Archive Rejects

by Tellemicus Sundance

A list of my many rejected stories. They are open and free to anyone who wishes to write them. I just ask that you inform me beforehand.

76. A Tale of Heralds & Champions: Earth ch1

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A Tale of Heralds and Champions
Written by: Tellemicus Sundance
Co-Authored by: Fiori75
Earth #01: Return of the Champions

Hogwarts, Scotland
October 31, 1995

Today was the day. After a full year absence, the Triwizard Champions would finally return. All four of them, regardless of if they were even still alive. One of the many questions that she'd had was why they had to be gone for an entire year. In her research of past tournaments and the origins of it, Hermione had discovered the reasoning. All Hallow's Eve just so happened to be the one time of the year when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. Most people today associated the term 'veil between worlds' to have something to do with death and the afterlife. And while that was indeed true, it was only a small part of the truth. The real truth was that the veil was thinnest between all worlds because it was when they were at their closest, which made crossing over between them infinitely easier than any other time of the year.

But that hadn't been all that she'd learned in her research. Hermione was actually quite pleased to see that this had not been the first time that there had been multiple Champions chosen per school, even if Hogwarts was sending two this time. Indeed, she recalled one prominent Tournament that had hosted no less than nine Champions, three from each school. Of course, that Tournament was also notable for only having two survivors, neither of whom were said to have been ever quite right again, and was the chief reason why the current iteration of this tournament had been intended to have one Champion per school. It was theorized that the fewer Champions there were, the lesser the chances of their competitive spirits would drive them to sabotage each other, and not just the champions of the other schools either. Of course, there was also the incident of one particular Hogwarts student who was still spending a lifelong sentence in Azkaban after openly admitting to killing his fellow teammate Champions whilst screaming about his undying devotion to the glory of the four Gods of Chaos. The fact that the Ministry of Magic was still waiting for him to die after four centuries of imprisonment was rather disconcerting since no one knew what kind of magic he'd managed to learn on his journey.

Hermione couldn't stop herself from glancing to her side at where Ron was presently sitting next to her. It had been a hard year for the two of them without the third member of their trio. Hermione hadn't truly realized just how much she and Ron depended on him to keep them as friends until he was gone. Even now, their friendship was somewhat strained after the many things that had happened in the past year. The first step that had started their estrangement had been from Ron's pigheaded goodbye to Harry due to mounting jealousy and anger at Harry's misfortune and, what he'd later admit to her two weeks later when he finally pulled his head out of his ass, extreme worry over his wellbeing. The next big event that had further complicated their friendship had occurred during the Yule Ball. Specifically, when Hermione had seen Ron finally start looking at her as if she was a girl. Sure, the Yule Ball hadn't been terrible thanks to the efforts of the odd little Third Year who Ron had brought along. But ever since that night, Ron had looked at her differently. It had made hanging out alone together…awkward. The third big event between them happened during Valentine's Day. Hermione shuddered violently at the memory of that horrible day and once again told herself that Obliviating herself of that memory just wasn't an option. After all, if he knew she forgot, he might do it again! As it stood, she really, really needed Harry to be alive right now. Especially since the new Defense professor was absolutely horrible.

Amycus Carrow was an odious individual. If ever there was someone who more blatantly favored Slytherin than Professor Snape, it would be Professor Carrow. It also did not help the fact that he held certain beliefs about blood purity that he was noticeably involving in his classroom etiquette. She doubted she would be able to even answer a single question once during this entire year. She had saw right away how he did everything he could to sabotage the Muggleborns' education whilst managing to dodge accusations of bias. It didn't help that it was whispered that he was Lucius Malfoy's man, protection bought and paid for by the Malfoy family fortune.

She wished Professor Moody hadn't died under mysterious circumstances towards the end of term last year. Alongside Professor Lupin, he was the most competent Defense Professor she'd ever had. Even if he had been a bit creepy, he still knew his subject inside and out. Hermione and Ron were both of the total belief that Harry would've greatly enjoyed Professor Moody, especially that one time he'd transfigured Draco into a ferret.

All of these memorable moments were just a small fraction of the chaos she and Ron had endured this past year. So, she was really, really, really looking forward to getting her friend back. So she can finally have her buffer between her and Ron back in place. Then, all this strange tension would finally dissipate.

Shaking her head, Hermione forcefully turned her attention back to the dinner table before her. She couldn't help but notice that loaded upon the long tables a good chunk of the food were among Harry's favorites. She had a sneaking suspicion that Dobby was responsible for that. Despite the mouthwatering aroma of the extra-special Halloween feast, she just couldn't quite muster up the enthusiasm to continue eating more of her treacle tart. The nervous energy she felt was just growing too intense as she felt the seconds tick by slowly. Every minute that tension just seemed to mount exponentially. Was it her imagination or was this an effect of her increasing magical sensitivity? That she could sense the weakening of the Veil between the living and dead realms, and thus the approaching time of when the Champions would return? She didn't know, and yet the tension continued to rise.

"Are you gonna eat that, Hermione?" Ron asked, suddenly breaking her from her wandering thoughts. She glanced down at the treacle tart still in her hand that was largely untouched.

Hermione couldn't stop the scowl from lighting up on her face. "How can you eat at a time like this, Ron?"

"At…dinner?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"No!" she snapped. "Harry's going to be back any minute now and he could be dead for all we know!"

"No, he won't," Ron countered shamelessly.

"Won't be what, Ron?!"

"Won't be dead," he clarified. "He still needs to hex me for being an arse to him before he left."

"That's a ridiculous reason, Ron," Hermione stated with absolute certainty.

"What? You think Harry wouldn't hold on just out of sheer bloody spite?" Ron countered with a raised eyebrow. "How long have you known him?"

"Clearly longer than you," Hermione barked.

"Really? But I clearly remember meeting him on the train before you."

"Are you really going to bring that up, Ronald?"

"Well, as long as it keeps you from fretting about, sure," Ron answered bluntly, a knowing grin on his face.

"You…" It was only then that Hermione realized that this back and forth of theirs had caused her to forget her mounting dread.

Despite her best efforts, a red flush of embarrassment graced her cheeks. She forced herself to look away to try and hide this fact from him. This was a new aspect to Ron that she'd noticed had started forming since the start of this term. Without Harry there to moderate them, both of them had been forced to change and adapt slightly to one another. The fact that they were also Prefects and constantly thrown into paired duties further reinforced this point to her that Ron was changing. He was maturing, growing up. In fact, he was almost starting to become charming…in his own 'Ronald' sort of way.

As she calmed down, she caught a look from Ron. "He is going to be all right, you know?" he said in a soothing voice.

"How can you be so sure?" Hermione asked, desperation trying to claw back into her voice.

"Cause," Ron smiled brightly. "That trouble magnet survived for eleven years before he met the two of us. How much trouble could he get into in one year with three strangers? You know they've probably adopted him by this point."

"You can't be serious, Ronald," Hermione deadpanned.

"Nope, he's over there," Ron said nonchalantly as he pointed somewhat towards the base of Hagrid's chair. Looking over, Hermione was able to glimpse a rather familiar dark, furry outline of a grim-like dog that was happily munching up the table scraps that Hagrid was blatantly dropping for him, along with Fang.

"Puns, Ron?" she groaned out. "You've been spending too much time with the Twins."

"I did grow up with them," he pointed out simply. "Now, have you calmed down?"

"Yes, I have," Hermione stated, both relieved, bewildered, and…fondly warm.

"Right," Ron said brightly, his smile bursting to life once again as his attention shifted back to her hand. "So, back to my first question then."

"Wh-What?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, looking at the treacle tart that was still in her hand.

After glancing down at the treat, Hermione barely suppressed a triumphant smirk as she looked back at her friend. "No. I'm saving it for Harry."

Ron blinked slowly. "Fair enough."

Without further ado, he turned back to the table to load up his empty plate once again. Hermione smiled fondly at him for a moment as she set down the treat upon a napkin nearby. But as she was in the midst of wrapping it, a sudden flash of blinding golden light lit up the far side of the great hall.

Located just ahead of the Professors table, a large plume of golden fire had spontaneously erupted to life. Naturally, all other activity in the cramped hall ceased in an instant as all eyes turned to the fire. The fire was fast to segment apart into four distinct shapes. After just a moment of this, one of the shapes suddenly separated and burst off through the air at tremendous speeds, shattering the window as it went. At nearly the same moment this happened, the three remaining flames winked out and were replaced by three figures, each in the midst of a distinct action of their own.

The first and most memorable was quite clearly Viktor Krum. His action was so distinctly memorable because he was shirtless and in the process of sensually dropping his pants. The only piece of attire that he seemed to have not bothered to remove or was in the process of removing was some kind of large, black-colored metal gauntlet and glove that he wore over his entire left arm from the elbow down. Hermione had to admit, if only in her mind, that he had a rather nice bum, even if his back was just covered in bandaged wounds and scars. Even from this distance and the angle she could see him at, he was clearly a prime Grade-A beefcake.

The next figure was one that was currently rolling into action. Dressed in leather breeches and a wonderfully well-crafted blue and silver silk tunic, Fleur Delacour had apparently been sitting during her transportation but had somehow managed to turn what would've obviously been a very embarrassing flop to the floor into a graceful roll that quickly put her back onto her feet. Thanks to this reflexive roll, she was now standing somewhat apart from the other two as she stared out searchingly over the crowded great hall as her hands seemed to be drifting instinctively to her waist. What immediately caught everyone's attentions on her was the newly mismatched eyes she now had. One was her old dazzling blue that she had been born and left with. But the other eye was something new entirely. It was not hard to guess why her eyes were different now, given all of the scar tissue that surrounded the new one. It was an incredibly intricately detailed jeweled eye with a light green sclera and dark emerald iris that it could have been made from the finest cut emeralds and rubies. It did not dart about like her old Defense professor, but instead seemed to mimic the movements of Fleur's original eye. The fact that the eye seemed to have a strange inner glow hinted to her that it had some kind of special purpose.

The third figure had been doing the most mundane of things. Cedric Diggory was dressed similarly to Fleur, save the color of his tunic being a proud gold with black highlights. He was just standing there with a pair of ale flagons in his hands, staring like Fleur out over the crowd in confusion. Yet if it hadn't been for Fleur's action, Hermione probably wouldn't have noticed that he too had taken up a somewhat defensive stance with his fellow companions.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, silence hung heavily in the crowded hall. Then a bright flash of light lit up from one portion of the Gryffindor table. The flash of Colin Creevey's camera was the catalyst that sprung everything back to life.

"СИН НА КУЧА! Кой е отговорен за това?!" Viktor Krum yelled out furiously as he quickly pulled his pants back up. Even though his back was turned to the students, Hermione could quite clearly imagine the positively murderous expression on his face as he stared at the professors, judges, and Magical Ministers directly ahead of him.

"Viktor, you must calm yourself," Igor Karkaroff tried to placate. Hermione could tell that he was fighting with himself between deciding whether to laugh, grin, or squeeze his eyes shut in mortification. It was a rather unique expression for the brief moment it existed. For drawing attention to himself was precisely the wrong thing to do.

Viktor's eyes must've locked onto his Headmaster as his head turned to face him. Hermione could literally see the redness coloring his neck and shoulders a split second before a tremendous rage-fueled roar escaped his throat. "ЩЕ МИ ИЗПРАТИТЕ ОБРАТНО! ТОЧНО СЕГА!"

As Viktor was busy screaming and trying to regain his dignity, Cedric had calmly passed one of the mugs over to Fleur. This neatly freed up one of his hands which he then used to lay upon Krum's back in an attempt to calm him down. Somehow that silent gesture managed to somewhat calm the building fury in the Bulgarian Quidditch star. An act that caused quite a bit of not-so-quiet muttering from the Bulgarians and Hufflepuffs alike.

