The Potter Twins and The Goblet of Fire

by B.E.A.T.N

Just when Harry and Michael thought they could have a normal 4th year at Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament had other plans. With somehow BOTH their names put on the same paper in the goblet, the twins will have to face dragons, mermaids, mazes, and worst of all... Teen drama! This story will be a lot more like the book, and thus, a lot longer!

22. Chapter 22

The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire

Chapter 22: Voldemort Returns….

Harry and Michael felt their feet slam into the ground; Harry's injured leg gave way, and they both fell forward; their hands let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. They raised their heads.

Harry, "where are we?"

Michael, "we aren't in Kansas anymore."

Cedric shook his head. He got up, and he and Michael pulled Harry to his feet, and they all looked around.

They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles, perhaps hundreds of miles, for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. They could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at the twins.

Cedric, "did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?"

Harry, "nope."

They were looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie.

Michael, "is this supposed to be part of the task?"

Cedric, "I dunno. Wands out, d'you reckon?"

Harry said, "yeah", glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.

Michael, "keep your eyes open. I get the feeling we aren't supposed to be here…."

They pulled out their wands.

Harry, "someone's coming?"

Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves.

They couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, they could tell that it was carrying something.

Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And, several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time, they saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby…. Or was it merely a bundle of robes?

The twins lowered their wands slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot them a quizzical look. They all turned back to watch the approaching figure.

It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Harry, Michael and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another.

And then, without warning, Michael and Harry's scars exploded with pain. It was agony such as they had never felt in all their lives; their wands slipped from their fingers as they put their hands over their faces.

Both fell to the ground, screaming in agony!

From far away, above their heads, they heard a high, cold voice say….

"Kill the spare."

A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of green light blazed, and the twins heard something heavy fall to the ground beside them; the pain in their scars reached such a pitch that they retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what they were about to see, they opened their eyes.

Cedric was lying on the ground beside them. He was dead.

For a second that seemed to last forever, the twins stared into Cedric's face, at his open eyes, blank and expressionless, his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before their minds had accepted what they were seeing, before they could feel anything but numb disbelief, they felt themselves being pulled to their feet.

The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging the brothers toward the marble headstone.

They both saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before they were forced around and slammed against it.

TOM RIDDLE

The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around them both, tying them from neck to ankles to the headstone. They could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; they struggled, and the man hit them, hitting them with a hand that had a missing finger. And the twins realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.

Harry yelled, "you!"

Michael yelled, "you son of a bitch! First our parents! Now Cedric! You bastard!"

Michael managed to free his arm for a moment, his hand turning into a paw with claws and scratching Wormtail on the arm before he restrained his arm as it turned to normal.

But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that the twins were bound so tightly to the headstone that they couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth. He grabbed another rag and stuffed it into Michael's mouth.

Then, without a word, he turned from the twins and hurried away. Neither twins could make a sound, nor could they see where Wormtail had gone; they couldn't turn their heads to see beyond the headstone; they could see only what was right in front of them. Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away.

Michael started crying. Just as he finally made things right between himself and Cedric, he was taken away in the blink of an eye.

And he knew that Cho would feel this pain as well, and that made the whole thing even worse.

Some way beyond them, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Both of their wands were on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes that they had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. They watched it, and their scars seared with pain again…. And they suddenly knew that they didn't want to see what was in those robes…. They didn't want that bundle opened….

They could hear noises at his feet. They looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where they were tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within the twins' range of vision, and they saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water, they could hear it slopping around, and it was larger than any cauldron the twins had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.

The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated.

And the twins heard the high, cold voice again, "hurry!"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

Wormtail, "it is ready, Master."

"Now….", said the cold voice.

Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and the twins let out yells that were strangled in the wads of material blocking their mouths.

It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind…. But worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that the twins had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face, no child alive ever had a face like that, flat and snake-like, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and the brothers saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, the twins saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

'Let it drown', Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance.

'Please…. Let it drown….', Michael thought, his hatred and fear outweighing his pain.

Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night, "bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave at Michael and Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, they watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled 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 with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

The twins realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened!

They closed their eyes as tightly as they could, but they could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through them as though they had been stabbed with the dagger too. They heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Neither of them couldn't stand to look…. But the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through the twins' closed eyelids.

Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until they felt Wormtail's anguished breath on their faces did they realize that Wormtail was right in front of them.

"B-blood of the enemy…. Forcibly taken…. You will…. Resurrect your foe."

The twins could do nothing to prevent it, they were tied too tightly…. Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding them, they saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. Harry felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes.

Michael then felt the same on his left arm, blood dripping down it!

It looks like a simple dagger could go through the protective barrier his scarf possessed.

Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Michael and Harry's cuts, so that two dribbles of blood fell into it.

He staggered back to the cauldron with the twins' blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened….

Harry and Michael desperately hoped that something had gone wrong and the disgusting wriggling mess had drowned.

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of the twins, so that they couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air. But then, through the mist in front of them, the brothers 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 from behind the steam, 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 and Michael…. And the twins stared back into the face that had haunted their nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils….

