled against this. He had assumed Quirrell had attacked Poliakoff and stolen his hair for the night. Some of the things Voldemort had already said were bad enough, but the idea that Poliakoff had been a Death Eater spying on him and the school for the entire year was almost too much to bear. He had felt bad, wanting to avoid Poliakoff. They had gone flying together!

Quirrell stepped forward from the circle and bowed his head. "My Lord," he said, and proceeded to give a distressingly detailed account of Harry's life over the course of the past year, including (but not limited to) information on all his friends, his opinions on the Dark Arts, and his fight with Draco.

Harry huddled in on himself, clutching his arm to his chest as Quirrell's monologue continued into far greater detail than Harry would have been comfortable with Blaise or Hermione knowing, let alone a circle of people who seemed happy aligning themselves with a man who wanted Harry dead. Even so, it was the conversation about his friendship and fight with Draco that was especially painful to listen to. Draco came off as a bit too sympathetic to Voldemort for Harry's comfort, and Lucius words did not bolster his faith in his once best friend.

"My son is loyal to your cause, my Lord," Lucius said in a confident, obsequious tone. "His friendship with Potter is shallow at best, and as Quirrell has already said, virtually nonexistent this year."

"Be sure that your certitude is valid, Lucius," Voldemort said, tilting his head back and watching Draco's father narrowly.

"It is, my Lord. His original purpose in striking up a friendship was to see how sympathetic Potter would be to your cause, and that question has been answered. Potter is no longer useful to him."

Harry realized distantly that he was shaking. It was hard not to believe the detailed, clinical account of Draco's actions presented by Quirrell, and the confident assurance in his father's voice. And no matter how much evidence of their friendship Harry could point to normally, it was becoming difficult under the circumstances to think of a single thing that proved that Draco had ever liked him at all.

"Very good, Lucius, Quirrell. Now let us continue the accolades. Crouch has earned quite the distinction," Voldemort said, and Crouch stepped forward, his new hand glinting in the flickering wandlight.

"Crouch has done more than offer me his right hand," Voldemort told the group. "He has also found a traitor, and brought him back to us."

The attention of the group was drawn back to the Durmstrang headmaster.

"Karkaroff," Voldemort said in his high, cold voice. "You have been found guilty of treason against your fellow Death Eaters and your Lord. You wear your Dark Mark with regret, do you not?"

Karkaroff whimpered and struggled against his invisible bonds. His face was white and his eyes rolled.

"Master," he gasped. "Master, I beg you..."

"There are no second chances for traitors," Voldemort said. "And no mercy. Crucio."

Karkaroff writhed, shrieking madly. Harry stumbled away from him, staring as his face twisted in agony. A movement caught Harry's eye, and he tripped and fell hard on his ribs in his haste to get out of the way as, one by one, the other Death Eaters lifted their wands. A chorus of crucios rang through the clearing, and Karkaroff was soon reduced to agonized gargling, his throat too raw to scream. After what must have been the longest twenty seconds in recorded history, Voldemort held up a hand and stopped the Death Eaters. Harry lay on his side, breathing harshly and staring in horrified silence as Karkaroff went limp.

"Ennervate," Voldemort said. And then, "Crucio."

The Death Eaters joined him again. To Harry's distress, Karkaroff caught and held his eye as his body contorted with silent pain. Even when his vision went blurry with tears, Harry couldn't look away, and even when Karkaroff passed out, his eyes never closed.

Harry's chest was constricting; the air wasn't getting to his lungs. His bones felt like they were jittering under his skin, he shook so badly. He gasped in painful breaths and tried not to listen as Voldemort repeated the process again and again and again, until the ennervate spell finally stopped working and Karkaroff's pain-maddened eyes were emptied. Harry lay motionless in the grass, still unable to break eye contact with the dead man until Voldemort spoke.

"Let none forget the consequences of treason," he said softly. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly for a long minute, then turned back to Harry with a smile.

"And now for the real festivities." He lifted his wand, and Harry stared at it with frantic anxiety. "Crucio!