It was at this point in time that Hermione's mind had finally managed to process all of the new data that was swarming into her head. The blinding flash of light. The return of three of the champions. The strange exit of a portion of the flames. The friendly interactions between the champions. All of this was processed but only a small portion of it was scrutinized with hyper-intensity as she realized that something somehow had gone wrong. And this realization caused her to speak up at this point.

"Where is Harry?"

She didn't think her voice could quite reach the volume necessary to echo across the great hall, but it somehow did. All three of the Champions somehow registered the question and all of their heads immediately started to swivel and search the surrounding chamber in search of their missing companion in a frantic manner. Instantly, the tension started to ratchet up in Hermione's gut at seeing their actions to her question.

"Mon dieu," Fleur muttered in annoyed anger. "He's missing…again."

"Fuck!" Cedric cussed loudly. "Where was he last?!" To the population of Hogwarts in general, the fact that Cedric, the golden boy of Hufflepuff House, had sworn so vulgarly was cause of immense surprise.

"What's this about Harry wandering off?" Viktor asked, his anger momentarily gone.

"Iron Bull, Varric, and Ellana had grabbed Harry and pulled him off into a drinking contest," Fleur answered almost dismissively. "I think Cole had also gotten dragged along."

"…Wait," Cedric said in a slow, quiet tone of voice that Hermione just somehow knew was the prelude to impending dread and doom. "So, not only is Harry back here alone, but he's roaring drunk too?"

There was a beating pause between the three of them as they stared at one another, somehow having an entire conversation without saying a word. Then, with no discernible prompting, Viktor suddenly spun around to face the judges again. "You will help us find Harry. Then you will send me back!"

-o-

Little Hangleton, England
Same time…

It was dark and cold in the graveyard this Halloween night. Of course, it didn't help that they were in northern England in the middle of autumn. But if this was what his master required, who was Peter to question him? He'd already completely thrown his lot in with him. And he knew that complaining wouldn't help any. Because of his poor work ethic and spellcasting, he never really did learn how to properly cast the Warming Charm.

He couldn't even work up the courage to ask his companion nearby to cast it upon him. The last time he'd tried asking for help, Barty had taken creative license to cast spells at him rather than outright help him. After all, losing a tooth meant you no longer had a tooth ache. Peter had made it a point to never ask him for help again. Right now, he would've been dearly tempted to ask anyway if he wasn't sure Barty would have just set him on fire.

"How much longer until he gets here?" Peter asked. He knew it was a bad idea, but he was so nervous and the atmosphere around them was quite tense. He just needed to fill the void with something to take his mind off his fears and the cold. A decade as a rat had definitely not helped his social skills.

"He will get here when he'll get here!" Barty snapped angrily. Peter could tell that he was quite excited, but equally angry at the long wait.

Honestly, so was Peter. It had been a long year spent taking care of their lord in that disgusting homunculus body that they'd made for him. The efforts they'd had to go through to keep it alive had been arduous indeed. 'Moody' had been nearly caught multiple times stealing from Snape more things than just Polyjuice ingredients.

Peter couldn't help flinching back from Barty's retort. He quietly slunk away from his companion and retook his position up behind a large gravestone that would hopefully provide a small degree of cover when Harry arrived. But Peter wasn't entirely sure that the flimsy piece of stone would provide any real meaningful defense. After all, Harry would be coming home fresh from a new world with new magical powers and unknown capabilities. How could he – well, mostly Barty – possibly stand up against something like that?!

Barty and his lord did not know Harry nearly as well as he did after all. Not only did he know the boy's parents, but he'd watched for three years as the boy unknowingly led a three-man campaign to outdo his father in how much trouble he could get into. James would've loved flying to school in a car. So, unlike these two, he had the familiarity to know that should Harry have survived whatever hellish lands he'd been dropped into, James and Lily's boy will return far stronger and more tediously annoying than ever before. Especially because he took so strongly after his mother in all the worst ways.

"Trying to scamper and hide away, rat?" Barty called over, the sneer in his voice quite clearly heard.

There was a biting retort that Peter quickly swallowed. After all, mentioning how a past Champion had come back mid-combat and ended up killing a judge by accident was most assuredly cause enough to find some protection in case such a thing happened here. But Peter was sure that such a comment would probably have not been well received, even if it was pragmatic.

"Cease your bickering!" his lord's voice snapped out in a hiss. "I feel it! The hour's upon us! Prepare yourselves!"

Peter glanced out from behind his partial cover, his eyes skywards. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he felt he'd know it when he saw it. The night sky was black and cloudless, the many stars trying weakly to puncture through the light pollution of the muggle towns that littered the area. What was he searching fo—? Then he saw it.

It was like a golden comet blazing through the sky, coming in on a landing path that was suggesting it was heading their way. Peter got his wand ready as he mentally calculated James' height at 15. He doubted Barty would have the farsight to plan ahead like this.

"Remember to adjust for the height difference," Barty suddenly instructed, unknowingly interrupting Peter's self-praise. "It has been almost a year since anyone's seen him."

Before Peter could retort, even if he wanted to, the blazing golden comet suddenly touched down upon the grassy ground with a surprising gentleness. The instant the flames did so, they billowed out mightily before vanishing with a poof. It was at this point that Peter and Barty had returned to pointing their wands at where Harry should be standing. The moment the flames disappeared, two spells immediately shot from their wands towards the area, even as they were blinking the spots from their eyes. Due to the loss of their night sight because of the flames, the spells understandably flew well over their intended target.

But it wasn't simply because of the flames that they'd missed either. It also had to do with the fact that Harry was in a rather peculiar stance upon his return. It took Peter a moment to actually realize what Harry was doing. He seemed to have been in the midst of sitting at a table, chugging down a large stein of some kind of drink. Miraculously, Harry didn't seem to immediately notice that he no longer had the support that a chair would've offered him.

"What are you doing?" their lord's voice hissed out angrily. "Get him!"

"Stupefy!" Barty immediately barked as his wand flashed red.

The spell would've hit, if gravity had not decided to reassert itself over the boy at that instant. With a startled squawk, Harry landed ass first on the ground. The remainder of his drink spilling out around his face and catching fire as it landed upon the grass. A belch soon followed with an accompanying fireball from the boy's lips as he lowered the stein in what was clearly intended to be a triumphant gesture. It was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was now flat on his back.

After just a moment to process what had happened, the boy's voice rang out in a bereaved whiny tone of confused drunks everywhere. "Cooolleee! W'y'd d'yu schtealed mah chaaiirr?"

But the silence that followed after this question did not last as both Peter and Barty had readjusted their wands' aim. While Barty let fly another Stunning spell, Peter had tried to be clever and used a rope-binding jinx to tie the boy. Both spells should have hit. By all rights, he was flat on his back and ignorant of their presences, and drunk besides! But yet again, their spells missed as the boy suddenly kipped up to his feet in a fantastic display of prowess. Sadly, it would've been more impressive had he not stumbled after his landing.

Of course, the fact that the stumble also allowed him to dodge Barty's follow-up jinx somewhat made up for that.

"Oooh, schit," the boy drawled out drunkenly. "Schera?! Where'sh da bill'din?! Ah schthou't yah were paschh dis!"

"You both are completely incompetent!" Lord Voldemort shrieked with a glass-shattering pitch from where he was being held in Barty's arm.

"Itsch not completschly dar fault," Harry called back as he lazily turned to face where he heard the shriek. Upon seeing Barty standing there and carrying what seemed to be a babe of some kind, he paused and just stared uncomprehendingly. "Waait, whos yu? Und dat'sh wun uglay babe!"

"…Curse him," Voldemort said in a deadpan voice.

It was a command Peter instantly jumped to obey. Now that the boy was focusing completely upon the man and 'baby' he saw in front of him, he utterly failed to notice the cowering man trying to hide off to the side. Thus, the detoxing spell that Peter shot at him finally connected with the boy's side. The effect was rather immediate. After just a split second of tensing up upon impact, the boy dropped to his knees as his body began to purge itself of the alcohol within him in the most efficient ways it could. As a result, a large puddle of vomit and piss began to form under the boy's hunched frame.

Peter turned towards his companion and lord with a triumphant smirk, seeking approval at his victory in subduing the boy. Oddly, he felt rather pleased that one of Moody's spells had come in so handy after so many years.

"Disgusting," Barty stated as his glare bounced between the retching boy and Peter. "You do realize we will need his blood, right?"

"Yes, that's why I purged it of alcohol," Peter pointed out meekly.

"So, you're volunteering to clean up that mess?" Barty asked with a sneer. "Very well then. I shall get the ritual started. Hurry up and cleanup your mess!"

"Uuugghhhh," Harry groaned out, likely in the middle of a massive hangover headache. "You guys are dicks!"

-o-

Hogwarts, Scotland

He wasn't entirely sure what had happened to them all in the past year. But whatever it was had obviously brought them close. Normally, he'd be quite pleased about such developments. These were the foundations of how international cooperation worked fluidly. But what he was seeing right now put a slight damper on any positive feelings he'd have otherwise been experiencing at such a development.

What he was seeing in front of him right now was not the three students who'd left this school last year. But instead these three strangers were clearly veterans of some strange conflict. He could see it in their stances. In their bodies. In their eyes. He could see it in how they were angling slowly towards the nearest corner of the Gryffindor table, where they would have a good view of the entire great hall. Dumbledore could also see numerous scars and healing wounds scattered all across their bodies. Viktor's were the most obvious and prominent due to his largely unclothed form. But he could also see several jagged scratched and faded wounds poking out from underneath Mr. Diggory's tunic and sleeves. And then there was Ms. Delacour's rather eye-catching injury. And that wasn't even taking into account the expressions upon their faces. He had seen such countenances upon the faces of soldiers many years ago. Those who had lived and fought and survived in the great wars of years past. There was an air of danger around them that carried the promise of violence if provoked. But he also saw that they were moving and acting as such because of their missing companion.

And this missing companion was what brought Dumbledore out of his examinations of them and began the process of trying to figure out what had happened to said companion. After all, he himself was concerned about the whereabouts of young Mr. Potter. He tried to think of what could've happened to pull the boy away from his peers and fellow Champions upon their return. Hogwarts had been designated as the landing site for the Champions when the Goblet of Fire had been reignited after 150 years. He supposed it was possible that Harry had been transported elsewhere. The historical information pointed towards the likelihood of his destinations being either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. As returning the Champions back to their home schools had been customary back during the early centuries of the Tournament, before more efficient means of transportation and cooperation had developed. As well as because of the small amount of trust that had not existed between the various schools back then.

He supposed it was best that he inform the three where Harry might be. Lest someone do something that could be interpreted as threatening—

"You will cease this nonsensical fretting about the interloper, Krum!" Karkaroff barked out loudly, cutting through Dumbledore's thoughts and drawing a large chunk of the audience upon himself.

'Something like that,' Dumbledore thought with a weary sigh.

"First of all, there is your decorum," Karkaroff stated, glaring slightly down upon his student. "Put some clothes on! Then, you will surrender the recording amulet so that we might review your deeds from this past year. And then we'll discuss this madness of 'going back' there!"

Three sets of hard cold eyes gazed back at him. Then they all shifted to glance between themselves in what Dumbledore realized was a silent conversation that he had strong suspicions about the intentions of. Suspicions that were quickly confirmed when Cedric suddenly shrugged and glanced at Fleur as he said, "Viktor's got the most right."

The blonde simply sighed and nodded. "He's all yours. Do remember to use your right arm."