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

Voldemort looked away from the twins and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling the twins again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where the twins were tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon the brothers, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

"My Lord….", he choked, "my Lord…. You promised…. You did promise…."

Voldemort, "hold out your arm."

Wormtail, "oh Master…. Thank you, Master…."

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

Voldemort, "the other arm, Wormtail."

Wormtail, "Master, please…. Please…."

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and the twins saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, the image that had appeared in the sky at the World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.

Voldemort, "it is back. They will all have noticed it…. And now, we shall see…. Now we shall know…."

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.

The scar on Harry's forehead and Michael's cheek seared with sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl;

Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and the twins saw that it had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

Voldemort, "how many will be brave enough to return when they feel it? And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He began to pace up and down before Harry, Michael and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at the twins again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

Voldemort, "you stand, Harry and Michael Potter, upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool…. Very much like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as children…. And I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…. You see that house upon the hillside? 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's, 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…. Listen to me, reliving family history…. Why, I am growing quite sentimental…. But look, Harry! Michael! My true family returns…."

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward.

Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master…. Master….", he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Michael, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

Voldemort, "welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen years…. Thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday…. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we? Sniff, sniff, I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air. I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact, such prompt appearances! And I ask myself…. Why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

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

Voldemort, "and I answer myself. 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? 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.

"Master", he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand and yelled, "Crucio!"

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked.

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

Voldemort, "get up, Avery. 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? 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?"

Wormtail, "yes, Master…. Please, Master…. Please…."

Voldemort, "yet you helped return me to my body. Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…."

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.

Wormtail, "my Lord. Master…. It is beautiful…. Thank you…. Thank you…."

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

Voldemort, "may your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail."

Wormtail, "no, my Lord…. Never, my Lord…."

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.

Voldemort, "Lucius, my slippery friend. I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius…. 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?"

Lucius Malfoy, "my Lord, I was constantly on the alert. Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me-"

Voldemort, "and yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? Yes, I know all about that, Lucius…. You have disappointed me…. I expect more faithful service in the future."

Lucius, "of course, my Lord, of course…. You are merciful, thank you…."

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

Voldemort, "the Lestranges should stand here. But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce 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 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…."

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

Voldemort, "and here we have Crabbe…. You will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"

The two largest men bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master…."

"We will, Master…."

It figures that the father's of all three bullies had joined up with Voldemort….

Voldemort, "the same goes for you, Nott."

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

Voldemort, "that will do."

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

Voldemort, "and here we have six missing Death Eaters…. Three died 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. He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friends arrived here tonight…. Yes. Harry and Michael Potter have kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call them my guests of honor."

There was silence before Lucius asked, "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…."

Voldemort, "ah, what a story it is, Lucius. It begins and ends with my young friends here. You know, of course, that they have called these boys my downfall? You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill them. Their mother died in the attempt to save them, and unwittingly provided them with a protection I admit I had not foreseen…. I could not touch the boys. Their mother left upon them the traces of her sacrifice…. This was old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it…. But no matter…. I can touch them now."

Harry and Michael felt the cold tips of the long white fingers touch them, and thought their heads would burst with the pain. Voldemort laughed softly, then took the fingers away and continued addressing the Death Eaters.

Voldemort, "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. 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…. 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 powerless 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, sleepless, 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…. Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where 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. Poor, stuttering Quirrel, wandered across my path. 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 Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted, once again, by Harry and Michael Potter…. The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been. I returned to my hiding place far away... I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess…. And I had given up hope that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me…. And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last…. A servant returned to me. Wormtail, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted as friends, and returned 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 called friends. They 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. 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 cunning I would never have expected from him, convinced Bertha to accompany him one night. He overpowered her…. He brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined 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 everything about the Triwizard Tournament, my faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help, 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. 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 weak physical form that I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth…. A spell or two of my own invention…. A little help from my dear Nagini's venom, and a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel. There was no hope of stealing the Philosopher'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. Flesh given by a servant, which Wormtail graciously provided…. 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. Any wizard who had hated me…. As so many of them still do. But I knew the ones I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry and Michael Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the ones who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago…. For the lingering protection their mother once gave them would then reside in my veins too…. But how to get at them? For they had been better protected than I think even they know. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure their protection as long as they are in their relations' care. Not even I can touch them there….. Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup…. I thought their protection might be weaker there, away from their relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boys would return to Hogwarts, where they are 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 both their names were entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boys won the tournament, that they touched the Triwizard Cup first, the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring them here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here they are…. The boys you all believed had been my downfall….."

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry and Michael.

He raised his wand and yelled, "Crucio!"

It was pain beyond anything both boys had ever experienced; their very bones were on fire; their heads were surely splitting along their scars; their eyes were rolling madly in their heads; they wanted it to end…. To black out…. To die…. And then it was gone. They wetr hanging limply in the ropes binding them to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

Voldemort, "you see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that these boys could ever have been stronger than me. But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry and Michael Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing them, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help them, and no mother to die for them. I will give them their chance. They 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, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching, "now untie them, Wormtail, and give them back their wands…."

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Reviews:

Canadude2029: I'm glad you liked all the twists and turns in this chapter. And yeah, this one is where shit hits the fan!

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