CHAPTER 54: THE CEMETERY
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
Like a litany, as he traversed the immense labyrinth, Matthew kept repeating this phrase to himself at every turn, whether at a crossroads or facing a dead end. He'd been completely lost for nearly an hour now, but thankfully still unharmed. Unharmed? That's where the issue lay because among all the scenarios he had imagined for this third task, he never once thought he'd come out of it so easily, at least without a scratch. Yet, this task had been marketed as challenging as the previous two, as perilous due to the obstacles within it, but most importantly, crucial in how it would conclude. Yes, this task was indeed the last, and somewhere inside this maze lay the Triwizard Tournament's cup. But finding it was another matter entirely.
So far, he'd encountered nothing more than hedges closing in on him from time to time, threatening to engulf him, a few curses that slowed him down without posing real problems, and a terribly eerie silence... was this the famed danger he was supposed to confront? Matthew couldn't say, nor could he determine whether he was excited or somewhat disappointed. Twice, he had heard distant screams, and by guessing, he concluded they were probably Diggory and the Beauxbatons champion. Were they out of the race, or had they faced a danger they managed to overcome? There was no way to gauge that, and he couldn't allow himself to entertain the thought that it might mean two fewer competitors... Even if the idea was tempting.
The feeble light emitted by his wand was the only element in the surrounding scenery that offered him some reassurance. However, with the fog rising above and within the labyrinth, it wasn't enough to ease his fears. Matthew had many fears, and the foremost among them was being in a situation where he could rely solely on himself and his wizarding abilities to navigate through a journey where he was truly alone. His repertoire of spells had increased significantly in recent months with Dumbledore's help, though his spells weren't as potent as the old wizard had hoped. Nonetheless, Matthew believed they should suffice to overcome this third task. Yet, here he was facing his greatest fear, one he had successfully concealed from everyone and no one suspected: loneliness. He was truly alone now as he had been during the second task. And during that task, he had almost given up and resurfaced without rescuing his hostage when the vastness of the Black Lake and its ominous silence had revealed themselves to him. Like this night, nervously walking amidst the hedges with only his wand as a guide, trying to find the famous cup that would bring him glory, fortune, and the esteem of his peers.
Mostly, he had been alone during the first few months of this year, without a best friend to talk to, to confide in, without a companion to complain to about any problem, without an attentive ear ready to listen to his slightest anxieties... or to chuckle with him about someone's misfortunes. His father wasn't a great writer, and he never had been, so he couldn't count on receiving long letters full of compassion and love. His godfather, distant since the humiliating defeat against that French wizard during the Christmas ball, preferred to chase after girls, and his list of conquests was probably as long as Dumbledore's beard by now. As for the headmaster, they weren't really close, but the old wizard had nonetheless been more helpful to him throughout this tournament than his own parents. Regarding the rest of his family, not a single letter from his mother had reached him during the tournament, as if she completely disregarded whatever fate might befall him during it, or perhaps she was simply unable to respond to him now. Maybe she was even dead? The idea had crossed his mind several times, and a nighttime stroll in the middle of a labyrinth was quite conducive to such ponderings.
Strangely, this idea caused him a slight pang each time, mainly because after all these years, memories were starting to fade about her, and the angelic face framed by auburn hair that he had known in his younger years was now becoming blurry, uncertain, shrouded in a mist of doubt and mystery surrounding him and the person who owned that face. What had become of her? Did she still think of him from time to time? Had she moved on with someone else? Did he have other siblings whose existence he didn't even suspect?
"It's incredible how being alone and lost in a dark and threatening place can make me ponder such nonsense," he thought bitterly as he refocused his attention on the path ahead.
The sensation of having taken this path for the third time that evening immediately struck him, but nevertheless, he ventured along it without flinching. Minutes flew by without him even realizing, and truth be told, he now had no sense of time; he could have been there for hours without noticing. At least he was convinced that no one had yet won the tournament because a wizard would have been sent to retrieve it, and the possibility of winning still existed even as impatience gripped him with each step deeper into the labyrinth.