Viktor just grunted as he suddenly jerked his right arm into a backhanded smacking gesture towards his Headmaster. A split second later, everyone but Karkaroff was gawking as a combination of wind and a Banishing charm flew through the air and hit the Durmstrang Headmaster square in the jaw, knocking him backwards and toppling his chair over as he fell to the floor. In the silence that followed the attack, Viktor's soft voice rang out clearly as he said, "He only pissed me off a little. No point in killing him over that."

"Right," Cedric drawled out in a deadpan voice. "It's not like he was Josephine's fiancée."

"I still let even him live!" Viktor snapped back.

"Boys!" Fleur cried out in exasperated anger. "We've got bigger problems to worry about!"

"It may not be a problem, Ms. Delacour," Dumbledore said, quickly stepping into the conversation. "Though it hasn't been used since the 1300s, there was an old feature in the magic of the Goblet of Fire that was charmed to send the various Champions back to their home schools at the end of their Task. I don't know how or if this might've happened, but it does seem like a possibility for what happened to young Potter."

"So, Harry could've been sent off to either Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?" Fleur asked, the worried look not fading in the least from her lovely face. In fact, it seemed to only grow stronger. "Alone, drunk, and in an entirely different country and society than us?! That's even worse!"

"We have to go find him!" Cedric agreed immediately, already starting to look around for the fastest route that would take him to the nearest exit. "We have to alert the schools to look for and find him quickly!"

"Cedric, calm down, man!" a voice called out from the Hufflepuff table.

"Yeah, how much trouble can one kid get into alone?" a second voice agreed.

All three Champions stopped and turned slow glaring stares towards the table in question. Stares that caused all who saw them, whether Hufflepuff, Hogwarts, Durmstrang, or even Beauxbatons students to flinch and instinctively start squirming away in fear.

"You have no idea," Cedric answered in a slow, almost dangerous tone of voice.

"Come now, Fleur," Madam Maxime said in a surprisingly soothing tone. At some point during the conversation, the massive lady had come down from the professors' table and was now making her way over to her champion. The fact that she'd gotten as far as she did without anyone noticing was rather telling of how much attention the three champions were drawing upon themselves. "Your worry for your companion is admirable. But if he's at Beauxbatons, I am sure the castle and staff will keep him out of trouble. And if my fellow Headmaster was not suffering from a particular case of stupidity, I'm sure he'd remind young Viktor that Durmstrang likely has similar measures to ensure the safety of visitors and faculty."

The thousand-yard-stare Viktor gave at that mention of his school was not the least bit reassuring for anyone who saw it, especially his fellow schoolmates. After a moment of that, he shook his head to clear it and bluntly said, "We'll see the destruction from the horizon if he landed in Durmstrang."

"Oh, come now," Severus spoke up. "Famous as he is, he's only fifteen. He is not Merlin reborn. Just a rather average student with an overinflated sense of self-worth."

"Yes, he is an average student," Cedric agreed easily. "But he's also a walking natural disaster when not properly monitored. And that's why we need to find him now!"

"Not for his own safety," Viktor stated. "But to keep everyone else out of the blast zone around him."

Albus was about to speak up. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. The information that the three champions were offering about how Harry had changed this past year was quite distressing on many levels. Thankfully for his reputation and old nerves, he was spared the peril of drawing the champions' attention as a rather flustered Ministry official suddenly pushed his way into the great hall. To the man's credit, he ignored the trio of dagger-sharp looks that the Champions shot his way upon his arrival as he made his way down the central aisle and hurried over to speak to Minister Fudge.

"Minister!" the man gasped out in obvious panic and shock. "Minister, it's an emergency!"

"What? What is it?!" Fudge demanded, looking both relieved and annoyed at the interruption. "This better be a matter of dire importance. You're interrupting a diplomatic affair!"

"Sir, it is an emergency!" the man reassured frantically.

"Then, what is it?!" Fudge demanded.

"Yes, what is it?!" a frighteningly calm Veela repeated.

The ministry official turned at the voice before giving a shout of surprise at noticing the three individuals who had followed at his heels and were even now slightly surrounding him.

"Uh, this probably has nothing to do with you," Fudge tried to interject, somewhat lamely.

"We'll be the judge of that, Minister," Cedric answered with a polite grin that did nothing to settle anyone's nerves. "Now, my good man, what's the problem?"

"Um…Um, Minister?"

"Answer the question," Fudge mumbled out, his eyes darting between the three of them.

"Ah…Uh, s-someone's conjured…a hurricane outside of…Nottingham?" the man said. "It's currently destroying the area around Great Hangleton?"

"Ahh," Viktor said softly with an almost defeated sigh. "There's the blast zone."

"Time to protect the world from my idiot," Fleur said resignedly. Her two companions both nodded in agreement as all three turned to start walking away and towards the doors. As they started walking down the central aisle, Fleur glanced back at her companions with a warning glare. "Neither of you will mention a word of this to Varric!"

"Like Hell I'm letting him know he was right," Cedric said agreeably.

"I have no desire to relinquish more of my coin to him," Viktor assured her.

Running through all three of their minds was something Varric had once said to the whole of the Inner Circle of the Inquisition, save two members who had been conveniently absent. "Mark my words. After we finish this shit with Corypheus, all we'll be doing is keeping them out of trouble. And I'm not sure if we've got enough people for that job."

-Scene Break-

Little Hangleton, England
A few minutes earlier…

The first thing that he truly felt as consciousness returned to him was the sensation of what he could only equate to Harrit using his head as an anvil while he was hammering away the imperfections of steel in the forge. With each pulse of his heart, Harry felt his headache beat wildly and painfully within his cranium. He let out a pitiful and agonized groan as he felt the aftereffects of not listening to Viktor and Cassandra's advice. In doing so, he became aware of the fact that his mouth was incredibly dry and tasted vaguely of old leather.

"He's waking up," he vaguely heard a somewhat familiar voice hiss through the haze that was clouding his mind.

"Quiet! Finish the ritual!" a voice like oil oozed out. Of the voices he could hear, Harry immediately decided that he liked this voice the least. And this was surprising considering that there'd been a third voice that had been chanting this entire time.

"Flesh—of the servant—willingly given—you will—revive—your master." It wasn't until there was a grunt of pain and a loud splashing noise that Harry really registered what the words meant.

Through the haze of his hangover, Harry forced his eyes open and caught a glimpse of something that he instantly recognized as a ritual that he'd likely have to stop immediately. However, a sudden burning red light igniting from a boiling cauldron flared to life, blinding Harry's sensitive eyes, redoubling the ache in his head, and forcing him to look away in pain. By the time he'd managed to somewhat force down his headache and the accompanying nausea through sheer force of will, he opened his eyes to find himself staring face to face with a man he didn't recognize who was also clutching a silvery knife and had a bleeding stump on his right arm.

Harry attempted to put on his most threatening face. But because of his hangover, headache, and his general position (which he only now realized was dangling from a grotesque grave marker), Harry was fairly certain he missed the mark. However, he still uttered out in a low voice, "Please don't make me kill you."

The man paused only long enough to send him a malicious sneer as he seemingly flicked his tongue out like a snake. "Blood of the enemy—forcibly taken—you will—resurrect your foe."

Harry could do nothing to prevent the knife in the man's hand from coming and slicing open the skin on his exposed collar. He was actually somewhat grateful to the man. Had he gone for one of his arms, Harry knew his combat ability would suffer. Especially if this Maleficar was smart enough to cut deeply into his muscles or bone. Glancing down, Harry watched wearily as the man dropped the knife and drew out a glass vial from his pocket. He pressed the vial roughly to the wound. Harry could almost see the sadism in his eyes as he collected as much of the blood as he could. The man hurried back to the cauldron and poured the blood into it.

The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. The man, his job apparently done, stumbled slightly to the side to stand next to a somewhat skittish looking fat man who seemed vaguely familiar to Harry. The cauldron was now simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing seemed to have happened.

"…Soooo," Harry drawled out, waiting impatiently for the ritual to finish. "Trying to bring back your master?" Hopefully, he could get the Maleficar talking about their plot. Maleficar always loved to self-aggrandize about their own cleverness.

"Indeed, Potter!" the man he decided to label mentally as Fanatic snapped. "And when my master returns—!"

The man was abruptly cut off from the beginnings of a rant when the sparks within the cauldron that were emanating were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed out thickly from the cauldron instead, obscuring everything around Harry so that he couldn't see the two men or the graveyard they were within or anything but the vapor itself. Then, through the mist in front of him, he saw the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from the inside of the cauldron.

Harry took one look at that outline of the creature and couldn't help but voice his confusion. "You resurrected a darkspawn? Is it a Magister or something?"

"Robe me," the darkspawn ordered, utterly ignoring the trapped boy.

The cowering form of the skittish fat man instantly moved forward to obey, hefting up a fine robe of silky black design. The thin darkspawn stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry…and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for several years prior. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils. Even in his confusion, Harry could recognize that face anywhere.

"Lord Voldemort has risen again," the not-darkspawn stated with a cruel smile directed at Harry.

"Oh shit, is this real?" Harry asked almost unbiddenly. Even through the nausea, confusion, and pain that he was going through from his hangover, he could understand that this was indeed real. "Ohhhh, fuck!"

"So crass, Harry," the man purred out. But he truly didn't pay much attention to the boy beyond that. He was far more interested in examining his newfound body. After a moment of that, he withdrew a wand from a pocket in his robe and lovingly caressed it.

As he was distracted by himself, Harry quickly shot evaluating glances towards the two men who were now slowly starting to approach the resurrected Dark Lord. Now that he had started to understand where he was and what had happened just now, Harry's memory finally supplied him with the answer to the identity of at least one of them. It was Wormtail. Harry's first thought upon recognizing the fat coward was 'Kill! Kill! Kill!'. Though, to be fair, he'd been thinking that thought for the past few minutes since awakening to the ritual.

"…My lord," Fanatic slurred out in a weak voice. "Your followers…"

'Wow, that man really is a fanatic,' Harry thought to himself as he recognized the telltale signs of blood loss wooziness. The man had maybe minutes left of consciousness and maybe an hour before he died if he wasn't quickly given medical attention for cutting his own right hand off. And he was more concerned with Voldemort and his followers? That took some truly high levels of dedication or stupidity to disregard one's own life like that. After more than a year of exposure to such things, Harry could clearly see that that wasn't even a clean cut. But, if Harry was lucky, maybe that'd mean if he'd only have to deal with two people!

"Indeed, my loyal servant," Voldemort smirked. "Wormtail, your arm!"

"Milord!" Wormtail hissed out with a fearful nod. Despite his obvious terror, there was no hesitation in his actions. He quickly rolled up his sleeve and presented his marked arm to the Dark Lord. Harry could easily see the skull and snake tattoo that was proudly and darkly visible upon the skin. Voldemort grasped the arm and pressed his wand against the skull in the skin. There was a brief pulse of power and Wormtail hissed in pain.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up and stared around at the dark graveyard. "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 and the two men, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face. "You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. 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 as he resumed his pacing. It was during this pacing that Harry became groggily aware of the rather large snake that was slithering alongside the man's feet as he circled. "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."

After a moment of silence, he finally ceased his pacing as he turned to face Harry fully. "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, in every shadowy space, wizards were appearing. All of them were hooded and masked.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help snarking back. A year amongst the Inquisition had done wonders for Harry's banter skills, even while incapacitated and faced with death. In fact, especially while incapacitated and faced with death! "So…I'm confused. Am I supposed to bury you next to your father or your followers?"

None of the cautiously approaching figures seemed to have heard that comment, but all of them saw Voldemort turning to glare murderously at Harry. His gaze didn't even shift as follower after follower shuffled forward on their knees to kiss the hem of his robes. Looking back on it, Harry couldn't help but smirk in memory of this moment because he had managed to make the first thing the Dark Lord's followers heard from their returned master into a lie.

