Spinning through a void of colours, Harry landed on the dark grass, heaving. Finally glad to have the tournament over with, he reached out with his magic, to release his invocation. It was only as he did so that he grew aware of its blaring warning, right as a thick branch broke itself upon his head.
Waking blearily, Harry had no idea how much time had passed since being knocked unconscious, but he did his best to take stock of the situation. From both the local geography, and the distance he could sense from his Hogwarts workshop, he was quite certain something was wrong.
His next clue was the lack of people around, except for one small short person whimpering next to a cauldron, whose contents were a luminous burning red. As the lone man shuffled towards him, Harry finally got a glance under his hood, easily recognising his distinctive features.
"Wormtail. You're, you're Peter Pettigrew, aren't you?" Harry rasped, having only ever seen the man within Tom's visions.
"Harry." Wormtail greeted, giving a pained smile, despite the circumstances. "Your father was always kind to me… I wish you hadn't woken up, it would've been a kindness."
"Why are you doing this?"
"My master wishes it of me… and I am not strong enough to deny him. You cannot imagine the power he wields… although it seems you may learn before your end."
So saying, Wormtail didn't hesitate to forcefully gag the boy, before taking a long cut down Harry's arm, insultingly choosing the uninjured right arm.
Unable to help himself, Harry screamed in pain, even as he desperately tried to draw his magic out of his stolen blood. Unlike whenever he'd willingly given his blood, Harry couldn't stop his panic when his blood steadfastly refused to obey his commands.
"Blood of the enemy forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."
The moment Harry's blood hit the cauldron, the world seemed to still, before it positively exploded. Even as the cauldron melted into a human-like shape, a thick white fog spread across the graveyard.
Through it all, Harry's consciousness dipped and waned, riding the storm of pain emanating from his scar. With each dip, he saw a vision of the very same graveyard, but from a third person perspective.
Finally, a sickly pale, skeletal figure formed from the cauldron and whatever foul potion it had held. Eyes snapping open, wide livid scarlet eyes beheld the scene, the inhuman face of Lord Voldemort grinning at Harry's dazed form.
Then suddenly Harry wasn't seeing a graveyard, but a darkened apartment, with a man jumping out of bed. Extremely confused, he could only follow along as the man ran into his bathroom and was violently sick, rousing the women who had slept beside him.
"Henry, what's wrong?"
"I'm… I'm fine, Lucy. Just a bad dream, don't worry." The man croaked, allowing Harry to identify him. While his hair was a few shades lighter, and having stolen Harry's eye colour, it was most definitely Tom Riddle.
"Tom?" Harry tried, without effect. Before he could think of any way to try and get the man's attention, with the hope of gaining help, he felt his consciousness pulled again.
Opening his eyes, he involuntarily stopped breathing upon seeing Voldemort's face mere inches from his own.
"Welcome, to my resurrection, Harry Potter. I would introduce you to the area, but I hear you are already well acquainted. Even worked on my ancestral manor, like some common servant. Amazing is it not, what you might glean from some Muggle's mind?
"You see, I killed my father, when I was only a few years older than yourself. My mother, the pathetic witch that she was, died in birth, leaving me as much of an orphan as yourself." Voldemort hissed, backing away, "But look, my true family returns!"
On cue, the crack of multiple apparitions broke the silence, as hooded and masked figures filtered into the graveyard.
"Master… master…" One of the death eaters murmured, crawling towards Voldemort on his knees, kissing the hem of his robes.
While Voldemort was busy playing with his followers, Harry tried to get himself free, to no avail. Despite the fact he'd taken the cup, the Goblet of Fire hadn't released him from his contract yet, keeping him locked from his mithril.
He didn't even know where his wand was, but he could safely say it wasn't accessible. Finally, he tried to reach out with his wandless abilities, only to come across a solid block.
Frantically Looking with his magesight, his concern only rose upon seeing Voldemort's sickly dark red magic resting just above his own. Doing his best to feel it out, Harry could tell it was too rough and chaotic to be a ritual, or even a rehearsed spell.
To Harry, it felt like raw magic, Voldemort's own force of will and intent keeping his own magic trapped. No matter how hard he pushed, Voldemort's magic refused to budge, while the man himself gave no visible response to Harry's best efforts.
The screams of a tortured Death Eater startled him out of his escape attempts. Against his better judgement, he couldn't take his eyes off the robed man, writhing under the Cruciatus.
Soon enough, Voldemort turned to Wormtail, shooing Avery away. After teasing out some more sobs from the cowardly man, he raised his wand and with a complicated whirl left a streak of molten silver, brilliantly reflecting the moonlight.
Through the tint covering his magesight, Harry found it hard to See what it actually was, but from every aspect he could see, it was painfully similar to his own mithril. Under his direction, Voldemort's construct shifted and writhed a gleaming human hand, which soared down to settle upon Wormtail's bleeding stump.
Instantly halting his sobbing, Wormtail lifted his new hand in wonder, flexing it and marvelled at how it seamlessly bonded to his wrist. Reaching down, the man lifted a small rock, before crushing it and letting the resulting powder pour out.
