The hood was pulled from his head without ceremony. Harry Potter, a middle-aged man now, sat bound to a chair in a plain room before the hearth. His hair, wild and tousled from the hood, clung to his sweaty forehead. His jaw and chin were rough with stubble and smeared with dried blood. Sweat dripped from his nose, stinging the many cuts that adorned his face.
A thin man in a brown robe stepped around him, roughly slicking back his hair, revealing a jagged scar above his brow. He cursed, wiping his hand on his robes to rid it of sweat and blood.
"Well, well, well," said a familiar voice from the shadows.
Harry blinked through the haze of pain. A man, dressed sharply and lounging in a lavish chair, sat across from him. His posture was relaxed, almost regal, in stark contrast to the grim scene unfolding.
"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort," the man continued with a sly smile.
Harry squinted at him, the voice igniting a flicker of recognition deep in his mind. But the face... he couldn't place it. The man's black hair was neatly combed, his dark brown eyes glinting with something Harry couldn't name. How did he know this man?
"Thirty-five years to the day," the man said regretfully, "since you struck down the Dark Lord. I must admit, Harry, I'm disappointed. I'd have thought you would've taken your life lessons more seriously."
He shook his head as if scolding a child. "That you've spent your years toiling behind a desk, living a simple life—it's heartbreaking, truly."
Harry's instincts screamed at him. He stared at the man, the unease creeping up his spine. "Who are you?" he croaked, his voice rough from disuse. "What do you want with me?"
The man smiled charmingly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "You really don't know?" he said with mock disbelief. "Oh, Harry. We have quite the history, you and I. But it seems... you've forgotten me."
Harry's eyes scoured the man's face, desperation clawing at him. He should know this man. The features were sharp, familiar, yet maddeningly elusive.
The man sighed dramatically. "You're taking some of the fun out of this." He stood and walked to the hearth, gazing into the flames. "You know, it wasn't how I expected it to be. Death, that is. I feared it my whole life, and in the end, there was only peace. All those years wasted, consumed by fear. That desperation... it drove me to make my greatest mistake. Murder is one thing—but tearing your soul apart, that was my undoing."
Harry's heart pounded, his blood running cold as the realization crashed into him like a tidal wave. No. It couldn't be.
The man turned slowly, a thin smile curling on his lips. "Ah, there it is." His voice was soft but sharp as a blade. "Perhaps I should be insulted that I had to spell it out for you, but no matter. Here I am, Harry. In the flesh."
Harry's fear, so long dormant, flared to life. His mind scrambled, frantically piecing together the impossible truth. This couldn't be happening. He had ended this—ended him. Every Horcrux destroyed, Voldemort obliterated beyond all magic.
The man saw the confusion in Harry's eyes and relished it. "Go on, ask," he urged, waving for Harry to speak. "How?"
Harry's voice trembled. "How? I killed you. I destroyed every Horcrux. How are you alive?"
Voldemort's smile widened. "You're absolutely right, Harry. You destroyed my Horcruxes—quite admirably, I might add. You hunted them right under my nose. But I won't tell you how I returned. I'll give you a hint, though. I've been back about a year now, preparing for this moment. And the best part? You, Harry Potter, laid the path for my return."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. How could I be responsible for this?
"Think back," Voldemort continued, his tone almost playful. "Thirty-five years ago. You came to me in the forest. But before you did, can you think of anything important that you may have forgotten?"
Harry's mind reeled, unearthing memories from that terrible day. The Forest. The faces of the dead. The feel of the Elder Wand in his hand. But nothing, nothing pointed to this. Nothing that—
Voldemort sighed, clearly disappointed. "Really, Harry? The Horcruxes must have taken more of a toll on me than I realized if someone so simple was able to kill me. Do you remember the Deathly Hallows? Ah, yes—the wand was useful, but nothing special. However, there was one that was truly unique. Not the cloak, of course—hardly more than a clever trick. But the other one."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. The Resurrection Stone.
His eyes widened in horror as he remembered. He had dropped it. He had left it in the Forbidden Forest.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with wicked delight. "Yes, Harry. You left a uniquely powerful magical object lying in the grounds of a school full of impressionable, curious young minds."
"No..." Harry whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. It can't be. I left it—
"You did. And a young, ambitious girl found it. She thought it was just a pretty stone. But I had tied my soul to it, Harry. Though Dumbledore destroyed the horcrux, my soul left a mark on it. The Resurrection Stone wasn't just a key to the afterlife. It was a key to me. She had no idea what she was playing with, of course. The stone called to me when she turned it, pulling me back to this world. She was so easy to manipulate. Desperate to leave her mark on the world."
Voldemort's smile grew colder, more vicious. "I helped her, of course—made her top of her class, Head Girl, and eventually an Unspeakable. She was my most loyal servant, and she didn't even know it. Our research was... complicated. But in the end, she served her purpose, even if it cost her life."
Harry could barely process the words, his heart hammering in his chest. I left it. I—
"So thank you, Harry," Voldemort said, stepping closer. "I wouldn't be here without you. With a fully restored soul, no less."
Voldemort's tone shifted, and Harry's terror sharpened as he began to struggle against his bindings. Voldemort turned to the man who had removed Harry's hood.
"Potter's wand?" he demanded.
The man handed over the wand, and Voldemort's fingers curled around it with satisfaction. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of wielding it.
"You needn't worry about me taking revenge for my death, Harry," Voldemort said softly. "If anything, I owe you a debt for helping me repair my soul. But..." He opened his eyes, and they gleamed with malice. "I saw the photo in the Daily Prophet. When you snapped my wand in two. For that, I will have my revenge. However, you need not fear for your family. So long as they do not oppose me, I will not raise my wand against them."
Harry struggled, his breath quickening. He could only hope his mother's sacrifice would protect him one more time.
"Avada Kedavra!"
With a flash of green, Harry Potter's life ended, and Lord Voldemort stood victorious once more.