"You are going to die here tonight, Potter."

In the moment, Harry had said, "Everyone dies, Tom. Maybe even one of us tonight. But we'll just have to see."

"I see the year away has installed in you something the youth of today severely lack," Voldemort observed. "A sense of mortality. Are you not afraid, Harry?"

"Of course, I'm afraid!" Harry replied glibly. It was both his reply and his attitude that shocked the gathered Death Eaters and Voldemort into silence as the boy continued to talk. "Every time my life is in danger, I'm afraid. But why should that make you so special, Tom~? It's not like you're the only thing that's tried to kill me. Admittedly, you're just the most persistent. But why should I care?"

"I – AM – LORD – VOLDEMORT!" Voldemort bellowed furiously. "The immortal Heir of Slytherin! The future emperor of the world! What can you do against me, Potter?!"

"Let me out of these bindings and we'll find out," Harry stated confidently.

"Later, Potter," Voldemort hissed out in suppressed fury. "The adults are about to have an important discussion."

"Whatever you say, Tommy~" Harry only went with that nickname because he felt the imminent arrival of more mages. He knew that if he left Tom with that comment, he'd either have to go with dignity or not dignity. The 'undignified' option may have involved a degree of torture, but if it slightly tarnished Voldemort's image to his followers, Harry found that an acceptable payment. Besides, he was sure Voldemort's men couldn't compare to Red Templars or the Venatori if only because Voldemort seemed like a discount Coryphaeus.

'…Wait, do I need a Grey Warden to kill him once and for all?!' Harry thought with a small level of panic for a second. Especially when he realized that this would be the third time he'd faced this creature. No, this'll be the fourth time! Regardless of that, he decided to sit back and wait. Maybe the time Voldemort wasted preaching and preening to his minions might help Harry recover somewhat from his hangover, however unlikely that may be?

Taking a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth, Voldemort finally turned to face the gathered group of men and women around him and Harry. "My loyal subjects. I cannot express to you just how happy I am to see so many of you have returned to me after so long. Fourteen years… Fourteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday… We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

He put back his terrible face and sniffed. "I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air."

Even as groggy as he was, Harry saw the shivers coursing through the bodies of the gathered men and women. As though each member of the group longed but did not dare to step back from the angry Dark Lord.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact—such prompt appearances!—and I ask myself…" Voldemort continued, doing his absolute best to elevate the tension and fear in the air to acceptable levels. "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 for Fanatic who seemed to be slowly descending into a deepening slouch against his will as his blood continued to ooze out.

"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: 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 who 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 the 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.

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

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. "Master! Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort laughed before raising his wand. "Crucio!"

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked. Harry was sure that if there likely hadn't been a silencing ward surrounding the graveyard, those cries of agony would've easily been heard throughout the entirety of the small village that stood nearby. But as it was, not a single light flickered to life in any of the houses.

When Voldemort finally raised his wand, the tortured man lay flat upon the ground, gasping. "Get up, Avery! Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Fourteen long years… I want fourteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail and Barty here have paid some of their debts already. Have you not, Wormtail, Crouch?"

He looked down at Wormtail, who was very withdrawn and hunched over, clearly trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible. "You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve so much pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," Wormtail managed to whisper.

"Yet you helped to return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers… But first, there is someone more worthy than you who deserves my attention." Harry watched as Fanatic finally managed to pull himself up straighter, looking somehow incredibly proud of himself, despite his steadily paling skin color.

Voldemort shot the man a look that could've almost been described as warm and friendly. "Barty. Barty. Barty. Out of everyone here, you are my most faithful. Your only failing back then was getting caught. But you have remained loyal and, better still, useful. If not for largely your efforts, I would not be standing here tonight. So, in recognition for your efforts, here is your reward."

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 Crouch's bleeding wrist. The man's breathing was somewhat harsh and ragged as he raised his hand up and stared at it in disbelief and delight. The silver hand was now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed his shining fingers, then bent down to pick up a small branch off the ground, crushing it into powder with no obvious effort.

Harry also found himself in equal awe of that little magic trick. It had taken him, Dagna, Harrit, and Fleur a month to figure out how to get Viktor's prosthetic arm to work and longer still to make it a seamless part of his body. The fact that Voldemort managed to do all of that within an instant really peeved the young boy out.

"And as for you, Wormtail," the Dark Lord said, turning to face the fat man again. "Here is your reward for finding me in the first place and aiding Barty this past year." With another whirl of his wand, Voldemort summoned a large silvery locket of some kind. It came rushing out of the air from somewhere nearby, heading straight for Wormtail. Just before it could impact him in the chest, it came to an abrupt halt, it's delicate chain lacing itself around the man's neck and floating in midair for a long moment. Everyone could see the large 'S' symbol that was blazoned upon the surface before it dropped limply around the man's neck.

"While you wear this, you can go anywhere," Voldemort stated. "Because you can look like anyone. No longer must you be a mere rat to hide in the presence of others. Only those here who've seen you don that tonight will know who you truly are underneath that."

'Does that include me?' Harry wondered to himself.

"And for my final reward to you," Voldemort continued blandly. "You can go home for tonight. I know you don't want to see what comes next."

"Thank you, my lord," the cowardly man uttered before instantly vanishing with a loud crack!

While Voldemort had been busy with Wormtail, Harry had noticed that Barty Crouch had shuffled off to join the circle of hooded figures. And as Wormtail vanished, Voldemort returned his attention to the group at large.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before the man. "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 that was over a year ago. What have you done recently?"

"My lord," the partially familiar voice of the elder Malfoy said. "I have been busy securing Carrow's position at Hogwarts. He has taken up the Defense class and is doing his best to give proper instruction to the worthy."

"Hm…" The Dark Lord actually looked somewhat thoughtful at that revelation. Harry made a small addition to his list. "That would explain his absence, yes. I suppose this is…somewhat decent work in my name. But would not that work have been put to better use finding your master?"

"My lord, I was constantly on the alert," Malfoy's voice came swiftly. "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—"

"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky two summers ago?" said Voldemort lazily. "Had you instead run to the center of that Mark, you'd have run into Crouch here. You could have been a part of this grand plan all along."

From that point onwards, Harry started only listening with half an ear. He only paid enough attention to catch names, when Tom started getting particularly vocal, and whenever one of them would be dropped by a Cruciatus Curse. Other than that, he focused his attention upon himself. Breathing in lightly and exhaling harshly, focusing on how his lungs filled with life-giving air, and how he could 'feel' it circulating through his body. This was a technique that Viktor had taught him on how to deal with hangovers at an accelerated rate. It was technically only a metaphor, since it all dealt with magic. But once he was able to get his magic circulating through his body, it would naturally cleanse him of whatever toxins were still left clogging his systems up. Thus, the longer Voldemort talked, the better shape Harry would feel when it inevitably became his turn to become the center of attention.

At the same time, he was also strategizing. Turning over the various tactics, magics, and anything else that he could do to use to either escape, kill everyone present, or just by time. It would be complicated since they had been smart enough to take his belt off, which denied him access to most of his array of goodies. And he couldn't even check if his shrunken backup staff was even still where he'd hidden it in his hair. If ever there was a time when Harry really wanted to smack himself for not keeping his lightning gloves on at all times, it was now.

Harry felt himself get yanked violently out of his meditation by the sudden jolt of a curse striking his chest and immense pain wracking through his body. Strangely, it wasn't the most painful sensation he'd ever felt. It was only as though all his nerve endings were on fire. That was positively tame where compared to the sensation of Coryphaeus trying to rip into his soul to examine his magic directly. Apparently, souls could burn. Thankfully, that horrid experience had prepared him for this. After just a little hiss of initial discomfort, he just stared at Voldemort with an annoyed expression.

"I was in the middle of something," he said somewhat petulantly.

"Fascinating," Voldemort purred. "Are you not in pain, Harry?"

"Little bit," Harry admitted. "About a 4 out of 10." He was lying. It was actually about a 7. But Varric's first advice about bantering was to never do it from a perceived point of weakness. You can never let them know you're sweating. "Honestly, you're really playing second fiddle to someone else this year for me, Tom."

Although there was a look of barely restrained wrath in his eyes, Voldemort just let out a little chuckle of amusement. Then he turned back to his minions as he said, "As you can see, much like the Champions of yesteryear, he had indeed returned changed. But let it not be said that I fought a helpless child. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Now, Barty, untie him. And give him back his equipment."

All Harry could do was stare at Voldemort with a slightly open mouth of disbelief. He was so immobilized that he even failed to register just when he'd been released and set upon the ground again. He was just so busy gawking at the Dark Lord. It wasn't until a familiar belt with large pouches hanging from it that impacted the dirt before him that he finally snapped out of his daze.

"You're…actually giving me…my equipment?" Harry said as he cautiously picked it up. Even as he was doing so, he was running a light sheen of his magic over his gear, checking for any curses. There were none.

"Come now, Harry," Voldemort said in an almost cheeky voice. "I'm a civilized man. I want to face my enemy the proper way."

"But…you want to kill me, right?" Harry asked as he finished strapping the belt on. "So, why didn't you…?"

"Why didn't I what?" Voldemort asked in slight confusion.

"Oh, I don't know. Cut my arms off? Seal away my magic? Put curses on my equipment? Make me fight with a severe disability so you can more easily win? You know, a little thing called 'cheating'?" Harry asked. "In my experience, egomaniacal lunatics with god complexes just love exploiting stuff like that quite shamelessly. Not that I can blame them, of course! I mean, you want to win this fight, right?!"

With his right hand, he reached into one of his pouches and out a small vial of glowing orange liquid. In his left hand, he pulled out another vial, this one a soft green color. Harry could only smirk at the blank look that crossed Voldemort's face as he stared at him with a distinct lack of amusement. The Dark Lord was clearly more focused on Harry's earlier suggestions, especially when he'd already made it clear as to 'why' he wanted to fight Harry in a 'fair fight'. As a result, he somewhat failed to notice the two unknown vials of magic potions that Harry was holding somewhat behind his pants and out of easy view.

When Voldemort failed to form an adequate response after just a few seconds, Harry acted. The Dark Lord was distracted and off balance. This was all the opportunity he needed to suddenly throw out the orange vial in the man's direction. At the same time, he lifted the green one up to his face, downing it quickly and smoothly. Potions have to taste bad, his ass!

Voldemort reflexively sent a blasting hex to destroy the vial that was sent his way. In doing so, he inadvertently released the orange fluid within. This turned out to be a very unfortunate event because it turned out that there was much more packed into it than first seemed. A barrel's worth of orange liquid splashed out of the vial, spreading out in all directions. He had only a split second to wonder what the stuff was before it spontaneously ignited into blinding fire that splashed down upon the dirt, earth, grass, and even clung to a few nearby headstones. The burning ooze was positively blinding to all of the gathered men and women after spending such prolonged time in the darkness.

With an angry snarl, Voldemort sent a powerful Flame-Freeze Hex. It took a surprising amount of concentration, but he was able to freeze the flames solid. He was just turning to address Harry when he became aware of something very important. The boy was no longer where he had been.

Harry had used the distraction of the flames to duck out of sight. Even as he was hiding behind a headstone several meters away, he was already reaching for his weapons. The backup staff in his hair turned out to still be there and he promptly returned it to its proper size with just a pulse of his magic. It wasn't his chosen staff but he didn't have time to go rooting through his bag. Reaching down to his waist, Harry felt a small smile grace his lips as he felt the familiar sword hilt that hung there. 'Good, that'll make for a nasty surprise later!'