Suddenly, a distant rustling made him stop. At that very moment, the hedge began to move and ripple as if the wind were making it shift. Then, unexpectedly, it abruptly closed off the path, blocking Matthew's way before gradually inching closer to him as the two hedges collided on the rocky path where the young Gryffindor stood. Matthew immediately turned back and ran for his life towards the first intersection he could see, but he could also hear the hedge closing in dangerously behind him, faster than his legs, which struggled to carry him.
Then, struck by a sudden idea, Matthew turned and pointed his wand at the vegetal creature that was determined to ensnare him between its branches.
"Incendio!" he shouted as flames immediately erupted from his wand.
The spell took immediate effect, and the two hedges caught fire, seeming to almost writhe in pain as the flames consumed them. What initially posed a risk of merely immobilizing him quickly turned into a lethal threat as the wall of charred leaves, seemingly aware that the boy nearby was responsible for its state, raced toward him, setting ablaze even more vegetation along its path.
"What a fool!" Matthew cursed himself immediately while running again for his life.
Already, he could smell the smoke filling his nostrils as the light from the flames began to reflect more on the surrounding vegetation, which would soon be engulfed by the fire. The heat was rising rapidly, but the young Gryffindor preferred to keep running towards the unknown rather than even glance for a second to see the distance between him and certain death. And then, as he began to despair of finding an exit, he finally saw another path on his left, unsure if he had come that way before. Without hesitation, he rushed into it just in time before the flames could reach him. Luckily, the hedge had closed at the moment he had turned, and only a wall of charred and smoking vegetation now separated him from the ordeal he had just escaped.
Breathless, it took Matthew several minutes to truly regain his composure, especially to eliminate the smell of smoke that had entered his mouth, making him cough from time to time. Then, the reality of the task caught up with him as he realized the absolute silence that enveloped him.
"That was close," he murmured, bringing a hand to his face before suddenly bursting into laughter. "Close! What a joke, Matthew! If I weren't trying to save the world from a dangerous wizard, I could have been a comedian!"
Shaking his head while questioning his mental health, Matthew focused his gaze straight ahead, aiming only for the horizon beyond the omnipresent fog. In truth, he could hardly see anything, but nothing, in his opinion, could be worse than the inferno he had just escaped. So, he resumed his march, his legs slightly weaker than before after the sprint he had just made, but his mind now determined to quickly find that cursed cup and get out of this labyrinth as soon as possible.
The paths succeeded one another without encountering any more adversaries, no threats to slow him down, not even the slightest thing to make him stop. Nothing but him, hedges, fog, and the sound of his footsteps on the gravel. The temptation to dig a direct tunnel by precisely burning the bushes without spreading the fire was quite strong after a while, but eager not to repeat the experience from earlier, Matthew opted for the classic solution that hadn't caused him any harm until now: keep walking.
That's when he saw it, at the end of a seemingly endless corridor, shimmering with a bluish glow in the midst of the surrounding darkness, much like a beacon guiding ships to safety. The cup seemed within reach yet so far, and the fatigue creeping into his legs didn't help the exhaustion starting to catch up with him. Nevertheless, with an almost superhuman effort, Matthew clumsily attempted to stand tall on his legs and, after taking a deep breath, rushed towards it, breathing heavily and with sore feet.
"Faster..." he panted between strides. "I'm almost there..."
He already imagined himself victorious in this tournament, he who, for nothing in the world, had wanted to take part but was now on the verge of holding it in his hands, brandishing it before a captivated crowd, now aware of his talent. He envisioned facing his father, who, although openly affirming it, hadn't truly been supportive during this competition, facing Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic... Oh yes, to silence all those traitors, all those people who hadn't had an ounce of faith in him, all those who hadn't had a word of encouragement, a hint of sympathy, or a friendly gesture to support him would be the best balm for the wounds his ego had suffered for months.
Matthew, galvanized by this thought, quickened his pace, and in no time, found himself on a wide esplanade, at the center of which sat the cup atop a pedestal. So close… For a moment, Matthew almost felt as though he could stretch out his hand and seize it, such was its blinding brilliance across the square. But there were still a few dozen meters to cover before reaching it, meters that didn't seem too difficult to traverse, yet Matthew preferred to be cautious. The tournament organizers might well add one last difficulty before the luckiest could claim the cup.