Harry had never experienced pain like this. His bones were on fire, and it felt like every inch of his body was being stabbed by thousands of red hot knives. His head was splitting open along his scar. Worse still was the dread, waiting for the Death Eaters to chime in with their own spells, knowing that this unbearable pain was only a fraction of what he might soon be feeling.

But no. Voldemort dropped the spell and smiled again as the laughter of the Death Eaters rang in Harry's ears. Harry sagged, partly from pain, and partly from bone deep relief. He realized distantly that he must have screamed. His throat felt raw.

"I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind," Voldemort announced to the crowd of Death Eaters. "This boy escaped me by a lucky chance."

Harry's brain was feeling dull and he processed the words slowly. Voldemort was saying something important, he knew. The snake slid past Harry's head, hissing impatiently.

"Now help him up, Quirrell, and give him his wand."

Harry's brain jolted, suddenly alert. He scrambled to sit up as the Death Eaters closed ranks around him and Voldemort, leaving no gaps for Harry to escape through. Quirrell grabbed Harry's uninjured arm and yanked him upward, causing Harry to gasp as a searing pain shot through his chest. Quirrell held onto Harry's arm until Harry was standing on his own, and thrust his wand into his hand. When he had finished, he stepped back to his position in the circle.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort's eyes glinted. "We bow to each other, Harry." Voldemort bowed, and Harry knew that he should cooperate. He should avoid angering the powerful Dark wizard with the wand. Pansy would kill him for what he was doing. But he just couldn't bring himself to cooperate.

He had his wand back. If he died now, it wouldn't be because he had walked meekly at Voldemort's heels to the slaughter. He kept his back straight, though he was still shaking badly.

The Death Eaters laughed as Voldemort goaded Harry, but Harry stayed resolutely upright, too stubborn to change his mind now that he had made it up.

"I said bow," Voldemort said, and Harry felt his back curving. It jostled his ribs again, but the indignity of it all, the Death Eaters laughing again, riled Harry more than anything else.

"Very good," Voldemort said, and let Harry stand again. "And now you face me, like a man. Straight-backed and proud, the way your father died."

Harry stared at Voldemort's lipless smile, and realized that he was slowly moving away from panicked hysteria and into angry panicked hysteria.

"And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and out of utter reflex, Harry summoned the broken chunk of headstone at his feet into the path of the spell. The Death Eaters hushed, and even Harry was slightly shocked at his reaction. Snape's brutal lessons had really paid off.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and spit out another spell. Harry wasn't so lucky this time, and before he could move, he was hit with the Cruciatus curse again.

"Not so quick that time," Voldemort hissed, watching Harry stagger to his feet, shaking badly. "That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry didn't respond, except to cast Defodio at him. Voldemort deflected it easily, but it gave Harry time to throw himself behind a gravestone just in time to avoid the answering curse. He sucked in a pained breath and blinked spots out of his eyes. Fuck Snape's rule about flinging himself around. He was already exhausted and weak from horror and probably blood loss, considering that there was still blood dripping from his fingertips. He needed to take cover.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Voldemort said, sweeping nearer. Harry turned so that he was facing the headstone and Voldemort behind it. As Voldemort continued taunting him, Harry poked his wand over the top of the headstone and silently cast a finger-removing jinx in the direction of his voice. There was no light involved in that spell, and Harry could almost hope for the split second after he cast it that it might have hit.

It certainly seemed to have gotten a reaction, judging by Voldemort's next words.

"This is not a game," he snapped. "Your childish spells are ineffective here, Harry. Does this mean you wish to end our duel? Come out and play then. It will be quick. It might even be painless." He paused. "I would not know... I have never died."

The tone Voldemort was using now was colder than it had been when he had been accusing Karkaroff of treason, and it curdled the contents of Harry's stomach. He decided then that engaging Voldemort like this was stupid. The smart thing was what he had been aiming for before Voldemort started taunting him. He should be trying to figure out how to get the hell out of this grave yard while he still could.