"Playing hide 'n seek now, Potter?" Voldemort called out.

Harry knew better than to answer. Instead, he turned an idle eye upwards as he began focusing his magic into his staff. There were clear skies, so this might take a bit more effort than he really wanted but he'd just have to make it work. Nothing quite said 'fuck you!' to an army like a lightning storm! He might not be facing an army right now, but best to get this started in case he was facing one later. And finally, he suspected that this might get his friends' attentions. They tended to worry when he was off on his own for some reason. So, he figured this would be a great way to give them an idea of where he was.

'Three castles with one storm,' he nodded to himself. He just knew that Ellana would've approved.

Static and lightning started crackling along the top of his staff and he knew that he didn't have long now. Electricity is noisy and lightning is eye-catching. So, he forcefully pumped as large a portion of his magic into his spell as he could in what few seconds he had available. He just prayed that it was enough. He knew the spell had gone off when a bolt of lightning shot skywards. If that wasn't a beacon to attract Voldemort's attention, Harry didn't know what was!

"Ahhh, there you are!" Voldemort called out in a disturbingly sweet voice. Harry had just enough time to roll away before the headstone exploded.

As he came out of his roll, he had the staff pointed already in Voldemort's direction. With just a casual pulse of his will, he sent out a bolt of lightning towards the dark lord. To the man's credit, he had already erected a strong shielding charm around himself. The lightning bolt hit but arched harmlessly around Voldemort. Behind him, some of his followers had the unfortunate fate of being in the line of fire and were sent reeling in shocked agony upon being struck.

"What was the point of that, Potter?" Voldemort asked, apparently ignorant of how Harry's counterattack had hit some of his minions. "Trying to call for help?"

"Yes, Tom," Harry answered as he quickly shot back to his feet. "That is exactly what I was doing!"

"Oh? So, how long until they arrive then?" Voldemort asked with a somewhat mischievous bloodthirstiness.

"I don't know," Harry answered bluntly. "Whenever they see it."

"So, you have no idea if help is even coming?" Voldemort asked with increasing amusement.

"Oh no, help's gonna come," Harry reaffirmed. "I just don't know when it's gonna get here. So, I'll just have to keep you occupied."

"Oh? So, what'll you do? More lightning?" There was a definite sneer on his face when he asked that.

"Yeah," Harry said with a growing grin, spinning and rolling his staff around as he did so. "More lightning! It's kinda my specialty!"

He finished that by launching another and much more powerful bolt of lightning at the dark lord. Voldemort just continued to smile for a short moment as the lightning once again impacted his shield. But unlike the previous bolt, this one was not just a simple shot. It was a continuous streaming beam from Harry's staff into his shield. Voldemort's sneer quickly fell as he raised his wand to start feeding more of his magic into his shield. Straining ever so slightly as he fed more and more power into it. The lightning blasted around the shield in a chaotic and wholly unpredictable manner that was as dangerous as it was beautiful to watch.

"Come now, Harry, do you think you can beat me with this?" he taunted.

"No, but I can thin your followers out," Harry shot back.

Voldemort shot a quick glance behind him and blinked in surprise. The circle of Death Eaters who'd been gathered behind him had all scattered. And getting his enemy's eyes off of himself was exactly what Harry had wanted. In response to this opening, he reached into his pouch and partially withdrew his old wand. In doing so, he sent a pulse of magic towards the dark lord alongside his lightning chain. The new spell hit Voldemort's shield and instantly dispelled it. The dark lord didn't even have a chance to cry out in surprise or pain before he was suddenly sent careening through the air.

As the dark lord was sent flying and his followers were all gawking at their fallen lord like idiots, Harry sent a quick glance skywards. It was starting to quickly become cloudy. 'Good, only few more minutes and then things can really get rolling!'

A flash of green drew his attention and he quickly dodged a bolt of magic that came his direction. 'Was that what I think it was?' "Alright, who tried to kill me?" The only reply sent his way were three more green bolts of death, which he expertly danced away from and around. "Alright then! Free for all!"

"You've got a lot of nerve, boy!" a random Death Eater called out.

"Awfully cocky, aren't you, brat?!" another added.

"Don't you see how badly you're outnumbered?!" a third voice demanded, sounding somehow familiar.

"Yes, and yet you can't see just how badly you're outclassed!" Harry replied.

A slightly familiar voice sputtering in indignant rage drew Harry's attention. That was bad for the man since Harry instantly shot yet more lightning at him. Though, he was somewhat lucky in that Harry was aiming to Stun in this rare case. After all, he was supposed to be important in the government or something, right? Killing those types always led to problems unless you did them just right. Which actually might be a problem for the vast majority of these people, if he now remembered right…and he'd already set the storm in motion. 'Ah, fucking shit…'

"You guys really outta run!" Harry advised, somewhat nervously now.

"Oh, and where'd your bravado gone, Potter?!" the somewhat pained voice of Voldemort demanded as he reappeared in front of Harry. "You were doing so well so far. Worried about injuring your schoolmates' parents?"

"…Sort of?" Harry asked more than answered. "Yeah, killing them would be problematic since I haven't actually proven that they're dirty in the eyes of the public. But I'd also be doing a public service."

"You're remarkably blasé about this, Harry," Voldemort observed. "But also rather astute."

"There's that," Harry acknowledged. "But there's also the fact that none of this actually matters at the moment."

"Oh? And why is that?" Voldemort asked before blinking slightly. A raindrop had just struck him near his eye. Blinking, he looked up. Weren't the skies clear earlier? He remembered looking at the moon after crawling out of the cauldron. He knew that this wasn't a natural phenomenon and he hadn't caused it. He doubted any of his followers were capable of manipulating the weather on this scale. Which left only one culprit. He suddenly remembered that first bolt of lightning that had been shot up into the sky for some reason…

"I thought you were calling for help, Potter!" Voldemort snapped as he jerked his attention back down to the boy.

"I'm great at multitasking!" Harry shot back. As the boy was ducking back behind cover, more and more rain began to quickly fall upon the area in increasing intensity. Within just a few moments, everyone present was drenched in the heavy downpour.

"This hinders you as much as it does us, Potter!"

Harry said nothing as he quietly moved about the battlefield, completely at ease with the conditions. It would've been a poor idea to conjure a storm if he couldn't fight in one. All of his clothing and gear were enchanted to function in such conditions. He didn't waste his time and energy trying to throw up barriers against the rain. This worked to help camouflage him amongst the graveyard. He couldn't help grinning when he spotted numerous such shields popping up in scattered areas, instantly locating where the various Death Eaters had hidden themselves. 'Time to make Sera and Cole proud!'

-Scene Break-

Hogwarts, Scotland

Her idiot was at it again. This storm had his magical signature all over it. She could just feel it. And, here she was, being delayed by civilians! If she'd had her way, she, Viktor, and Cedric would've already been on their way to whatever Harry had gotten himself caught up in.

She didn't care about the ethics of the decision anymore. Harry was a trouble magnet who could be scarcely controlled when surrounded by people knowledgeable of his condition. The fact that they were back in a world of where she only had two reliable allies with two potential reserves on call to monitor Harry, this meant that drastic measures must be taken. She was going to make certain that she put a powerful Tracking Charm upon his engagement ring when they got back! She could easily do it while he was asleep, so he wouldn't be able to object…or even know. It was for the best! But that would have to wait for after they could get on the move to finding her idiot!

Something that would certainly go a lot faster if people would stop trying to get them to sit down! This was partly due to her, Cedric, and Viktor all starting to group around the Ministry officials who were clearly the ones in charge. They were ready and waiting for the Ministry to form a plan of action and to disperse to carry it out, then they'd just slip in amongst them, find their idiot, and have him back in a fortified castle before he could enact anymore damage. But, for some reason that Fleur didn't understand, that wasn't what was happening just yet.

The French, British, and Bulgarian Ministers were all huddled together in a corner of the great hall, having a hushed conversation amongst themselves. She wasn't entirely sure what they were speaking of, but Minister Fudge was clearly starting to panic as he was constantly running his hand over his head and through his hair. After her time in studying under Josephine and Lelianna, Fleur had gotten quite good at reading a person's body language.

The easiest to read was the French Minister, Jean Paul Vassil. This was in part due to her familiarity with the smarmy man before her time in Thedas. He was just standing there with the other two Ministers, arms crossed with a smug looking expression barely hidden behind his large mustache. The few times he spoke, Fudge just seemed to get more panicked than he had been. Clearly, Vassil was not offering any type of worthwhile advice or reassurances. He was just standing there, taking in the view of a panicking peer with barely concealed amusement.

The next one was the British Minister, Cornelius Fudge. The man was clearly out of his depth and he knew it. He didn't know what was going on or how to respond and it was sending him into an indecisive mess that he was quickly starting to enter a mild panic attack from. This bothered Fleur a great deal since she knew that panicked leaders led to inaction which led to bad choices among everyone else, especially if her idiot decided to involve himself.

The only person she thought could've handled the situation in a semi-reasonable state was the Bulgarian Minister, Aleksi Isakov. The woman was a surprisingly cooperative and good person, made all the more surprising considering the shithole that her nation was (according to Viktor). She was trying to calm Fudge down with helpful suggestions and ideas for how to handle this surprise storm that had sprung up. But her efforts only amounted to making the man panic more, which Vassil only compounded.

Fleur really, really wanted to rush up to the trio and offer her own advice. But she was unable to reach them because of the Ministers' bodyguards keeping her and her companions away from their bosses. While they would've only offered minimal resistance, it was never a good idea to disable a political leader's protective unit before telling them what to do. Especially because she didn't have Lavellan's stupid charisma that would've let her get away with it too!

"This is taking too long!" Viktor growled angrily.

"And yet in all that time, you haven't gotten a new shirt yet," Cedric pointed out.

"We might leave at any moment," Viktor grumbled.

"You know, you could just ask me to get you one of your spares," Cedric suggested. "I've got about fifteen of them now."

"What?!" someone from a nearby table called out. "Why do you have fifteen of Viktor's shirts?!"

"The same reason I have spares for Harry and Fleur too," Cedric called back nonchalantly.

"Enough!" Fleur growled as she suddenly stood to her feet, her impatience winning out over her sense of decorum.

But whatever she was about to declare to her friends was lost as suddenly a small, blonde ballistic tween suddenly slammed into her side, arms enveloping her. A childish voice cried out in French, "Fleur! Vous êtes de retour! Vous êtes parti depuis si longtemps! Je vous ai manquê! Qu'est-il arrivé à ton œil?!"

Fleur just blinked. Then she slowly looked down at the blonde growth that had latched itself onto her. "Gabby?" Even to herself, she was surprised by how much emotion went into that word.

As Fleur was distracted by her sister's appearance that was soon followed by her mother and father, Cedric and Viktor both found themselves having unexpected reunions as well. Viktor's reunion was quite predictable to those who knew him, whereas Cedric's reunion was a bit strange.

For his reunion, Viktor just glared as the man who looked almost like an older version of himself walked up to him with a proud grin on his face. The man's expression didn't falter in the least when he saw his son's taciturn face.

"Viktor!" his father said with a proud baritone. He was clearly very happy to see his pay cheque—er, son! He meant his son!—returned, alive and well.

"Father," Viktor answered back, his face almost placid. Then, his left hand clenched tightly into a fist, metal grinding on metal easily heard as it tightened in on itself. Then, in one fast swing, Viktor's armored fist buried itself into his father's grinning face. The punch was so fast and powerful and unexpected that it sent the elder man crashing backwards and to the ground in a dead heap within a split second. Everyone unfamiliar with their relationship just gawked in incomprehension at what they'd just seen.

Cedric shot his friend a smile. "Was that as satisfying as you'd hoped?"