"My Lord, Master… it is beautiful… thank you, thank you." Wormtail breathed, scuttling forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail." Voldemort announced, dismissing the man even as he pledged his eternal servitude.
"Recognise it, Harry? I'd hoped you would. It took me many years to learn the secret of Goblin silver, so I admit to myself… displeased, that an eleven year old is capable of the same. But, then I am more than just my mythril. You see, during your stay working for my manor, you happened to leave a remnant of your mythril.
"It was that which allowed me to pass a condition into the Goblet of Fire, specifically blocking the creation of your mythril. Sacrificial magic… can be very useful at times, do you not think?" Voldemort mocked, "Wormtail, show our little guest your gift."
Moving with more confidence than he'd shown before, Wormtail didn't hesitate to thrust his shiny hand into Harry's face. Now that it was so close, Harry could almost breathe a sigh of relief.
Despite what Voldemort had claimed, it was clear that their two skills were different. The magic within Wormtail's hand moved sluggishly and clearly fed off the man's own supply. It was more akin to the Goblin Meithralum than Harry's Mithril.
What was far more alarming was Voldemort's ability to review and disable Harry's mithril, even if the man had confused it for his own inferior method. Not that it mattered much, seeing as Voldemort had nevertheless given Wormtail a hand fully capable of crushing Harry's skull.
While Harry was given the opportunity to study Wormtail's hand, Voldemort carried on his role call, while also regaining his servants' fear and loyalty.
As he monologued, Harry took careful note, in the vague hope he'd live long enough to pass on the information. If Voldemort was going to explain his entire plan, the least Harry could do was try and profit from it.
"And one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service. He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend joins us tonight."
It seemed after 13 years of being a spirit, Voldemort wanted to fully stretch his vocal cords, as he would just not stop talking. In painful detail, he laid out his carefully made plans, heedless of the cold chill affecting many of his unwilling audience.
"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand." Voldemort finally announced, making Harry's anxiety spike through the roof.
While the rest had helped him, Harry was still suffering from a few broken ribs, along with the sticky blood coating his arm and hands. Most of all, he was worried about his invocations, which he'd still not had the chance to cancel.
It was still feeding off ambient magic, but his senses were telling him he was drawing close to his limit. If he left it too late, the magical cost demanded of him would be far greater than anything he could provide.
With a single swipe, Wormtail tore through Harry's bonds with his new hand, before shoving Harry's wand into his palm.
Grasping it tightly, Harry rolled his shoulders as he stood up, running his fingers up and down his blackthorn wand for what might be the last time.
As if in response, the white raven feather core hummed in solidarity, transferring a surge of will.
"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort softly mocked, "First, we bow to each other. Come on now Harry the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore would not want you to forget your manners now would he?"
He knew Voldemort was just playing with him, but Harry bowed regardless, keeping his eyes locked on Voldemort's as he did so.
Mid bow, he felt Voldemort lift his magic, drawing it all into himself. With this freedom, Harry let his own magic ease out, sighing at the relief.
The invisible bolt of Legilimency was to be expected, although its struggle against his mithrilium was not. Instead of simply shattering, as everyone else would do, Voldemort's probe kept up the attack.
Fortunately for Harry, despite Voldemort's attempt at drilling through, his protections proved they could regrow quicker than they'd be destroyed.
"Very good." Voldemort awarded softly, "And now you face me, like a man… straight-back and proud, the way your father died… and now - we duel."
As Voldemort raised his wand, Harry tried to beat him to the punch. Throwing out his changeling spell with his off hand, Harry simultaneously let loose with a strong red lightning bolt.
In return, Harry was forced to the ground as Voldemort's nearly invisible Cruciatus moved impossibly fast, crossing the distance between them far quicker than the lightning bolt.
Through the pain, Harry could make out Voldemort effortlessly banishing the lightning, while his changeling spell fizzled out on its own.
Under the curse, Harry screamed as he experienced more pain than anything else in his life, exaggerated by his mithriulum's attempt to counter the dark magic. And yet, despite the pain, he could easily hear the Death Eaters' laughter, led by Voldemort's own high laugh.
Inexorably the curse tore and burned and stabbed anything and everything Harry was, scorning any defence he might've been able to raise against it. Finally, Voldemort broke the curse himself, leaving Harry shaking uncontrollably.
"A little break, a little pause… That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"
In reply, Harry spat a ball of blood at him, making the monster's eyes flash in anger. With a blindingly fast gesture, Voldemort forced the wind out of Harry's lungs, sending him to his knees again.
"Tsk tsk, I asked you whether you want me to do that again. I will have my answer! Imperio!"
While his mental defences may have managed to hold back Voldemort's Legilimency, his Imperius simply burned its way into his brain.
Just say 'no'... say 'no'... just -
World spinning, Harry grasped his wand firmly as he wrenched his mind free, sending a spear of condensed air as he did so.
"I won't!"
While the spear was negligently dissolved, his words were not.
"You won't?" None of the Death Eaters were laughing now, "You won't say 'no'? Harry, -"
Rather than let him finish, Harry painstakingly drew his wand up from the ground, causing a small rumble before a great big shiny black orb burst free between them.