He took a careful breath. Then he cast a disillusionment spell over himself and crept as slowly and smoothly as possible to the next headstone. With the spell on, he was able to poke his head out from behind the stone enough to see Voldemort reach the one he had been hiding behind. Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

He stalked toward the next headstone. "You cannot hide from me," he said. Harry held his breath and crept further away, toward the edge of the circle. None of the Death Eaters could have spotted him, else they would have raised the alarm by now. They were all shifting, though none dared to raise a wand and interfere with the 'duel'.

Voldemort snarled when he reached the next headstone and found it lacking. He blasted the top half of it into dust and chunks of rock, startling Harry badly. His heartbeat thumped a staccato beat in his head, in his chest, even in his shaky fingertips, and he was certain that the snake would take notice at any moment and come over from the other side of the circle to trap him.

Harry darted to another headstone and realized suddenly that he needn't worry about the snake; it was currently in process of swallowing Karkaroff's body whole. Sobbing wouldn't be enough at this point, Harry realized, suppressing the urge to gag. He needed to scream and shriek and wail. He felt it bubbling up in his throat, but knew that he had to be utterly silent so that Voldemort wouldn't find him. He wished he hadn't removed the silencing charm.

If he could just get through the Death Eaters and out of the graveyard, Harry was certain he could figure out a way to escape. He forced his attention away from the snake and started searching the ranks of Death Eaters, looking for a weak point, some indication that the person in question would be easier to get by than the others.

Too late, he realized that Voldemort had found his headstone. He ducked barely in time to avoid being hit with a huge chunk of stone. Dust settled over him, giving away his position.

"Ah, there you are," Voldemort said, satisfied. He raised his wand, and Harry stumbled to his feet, casting a Confundus Charm at the same time.

The twin jets of green light met in midair, and rather than deflecting, as was Harry's usual experience with these circumstances, the lights turned gold instead. Harry's wand began vibrating rather suddenly.

The even bigger surprise came when Harry felt his feet lift off the ground. Voldemort looked no less shocked, which Harry found strangely comforting.

As they resettled on a patch of grass and a dome of light formed around them, Harry thought quickly. He had no idea what was going on. Voldemort shrieked at his followers to do nothing, and it occurred to Harry that the advantage was his, especially when the haunting music started and Voldemort's expression only grew more astonished.

Voldemort had said to do nothing. To Harry's view, the only possibility for survival was in active defiance. When Voldemort's wand started spitting out spells and Voldemort was still busy staring at the ghostly remnants of a silver hand, Harry took his chance.

He jerked his wand up, and before the dome of light had vanished, he was gone, knocking over Death Eaters and dodging spells as he fled the graveyard, wand in the air. His ribs felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him at once while he ran, but he could worry about the pain later when he wasn't dead.

The road was a bit of a distance, but Harry had sheer, adrenaline fuelled terror on his side. He also had a head start, which was fortunate for the conductor of the Knight Bus.

"Welcome to the Kni-"

"Just go!" Harry yelled, shoving him back through the doors and forcing them shut behind him. "Go now!"

Thankfully, the driver didn't ask questions, choosing instead to slam his foot down on the accelerator. Harry fell into the aisle between the beds and slid several feet, caught by the unexpected momentum. He lay there, trying not to jostle his ribs and nursing his shoulder where the edge of a blasting hex had caught him as he ran.

The conductor stared at him, then at the door. Harry saw dimly that a hole had been melted in the metal frame. He was glad he hadn't caught the edge of that spell instead.

"Hogwarts," Harry panted. "I need to get to Hogwarts, and I'll give you twenty galleons if you don't stop anywhere else on the way."

The conductor nodded slowly and stepped forward with tentative movements to help Harry onto one of the beds. Harry whimpered and stiffened with basically any movement, but soon he was settled on a mattress. "Will you be wantin' a hot chocolate?"

Harry muttered something in the negative and curled into a small ball at the head of the bed, staring through his reflection in the opposite window and trying not to breathe.

"Are you sure?" The voice was strangely distant. "You're shaking."

Harry curled further into himself, ignoring the conductor entirely.

A/N: Some info/dialogue for this chapter was taken from Goblet of Fire.