Viktor looked over at Cedric with an almost blank look for a moment. Then a small grin spread across his face. "After four years? Unbelievably!"

"Well, if you're in a better mood, come and meet my parents!" Cedric offered, eliciting several unnoticed small gasps from the nearby shameless eavesdroppers.

Amos Diggory was positively beaming in overwhelming pride at his son. His incredible son who was not only a surviving Champion of a tournament that was more likely to kill its participants than not, but he was also clearly good friends with a famous Quidditch star on top of that now! His pride was obvious in his voice as he happily came forward and took the Bulgarian's hand into his own to heartily shake in greeting. "Delightful to meet you, Mr. Krum!"

As Amos was getting to know his son's new best friend, Fleur was finding herself in a bit of a conundrum. Her sister was still firmly latched onto her leg and her parents had surrounded her, who were giving rapidfire questions of parental concern. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see her family again. She just didn't know how to act around them anymore. So much had changed for her in the past year that she just wasn't the person they'd remembered anymore. She had become a warrior, diplomat, budding spy, had toppled castles and destroyed armies, slain demons and beasts alike, had helped to craft wonders that would soon change the fate of Thedas. She had become so magically powerful and knowledgeable that she no longer knew quite where she fell on the spectrum of demon, beast, or just simple monster. Since she could clearly no longer be considered a mere human, there was just no way she could ever return to being that simple girl anymore. She wasn't her father's delicate flower anymore, and she didn't think she deserved to be the doting big sister either.

She just knew one thing for sure. She really needed to find her idiot. He could help her make this make sense. And so, with all of these thoughts going through her mind, the first thing she found herself saying to her family upon reuniting with them was: "I have to go now."

Naturally, this made all three of them quite upset. "What?! Why?!"

Her great amount of distress was clearly showing on her face as she looked between them all as she answered with no filter, "My fiancée is in danger or causing it. One of the two. And I really need to find him now."

"FIANCEE?!" a French voice yelled out. His voice echoed across the great hall, silencing the numerous conversations going on. Fleur looked over towards the source of the voice with a displeased glare. She vaguely recognized the young man who'd shouted. It was one of the many, many classmates who'd swooned in her presence during her time in Beauxbatons. She had not missed…Francis? Was that his name? She didn't remember anymore.

But he had asked her a question. It was a convenient excuse to not have to focus on the confusing mess that was her feelings towards her family. "Yes, my fiancée. The missing Champion: Harry Potter. Maybe you've heard of him?"

"Mooouuuu?!" Gabby gasped out theatrically. "Harry Potter va être mon beau-frére? Mais je voulais l'épouser!"

Fleur immediately shot her sister a disapproving look as she answered, "No, my idiot would drag you into too much trouble."

"If he's so much trouble, why do you wish to marry him?" her father instantly asked, doing his best to hide his own frown. This was his little girl. She wasn't ready to be married yet!

Fleur gave her father a confused look for such a strange question. "Because I love him."

"I said 'NO!', Cedric!" Amos Diggory's voice suddenly cried out loudly, conveniently offering Fleur yet another distraction. "You are staying here! Let the Ministry deal with this mess! You aren't old enough yet to get involved!"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Cedric gave his father a surprisingly cold look. "Father, I've killed far more creatures and men than you would care to know about. I think I can handle myself just fine. Now, my friend really needs to find her fiancée and we're going to help her."

"Partially because we're concerned on what he might do," Viktor helpfully added.

"So, either tell us which group is going to go out to investigate this storm or…" Cedric purposely trailed off.

"Right, eh…" Amos said uncertainly, looking more than a little uneasy about what his son had just said to him. And the implications it suggested. "Well…I don't know how to tell you this then…"

"Tell us what?" Fleur demanded, managing to pry off her confused but unresisting sister from her legs. She quickly moved over to join her friends. "What is the problem?"

"Well, the Minister hasn't actually sent anyone to investigate the storm just yet," Amos answered. His level of unease only increasing as the three of them stared at him with quickly darkening expressions. "He probably just doesn't know if he should send Aurors, Obliviators, or the Department of Mysteries."

"All of them!" all three Champions cried out.

There was a moment of silence among the crowd around them after that cry. It was during this moment that all three of them suddenly had an epiphany of the worst sort. An epiphany that Fleur neatly summed up with the utterance of: "Oh yeah, the Statute of Secrecy is a thing here."

All three of them shared a long glance before Cedric just groaned out, "Oh shit…"

After that moment, all three of them instantly began plotting.

"Well, the school brooms here are total shit," Cedric stated bluntly. "We'd never reach anywhere in time."

"What about Beauxbatons flying horses?" Viktor asked, looking over at Fleur questioningly.

"Not good," she answered. "They are temperamental."

"More temperamental than a dracolisk?"

"Yes," she did not look amused before she added. "More temperamental than a randy dracolisk during mating season."

"Is there anything else in this school capable of flight?" Viktor asked, starting to look somewhat worried.

"Well, how about thestrals?" Cedric asked. "I think Hagrid's got a small herd of them somewhere nearby."

"That should work," Fleur declared already turning to look over the Professors table, trying to find the man Cedric had mentioned. She didn't know any of the Hogwarts staff, but she was familiar with them based on several of Harry and Cedric's old stories. "He's the big one, yes?"

"Aye," Cedric confirmed. "Just mention that they're for saving Harry and we'll have them faster than a greased nug."

Fleur nodded before moving over to the big man.

-scene break-

Little Hangleton, England

It should've been easy. They were hunting just one fifteen-year-old boy with more than a dozen seasoned wizards at their disposal. The boy was clearly not quite right in the head anymore and was rather vocal in his disrespect towards his betters. Barty had seen many such boys like him during his time at Hogwarts and after. He knew that such arrogance would ring hollow eventually. And not only were they three dozen strong, but they had Lord Voldemort on their side. The only reason the boy had managed to survive this long was because he had used unknown magical artifacts before slinking away like a coward.

Or at least that's what it seemed like at first. The storm. The rain. The fog. All of it should've been impeding the boy just as much as it was them. And yet they had been steadily losing contact with each other as they spread out among the tombstones. It had quickly become apparent to all of the gathered Death Eaters that splitting up and searching out the boy individually made them easy targets for the little bugger to isolate and incapacitate at his leisure. After realizing that for some reason the classic Human Revealing spell didn't seem to work on locating the boy, the hunters had begun gathering groups of varying numbers.

Barty himself was travelling in a small group of four. He didn't know all of them who were with him, but he did recognize a lowborn Pureblood by the name of Magnus Ferret-Horn. If he remembered that dunce's name properly.

"Where is he?" a fellow Death Eater asked in an angry hiss.

"Have you tried to Revealing spell?" another asked.

"Of course, you fool!" Barty snapped furiously. He hated slow-brained idiots like these! He was probably actually a halfblood. "That was the first spell I used! It doesn't work!"

"Really?" the boy's voice suddenly chirped up in an almost happy manner. "I had been wondering about that! Good to know!"

"By the tree!" several Death Eater voices cried out instantly.

Even as they did so, numerous other wizards were already casting a variety of spells in that direction. Barty had also joined in on that attack with the others, along with the rest of his group. But as the spells were moving towards the target area, he realized there was something amiss with his group. Namely, that they were one spell bolt short. That one of them hadn't attacked with the others.

After having launched his spell, Barty glanced slightly behind towards where he knew Ferret-Horn was standing. "Something wrong, Ferret-Horn?"

No answer.

It took him a moment to realize that the man was missing. And a quick glance behind him confirmed that suspicion. "Ferret-Horn?!" he called demandingly.

"Oh? 'Ferret-Horn'? That's his name?" the boy's voice called out from a different direction. "Wow, I think I actually missed wizarding names."

"Show yourself, Potter!" one of the Death Eaters from another group ordered.

"As you wish," the boy answered from yet another direction. Then there was a sudden scream that was abruptly cut off. The silence that followed was almost eerie, but it didn't last long. "I'm sorry," the boy laughed, his voice echoing mockingly from multiple directions. "He just fed me that line and he was right in front of me! I couldn't resist! Oh, Andraste! His face! Hahahaha!"

"Wait," one of the Death Eaters near Barty muttered to himself. "He said that over there… But Bristlecone was there… And now he's there…?"

Even as the man was speaking, Barty was already catching onto his line of thought and was turning towards Bristlecone's group. He was just in time to see the flashing lights of spellfire die out. "He's over there! Come on!"

That shout enacted a variety of responses from the surrounding groups of Death Eaters. Some of them started racing over towards the shout. Others started lobbing spells about in the indicated direction. And the other group remained silent. Barty hoped that was because they were trying be silent rather than have been silenced. Though even if they had run afoul with Potter, their Lord was still present. As long as he was on the field, nothing Potter did mattered in the end. Barty had no doubt they'd triumph once Voldemort was finally able to meet the boy in actual combat. Even if it cost them all of these cowardly Death Eaters' lives, Barty would happily pay that toll to see his lord triumph.

It was somewhere between the fireball and the lightning bolt that Lord Voldemort had realized he might've miscalculated a little bit. He hadn't expected only one year to account for this much growth in the boy. He needed to kill the boy in a spectacular fashion to ingrain in the minds and memories of his minions and nonbelievers alike that he was truly invincible and immortal Lord Voldemort. He had figured he could easily do so in front of his minions when the boy had been groggy and hungover. It really should've been easy. And that's what galled him the most! Especially when the boy himself had all but told him that he should've just killed him outright from the start when he was still captive.

"Since when was murder civilized indeed, Harry?" he muttered aloud despite himself.

In retrospect, he could've spun a story. Detailing how he had used the boy as a sacrifice for his resurrection. No one would've even known, except Barty and Wormtail. Both of whom he could've dealt with in due time, if need be. But, no, he'd decided to make a big spectacle of it! Despite knowing the trouble that could come from surviving Champions. At least he hadn't started ranting about the glory and power of his new mother Jehovah! That Champion had been supposedly weird and far too eager to die. Granted, it was slightly concerning that no one had known what had happened to that Champion's body.

Still, the boy was proving himself to be far more of a nuisance than he'd have liked. Not to mention that his knack for survival had apparently been greatly amplified over this past year with the implementation of tactical and strategic planning. Lord Voldemort had been busy this entire time focusing all of his power into controlling and dissipating the gathering storm overhead. However, his efforts seemed to be in vain. As he was now realizing, despite being magically kickstarted, the storm itself was almost completely natural by this point. This made controlling it far more difficult than it would've been.

The only real pieces of magic that made up the storm anymore seemed to be the unnaturally high quantities of lightning that was coursing through the clouds. Given his foe's sudden affinity towards the element, Voldemort could already guess what the boy's plan was. But at the same time, he was also wondering just how many other things the boy could use all that lightning for. He considered the observed fondness for multitasking that the boy has demonstrated so far. Considering this storm was supposed to be a beacon of some sort, as well as a potential weapon, what else could the boy use it for? Voldemort was finally realizing that he needed to learn more. His enemy had become something wholly new and potentially dangerous where before he was just an untrained child. Now, he might really be an equal or on the path towards becoming an equal to him in combat, if not in his knowledge base.

Alas, Voldemort's attention was quickly shifting away from trying to control the uncontrollable and refocusing upon learning as much about the new enemy as he could. Thus, he stood back and watched his minions tried and failed to corral the boy. It would've been amusing to watch Potter work, if it hadn't been his minions he was humiliating. He couldn't help but scoff quietly to himself as he watched. Had ten years of relative peace done this to his forces? It was little wonder why the boy was so easily besting more than a few of them. The fools still hadn't realized just how the boy was likely tracking and stalking them so easily with their rain shields. Even he might've been surprised if he hadn't realized the boy had conjured this storm willingly himself. Fighting him in his own element was going to be tricky, so Voldemort made a mental note to control the battlefield the next time they faced each other. If possible, maybe he should maneuver the boy to fight indoors?