Finally, Voldemort's red slitted eyes widened in shock, thrusting his wand forward and forcefully exploding the fissure attack before it could reach him.
This gave Harry just enough time to cast the Dark shockwave curse, which had proven so effective against his dragon.
Sending out the wave of incandescent shadows, Harry felt a flush of satisfaction as a few Death Eaters weren't quick enough to shield, and fell covered in blood scars.
Against Voldemort, the man merely flared the side of his robe, extending a pitch black shield which completely absorbed the shockwave. That was as far as he got, before Voldemort's retaliatory purple fire destroyed his blasting curse.
Despite his invocation having warned him of the spell's trajectory, Voldemort's fire still phased through his ankle as he tried to dive aside. There was the briefest sense of warmth, before all feeling was lost.
Looking down, he almost threw up upon seeing his foot just barely hanging onto the rest of his leg.
"My- my Harry, that was not nice at all. I admit, I find myself surprised, that one so loyal to Dumbledore might know a spell so dark. But no matter… No matter. I'm going to kill you Harry Potter, I'm going to destroy you. After tonight no one will ever again question my powers."
There was no anger in Voldemort's voice, just a cold certainty, one Harry could hardly disagree with.
As Voldemort talked, Harry reached down and cast a freezing spell upon his foot, freezing the entire thing within a layer of ice. He almost fainted as his vision went white, a new pain rushing through his system. But it did its job, as Harry was able to gingerly rest his weight upon the poorly made splint.
The moment he felt he could trust his leg, Harry cast the strong Lumos he could, covering his eyes just moments before. Immediately after he threw two air spears at Voldemort, who deftly dodged them.
Harry didn't know if the man had been blinded, but he continued fighting as if he could still see. What it did allow was for Harry to spot the Triwizard cup, safely behind Voldemort.
He had no idea if it would still work, for all he knew it was now nothing but a shiny cup, but for once he had hope. Disillusioned and masking his magic the best he could, he launched his changeling spell to Voldemort's right, while also sending a vague impression of his magic backwards.
As he'd hoped, Voldemort's eye's sightlessly followed his magic, while missing his real location.
Just as his spell struck the ground behind the man, Harry rushed forward, using the subsequent explosion to cover his movement. Immediately Voldemort raised a strong shield between himself and the explosion, while Harry summoned a sigil sword and swung it towards the man's side.
Using frighteningly fast reflexes, Voldemort managed to spin around, blocking the sword with his shield. But, without letting up for a single moment, Harry kept swinging with all his might.
Against his magically enhanced strength, Voldemort's fresh and unused muscles could not compare. This had the delightful result of pushing Voldemort aside, far enough to open a gap. Dropping his sword and causing it to erupt, burning his right hand in the process, Harry set off for the cup.
His explosion had sufficiently scared the Death Eaters away, while he pushed onward through sheer force of will. It was at that exact moment his magic started screaming in full, warning him he'd reached his limit with the invocation.
If he didn't drop them right now, he was dead, regardless of his escape attempt.
Hearing Voldemort's yell of rage, while feeling the violent magic build behind him, encouraged Harry to take a leap of faith. Wand held tight in his left hand, reaching out as far as he could, he cast Accio with all his might, just before he dropped his invocation.
Immediately he felt a blood rush as all his energy was mercilessly purged from his body, with the invocation furiously taking its payment. Eyes useless, he could just barely feel something strike him, before the Triwizard cup slammed into his chest and whisked him away.
Slamming painfully into the ground, Harry didn't even have the energy to moan, unable to do anything but lay there. He could feel the grass tickling his face, could smell it and he tried to hold onto that. If he had failed, if he was back in Voldemort's grasp, he didn't want his last moments to be worse.
Upon his head, his scar felt like it was turning itself inside-out, which hardly helped his sense of security. Then all of a sudden a pair of hands seized him and roughly turned him over.
He could hear vaguely muffled shouts, but it was all drowned out by the pounding of blood. But he could feel Dumbledoredore's magic, which was sufficient. He would be safe now.
With that realisation, he was slowly able to comprehend those shouting around him, even as he started drifting off.
"What's going on? What's happened?"
"Cornelius, I do not know, please! Harry, please Harry."
"Dumbledore… his arm, what happened to his hand!"
"Alastor, Nymphadora! Take Harry, he needs to go to the Hospital wing, do not leave him, no matter what. I'll send Remus to you soon, he'll have a big black dog. They are both to join you guarding him. Go! Xenophilius, you know where to find Remus. Minerva, I need you to-"
I am planning just one more chapter, maybe two depending on speed, then I'll be on my planned break from this particular story. So, if you are following either of my other stories, you're in luck, otherwise…
Things I think need explaining:
- Voldemort's mythril: Basically, an adult Tom Riddle got to study several goblin made objects while working at Borgin and Burkes, which eventually allowed him to replicate it with his own technique. Because he is a wizard, he can skip a lot of the steps the goblins have to go through, but just like the goblin metal, once it has set Voldemort cannot change the mythril without deconstructing the entire object.
As for the name, in universe I see it as mythril is pronounced exactly like Harry's mithril, the spelling change is mainly for reader benefit.