He supposed that he could've stood back and watched some more. Try to glean as much information about the boy as he could from this fight. But the boy was already doing a sizable amount of damage to his minions as it was. The weather was also working against him as well since he couldn't really see what was happening, only getting a general idea of Potter's little victories. He just couldn't sit back and let that stand any longer. Action needed to be taken or his enemy would whittle away his forces until only he remained. And since he'd already set his mind to giving Potter a public death, he might as well carry on with his plan.

"Enough games, Potter!" Voldemort called out. "Come face your death!" There was a long moment of silence that grated on Voldemort's nerves. Especially when he managed to see yet another few rain shields wink out when all of his minions turned their attentions back on their master. The little bugger was ignoring him! Well, better turn up the ante! "Be more of a man than your father was!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Harry's voice demanded from every direction at once. It was different than the last few times. 'Thunderous' was a very weak word to describe it, but quite apt given the current weather they were in.

"You heard me, Potter," Voldemort answered back, a slight purr of triumph coming back to his voice as he knew he'd just gotten under the boy's skin. "He didn't even put up a fight against me when he died. And all your mother could do was beg. What was it she said again?" The dark lord continued his taunt. His voice becoming theatrically mocking as he pretended to try and remember those bittersweet moments in the Potter home all those years ago. "Ah, yes, she said—"

KRRZSSHHH!

A lightning bolt suddenly struck the earth right in front of the dark lord. The blinding flash and cracking boom deadened him to the world for a split moment. After flinching back in a primal and reflexive surprise at the unexpected attack, Voldemort couldn't help staring in slight giddiness. It was only really in this moment that Voldemort felt something. Something he had not felt in more than a decade, an adrenaline surge. Truly, there was nothing better to prove to someone that they were in fact alive than the body's instinctive reaction to the brush of death.

Once he'd managed to come down mentally from that surge, he stared with a widening grin as he looked upon and then past the lightning bolt that was still anchored into the ground in front of him. "Was this supposed to hit me, Potter? You really need to work on your aim."

Rather than answer and banter back, as Voldemort had started to come to expect from the cocky boy, another deafening crash struck the ground as yet another seemingly solid bolt landed nearby the first. Then another. And another and another and another and another. It was when the fourth bolt had landed that Voldemort had realized that he was being boxed in. The lightning was rapidly forming a circle of electric power that surrounded and caged him in, wild arcs of lightning springing and coursing between each of the bolts in sporadic and unpredictable patterns. He wasn't fool enough to try and touch the energy, but he could clearly understand just what he was standing in.

Outside of the lightning prison that had descended upon the dark lord, the gathered Death Eaters were all in a state of confusion and relative panic. But not all of them. A rather respectable amount (in Barty's opinion) had quickly sprung forward to try and aid their master in whatever way they could. While their loyalty was of the highest respect, this proved to be the wrong decision. The cage seemed to feed on the spellfire, absorbing the energy bolts into itself without dimming or being damaged in the slightest. Then the prison returned fire from whatever direction the spellfire had come from, more often than not hitting the original caster.

Barty himself was only a few moments away from trying his own luck on the prison when his lord suddenly spoke up again, not apparently concerned about his current predicament. "Impressive, Potter. Most impressive. I knew you could attack with lightning, but this? This is a mastery that is far beyond merely slinging it about. What else can you do with this?"

"Oh? You mean something like this?!" Harry's voice called out.

Though Barty couldn't see where the boy was or what he was doing, he definitely heard and saw what had happened inside the cage. The arcs of lightning had suddenly jolted inwards, mercilessly striking and electrifying the imprisoned dark lord. No one could blame Voldemort for crying out in pain when that happened as arc after arc of electricity made their way over, in, and through his body.

"It's no Cruciatus, but it's my gift to you, Tom!" the boy mocked.

"Over there!" one of the Death Eaters yelled, already throwing a spell in the direction he heard. Barty was about to admonish the fool if not for the fact that there was return fire from the indicated spot. Almost immediately after, more than a dozen other spells soon filled the air, flying in that direction as well.

With the boy finally located, every remaining Death Eater who was able to started throwing spells towards him mercilessly. In the back of his mind, Barty had to silently admire the boy for what came next. Potter began to dodge, duck, weave, shield, parry, and even just flounder back in a haphazard fashion as he frantically did his best to avoid the incoming attacks. He even managed to throw in his own counterattacks somehow, despite the fact that he should've had no such opportunity to do so in such a state. And yet, the boy made an incredible showing of himself in those moments.

However, the sheer weight of the overwhelming numbers of spells attacking him finally managed to pin him down. He was backed up against a mausoleum with a quickly fading shield spell being his only defense. And yet, despite that, the lightning prison around their lord remained strong. It seemed that only when the boy was dead or knocked out would that spell lift.

"Is that the best you got?" Harry mocked through gritted teeth as he strained to keep his shield up.

"Release our lord and we'll give you a quick death!" Barty offered in a commanding voice.

"Really?" Harry called out. "I thought it was only Voldemort that could kill me! Are you seriously going to cock-block his murder boner like that?!"

A heavy silence descended upon the cemetery as everyone processed the sheer ridiculous statement the boy had just uttered. A silence that was soon broken from a most unlikely voice.

"WHAT?!" Voldemort screamed.

In the relative quiet that ensued, there came a faint noise of rustling leather. The sound of beating wings. Then there came a cry of a creature that most of the gathered Death Eaters were unfamiliar with. Not because they didn't know what it was but because they hadn't been back to Hogwarts since becoming Death Eaters.

Then, simultaneously, there was a familiar crack of Apparation as a beautiful figure arrived standing within Harry's shielded area. An area that was suddenly enshrouded and layered in another stronger shield.

"What have you gotten yourself into, my idiot?" a French accented voice asked in beleaguered fondness.

"Oh, I was just kidnapped for a Maleficar ritual to resurrect a dark lord for incompetent minions," Harry answered blandly. "You know, the usual. So, what've you been up to, Songbird?"

A sudden thumping crash as two bodies were unexpectedly made one with the mud drew everyone's attention. More than a few of the Death Eaters backed away in surprise when they saw a large, heavily armored figure holding a massive greatsword over his shoulder from his current perch upon the two crushed spines of the Death Eaters he'd landed on.

"She's avoiding her parents," Krum answered. Then, in a flash of movement that was almost too fast for them to see, Viktor Krum took his greatsword from his shoulder and started charging towards the nearest Death Eaters he could. The blade was literally burning red as flames danced along its surface. Needless to say, his targets didn't have much time to react properly before being struck down.

Before the beast of a man could rush for more targets, Harry quickly called out, "Some of them have political contacts! Don't kill them all!"

"Wait, what?" Cedric's voice called out as he landed nearby. He too had been aiming to land upon one of the Death Eaters, likely killing him in the process. However, Harry's declaration had reminded him of that little fact just in time to stop him. So, instead, he landed next to his original target. Before the man could do more than look in his direction, Cedric was already bringing his shield around and smacked him strongly in the face, knocking him senseless and to the ground. "Dammit, I forgot about that."

"Hm…" Fleur hummed dispassionately as she looked over the gathered crowd, already considering the games of political assassination she'd have to play again to make the kills palatable. "That's gonna make things annoying. Why couldn't they just be darkspawn?"

"Because he's in the cage," Harry pointed out, literally pointing in that direction towards the dark lord.

As his companions were looking in that direction and seeing the captured Voldemort in the flesh, the dark lord finally came to a decision. One he had been admittedly weary to make but now realized he had no choice. It was time to cut his losses here and leave to fight another day. One Champion had already proven quite difficult to deal with. But four? All together? Even he wasn't sure he could manage that! Not without the backing of the best of his followers, none of whom were here…and a complete retraining of those present.

Still, first he needed to escape this prison. It was time for desperate measures. He hated casting this spell when he was so close in proximity, but needs must. "Fiendfyre!"

The writhing mass of pure demonic fire sprung to life from his wand. It instantly crashed against the walls of the lightning prison and overwhelmed them. Before the fire could naturally rebound and come back to consume the caster, as was its nature, Voldemort had already vanished in an Apparation the split second the prison had fallen. Without the caster to direct the fires, they naturally began to spread out to consume everything else around them.

"What the fuck is this thing?!" Harry called out in concern as what looked like a cross between a basilisk and a wrath demon began to slither forward to attack the Death Eaters and the Champions.

"Fiendfyre," Krum answered in a somewhat reluctant voice. It was really telling to Harry that Viktor Krum was reluctant to face down this spell after everything they'd been through. This spell must've been truly dangerous.

"You will never learn or cast this spell, Harry," Fleur stated with utmost command in her voice.

"I know, I know, Songbird," Harry grumbled as he shot her a disgruntled look. "Even Ellanna told me that fire and me don't mix."

"No," Fleur countered. "Ellanna said you and fire mix too well."

"So, how do we handle the fire snake?" Harry asked as he watched the many Death Eaters who were still up and active instantly start teleporting away, apparently to safety. He also watched as the numerous unconscious Death Eaters that he'd knocked out earlier were all engulfed by the fires one after another in rapid succession. "Well, so much for that…least I didn't do it!"

"It's demon fire!" Cedric barked out, already in soldier mode. "We have to burn away its fuel source before it can spread too far. Then it'll just burn itself out here."

"Demon? Fire?" Harry repeated. He looked up with interest at the storm clouds that still hung high overhead as an idea came to him. "Yeah, I got a better idea!"

Harry raised his staff skywards. Before any of his companions could say a word to stop him, he was already casting the spell he wanted with a wide grin. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver ball of light formed at the tip of the staff before rocketing up into the clouds. After just a moment of seemingly no effect, a pulse of light emitted from the clouds. Then the pulse grew brighter and stronger as it formed into a more distinct shape. Once the shape had taken hold, a grand stag descended from the skies, the storm cloud coalesced inside its ethereal body. With a silent roar, it rushed forward to gore the fire demon which turned to face its unexpected foe.

For a moment, it was less of a battle between elements of fire and water and more a clash of beasts as the two fought one another. Fires randomly broke out wherever the snake thrashed about and the landscape was generally soaked in a heavy, wet mist as the stag dodged, weaved, and attacked about. With an agonizing slowness, the fire snake began to shrink in size and power. As this was happening, Harry couldn't help but grin madly as his theory was proving true. There really was nothing better to do than just enjoy the moment.

Of course, it was precisely at that moment of enjoyment that an intrusion occurred. In the form of several dozen wizards and witches riding in on broomsticks, all bearing the robes and badges of the Ministry of Magic.

Most of them remained in the air and silent, where it was relatively safe, as they watched the clash. But several of them landed nearby the Champions, particularly those dressed in marooned colored robes. A certain lion-headed individual came forward. He had a hard face as he stared at the group, particularly the numerous bleeding and/or dead bodies that surrounded Viktor and his bloodied sword. But his gaze didn't linger on any one of the Champions for too long until they inevitably located Harry. When they did, they froze and he stared.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," the man said. "I trust you can explain what all of this is about?"

"Er…I can…?" Harry answered hesitantly, already getting a bad feeling for some reason.

"Right, so…What exactly happened here, Mr. Potter?" the man demanded lowly.

"Um…" Harry couldn't help but glance towards Fleur, silently begging for help.

"I asked you, not her, Potter!"

Harry froze up momentarily, until he felt Fleur rest her hand upon his shoulder reassuringly. She leaned down slightly to quietly murmur into his ear, "Think of him like Cullen. Just give him an after action report."

"Very well," Harry stated, drawing himself up into a parade rest stance, suddenly seeming completely professional. And it wasn't just Harry either. All four of the Champions took up similar positions as the youngest, all gazing towards the man but not looking at him as Harry began speaking in a loud but clear voice. "We were all just celebrating a great victory with our organization when the four of us suddenly found ourselves transported somewhere else. I was brought here alone and detained for an unknown blood ritual by a Maleficar. After the ritual was performed, I realized it was meant to bring back to life the dark lord, Voldemort." He ignored the man's reflexive flinch at the name as he continued his report. "The dark lord summoned a large group of his minions to this area and decided to engage me in a duel. He returned my weapons to me and we fought. I fought back and stalled the fight, using every advantage I could to allow my friends time to locate me. When they arrived, the dark lord unleashed Fiendfyre and escaped, along with a large number of his minions. I conjured this Patronus to combat the Fiendfyre and it has been working thus far."

"That's…very good, Mr. Potter," the man stuttered out slightly. He was rather surprised and somewhat uncomfortable at how clear, precise, and detailed the young boy's report was and with minimal boasting and aggrandizement, which was so unlike what one would expect from a teenager. No, this report sounded like something one would expect from a fully-trained and dedicated Hitwizard or Auror.

Before the Auror could really decide on a proper answer, another person approached. This one was cloaked in grey robes with its hood up, hiding their face in a magical shadow that obscured their identity. Harry couldn't even really determine if the person was male or female because those same robes apparently somewhat obscured any physical traits that could hint towards the sex of the person. Despite that though, the person moved with obvious intent and authority as they stepped up to the group.

"That is your construct combating the Fiendfyre?" the person demanded in a rather abrupt manner. Clearly, this was a person accustomed to getting fast and clear answers from everyone.

"…Yessss," Harry hissed out almost uncertainly as he and Fleur eyed the stranger. "I just said that to… Who are you again?"

It took a split second for the Auror to realize Harry was speaking to him at the end. He frowned but answered, "Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror."

"That sounds important," Harry said to himself before looking over at Fleur. "That's important, right, Fleur?"

"Yes, Harry," she answered calmly. "It means he's the leader of the Aurors here in England, like the captain of the guard."

"And I'm the Unspeakable Grey Tempest," the cloaked person spoke. "How did you conjure this construct? What is it based off of?"

"It's a Patronus," Harry answered simply. "They can ward off demons fairly well. I just gave it some extra power."

"Interesting…" Tempest said quietly, more to themselves than the others.

"Fleur, what are Unspeakables again?" Harry quietly hissed up to Fleur questioningly.

"Magical researchers, I believe?"

"Then why is it acting like one of Leliana's spies?"

"They delve into the deepest and most dangerous secrets of magic," Fleur stated simply. "Those that aren't fit for the public."

"Ooooh," Harry drawled out in understanding. "But why the spy act?"

"Maybe it's a flair of the department or a personality quirk?" Fleur suggested dismissively. "I just know they aren't supposed to be known by the general public."

"Getting back on topic," Scrimgeour interrupted, looking quite pointedly at Harry. "What the hell has been going on here?!"

"Didn't I already answer that?" Harry asked. "Kidnapped? Maleficar? Resurrected dark lord? Storm?"

Before Scrimgeour could go on the tirade that he so clearly wanted to, yet another person suddenly descended from the skies upon a broomstick. The person was a woman in a black pants suit that looked like it was seventy years out of fashion. "Obliviator Edgecombe from the Department of the Misuse of Magic," the woman introduced as she touched down. "My team just did a basic sweep of the area and gathered out the muggles who were starting to grow curious. It would help if we had an agreed upon story to implant when we do the mindwipes."

Though the woman was speaking to Scrimgeour, it was obvious to everyone that she too seemed to be staring at Harry instead. This was a major warning bell, which had joined up the chorus of bells ringing his mind, that really set the boy on edge.

"Um…Isn't that your job to figure out?" Harry asked uncertainly, feeling an impulsive need to back away.

"Yes, it is," she answered bluntly. "But it'd be easier if we had a basis to work with. This is yet another mess of yours I have to clean up, after all. So, any ideas?"

"Another?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Yes, that incident with your aunt two years ago," the woman stated tiredly. "So, ideas?"

Harry looked back towards the area where the battle had been fought. He watched as the various wizards and witches had finally started contributing to the dwindling fight between the Fiendfyre and his Patronus. He watched as his Patronus finally caused the fire snake to wither and fade away while the wizards snuffed out the remaining fires. Then he looked back towards the group of what were clearly the commanding officers of the various mages that had arrived. It was then that a sudden spike of understanding shot through his skull and he realized exactly what was going on. And he didn't like it!

"Why do you think I know how to fix this?" he asked with sudden petulance. "Isn't that your jobs?"

"Yes, but you're Harry Potter," the Obliviator pointed out.

"You apparently just fought another dark lord," the Auror added.

"And you used unknown powerful magics during the fight," the Unspeakable finished. "A proper debriefing is required."

All was silent between the group as they all looked upon Harry. His expression started out bewildered before rapidly shifting to horrified and then pausing on a look that could only be described as one of profound realization. "Perhaps I should debrief you all, but there's a problem. You are not my commanding officers. You shall just have to wait for a full debrief from my commanding officer after I speak with her."

There was another moment of awkward silence as the three people all processed his statement and sudden grin. Then the Edgecombe asked the obvious question, "Your commanding officer?"

"Yes," Harry answered, his grin not wavering. "The High Interrogator of the Inquisition, Madam Fleur Delacour."

"Oh no!" Fleur immediately barked out with a fiery glare upon the boy. "You are not hoisting this whole mess off on me!"

Harry blinked in surprise for a moment before a look of betrayed trust crossed his face as he stared at her glaring expression. "But…Fleur?"

"Not this time, Harry!" she interrupted.

"But isn't this what I'm supposed to do in these situations?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, back on Thedas!" Fleur pointed out.

"And don't try to include us in this either, Potter!" Cedric called out.

"You were the one to use an anti-army spell to deal with an insurgent group," Viktor added in.

"But…what am I supposed to do?" Harry asked in genuine confusion. "The last time I was in charge of diplomatic matters, it didn't go well! Remember the Templars?"

"Well, if that's settled!" Scrimgeour interrupted again. "We've got some questions for you, Potter!"

Harry looked between the various officials, at his group of treacherous friends, and made a snap decision that would shape the rest of his night…and probably land him on the couch for the rest of the week. "Look! Voldemort's back!" he screamed dramatically, pointing over the officials' shoulders.

It didn't fool his three companions, but it wasn't meant to. For the very second that the three adults turned away in surprise, fear, and confusion, Harry had immediately grasped ahold of Fleur and raced off towards where he could see the three creatures his friends had arrived upon. Even without looking, Harry already knew that Viktor and Cedric had joined them in exasperated silence as they fled yet more authority figures. By the time the three Ministry mages had realized they'd been tricked and turned back to berate the boy, he and his companions had already mounted their threstals and were in the air.

As the threstal that bore Harry and Fleur took to the sky, Harry called back to the mages in a slightly panicked shout of babble. "I'llsendthereportlater!Gottago!Bye!"

The only reason that the three of them managed to escape the clutches of the mages before they could send their various flyers after them was the sheer shock of the audacity that the boy had just displayed. This was the first time in any of their careers that someone had managed to fool them and escape so easily! It honestly took them a few critical moments to realize just what had happened. By then, the group was already long gone.

As they were flying overhead in the darkness back towards the castle, Cedric looked over at the boy with an annoyed expression on his face. "You do realize that without Ellanna and the Inquisition behind us, we have to be more conservative with our magic. We're not on Thedas anymore. We have to obey the laws and not ignore them anymore."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Harry grumbled. A reassuring grip from Fleur, who was seated behind him, helped to lift his mood slightly from those depressing realizations. "It's just… They were looking at me for answers! Like I knew what was going on beyond…you know, beyond an after-action report." What went unspoken was how Harry just caused major magical events, not cleaned up afterwards.

After ten long minutes of relative peaceful silence, a familiar castle became visible on the horizon. Harry couldn't help but smile as he easily recognized the first home he'd ever known. But as they drew closer upon it and from his elevated position, his new experiences with castles and fortifications caused him to look upon Hogwarts in a new light. Its layout was utterly nonsensical, with minimal or nonexistent defensive walls or structures, and, if not for the innate magic of it, would've collapsed or have easily fallen to an attacking force. This realization caused Harry to wonder just how many times Hogwarts had been sacked in the past millennia, if ever.

As they were flying over the courtyard that led towards the Entrance Hall, the threstals came down for a landing and Harry spotted a large group of students and various other adults milling about the area. All of them looked upwards as the flying group approached. As they did, Harry could feel Fleur's grip upon him tighten ever-so-slightly. This caused him to look back at her questioningly.

"Mon amour," she said softly with a hesitant look in her eye. "There's something I almost forgot to tell you."

"What's wrong?" he asked equally softly.

"My parents are here," she stated, looking at him with a lost expression on her face. "I don't know how to deal with them anymore… Help?"

A look of sudden and genuine panic crossed Harry's face as he processed what his fiancée had asked of him. "But…I don't know… I've never had parents before! What could I do?!"

Even as he was speaking, the threstal landed. Sliding off the creature, Fleur's gaze drifted over his shoulder and towards a very distinctive family group. "Well, I guess we'll have to improvise."

Harry followed her gaze towards the family and froze. But Fleur subtly grasping his hand in a supportive gesture calmed his nerves slightly. "Right. Right. I'm just meeting your family… This is nothing like what Viktor had to go through… Why do I suddenly feel like facing Corypheus again?"

"Don't worry, Harry," Cedric stated from nearby. "You're almost as good at charming people as Ellanna. You've got this!"

"Right," Harry said in a hesitant voice. It was a hesitation well founded as he spotted Fleur's father's glare upon his face directed at him. "I've got this."

End of Chapter 1

Fiori75's Note: Writing from Peter Pettigrew's POV is fucking weird. You gotta find this weird balance between fond nostalgia for the people he misses, abject cowardice, and the sort of scummy pragmatism that allow his cowardice to overpower his fond feelings he has. And, man, did this chapter run on for a lot longer than we meant it to. Cause not only did I have to write Pettigrew's pov, I had to figure out how to write the rest of the Death Eaters pov! Voldemort's this weird mix of pragmatic thought and a desire for spectacle to feed his ego. And Barty… Barty is a fanatic! His utter faith in Voldemort kinda makes it hard to show his fear in a hopeless situation.

Anyhow, one of the things that I liked about these kinds of stories is basically the 'return'. Which is why you're getting that first. Of course the story of just how they all got here is the story you should all know by now. As Varric Tethras said: All That Shit Was Weird!

Tellemicus' Note: So, yeah, we're doing something different with this story. As you might've guessed, this portion of the story is largely Fiori75's baby. He offered me an idea how we could write this story and as you can see it interested me enough to try it. Namely, one of the biggest things about this story that Fiori75 wanted to do was explore the 'aftermath' of the Hero's Journey and show how some people could be affected differently from going through such incredible events before suddenly being pulled back home and expected to readjust back into everyday life again, like nothing had apparently happened.

But don't start thinking that this is this story's only surprise. There's a pretty big one coming in the upcoming chapters! And once it comes, I bet a good portion of you are going to be quite frustrated with us. Hehehehe!

I used Google Translate for the French and Bulgarian talking parts. So, if any of that is wrong, that's the reason why.

French minister = Jean Paul Vassil – asshole, French supremist
British minister = Cornelius Fudge – bureaucrat, cowardly
Bulgarian minister = Aleksi Isakov – good person, cooperative