Gesturing tentatively, Matthew kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Holy Grail, his wand aimed toward it as a precaution against any danger. But as he progressed, the tension began to dissipate as the gap closed between the cup and himself. Nothing, not the slightest spell, curse, or creature seemed intent on slowing him down. While his first steps were hesitant, his gait became more confident with each passing second—until it abruptly halted when the sound of gravel being trodden upon made him turn to his left and face Cedric Diggory.
Cedric, gasping for breath, wounded in several places, and trembling from head to toe, looked utterly spent, on the brink of collapsing at any moment. But the gaze he cast on the cup, the same determination that had shone through Matthew's eyes seconds before, spoke only of covetousness and desire. Unlike Matthew, Cedric still paid attention to his surroundings, and his eyes scanning every inch of the esplanade quickly settled on him.
"You're here," he said between coughs. "Looks like the tournament will end for both of us."
"Yeah," Matthew mumbled coldly. "Everything's going to be decided in a few moments."
"No troubles for you?" Cedric politely inquired, though his gaze occasionally flickered towards the cup.
"One could say I've fared rather well in this regard," Matthew shrugged.
Cedric hadn't been as lucky, and the blood continuing to trickle from the visible cuts on his clothing threatened, if he stayed there without moving, to form a pool around his feet.
"I crossed paths with Krum earlier," he said, suddenly taking on a darker tone. "He wasn't in his normal state, and from what I gathered, he may have attacked Fleur in the labyrinth. Unfortunately, I couldn't find her..."
"Good," Matthew thought, suppressing the urge to smile.
"He also tried to attack me, but I managed to disarm and stun him before calling for help," Cedric continued. "I don't know what could have affected him like that, but it must have been a very powerful spell!"
"And that makes two competitors less," Matthew deduced.
Repressing the urge to share his analysis with Cedric, Matthew simply nodded, as if to congratulate him on his actions. Then, in mutual agreement, both walked towards the cup in silence, their eyes fixed on it but also on their companion of the night, each harboring distrust toward the other. They were only about twenty meters away when a huge black mass with many legs suddenly emerged from a hedge, charging straight at Cedric, its mandibles moving like hooks.
"If Ron were here, he'd have already gone the other way through the labyrinth!" Matthew thought before, instinctively, throwing himself to the ground.
Cedric, who had his back turned, didn't see the creature leap at him and throw him backward. The spider only had eyes for him, and neglecting Matthew, who remained prostrate on the ground, hoping it wouldn't turn on him, it headed towards Cedric, threatening him with its legs. Cedric tried to extract himself from this danger, retreating towards the entrance he had just taken, wand brandished, trying to stop the creature by sending spells that bounced off its skin like armor.
"Matthew!" he called out, turning his head toward him. "Help me!"
But the Gryffindor, now standing again with his head turned toward Cedric, remained motionless a few meters away from the cup, his gaze inscrutable, his wand hanging negligently at his side. Cedric thought the young man would leave him there and flee like a coward, but much to his surprise, Matthew raised his arm. However, he didn't aim his wand at Cedric or the spider; instead, he pointed it upward, directly toward the night sky of this June evening. Then, without uttering a single spell, he released a few bursts of red sparks that soared into the air before exploding loudly.
"No!" Cedric screamed, understanding what he was about to do. "You can't!"
"Oh, but I can," the other retorted, smiling. "Nowhere in the tournament rules does it state that a competitor can, or even must, assist another in a perilous situation. I could just as well leave it at that and not alert the supervisors, but as you see, my kindness compels me otherwise!"
Matthew's taunt cut through the tension like a knife, eliciting a twisted grin from Peter Pettigrew.
"Ah, the insolence of youth," Pettigrew sneered. "You have your father's arrogance, boy."
Matthew felt a surge of anger at the mention of his father, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he tried to maintain his composure, knowing he was facing a dangerous and unpredictable foe.
"You'll find I'm not as easily intimidated as you'd like to believe," Matthew retorted, his voice tinged with defiance.
Pettigrew chuckled darkly. "Oh, I don't intend to intimidate you, dear nephew. I have other plans for you."
Matthew's mind raced, trying to devise a way out of the predicament. He had to act fast, but he was bound tightly by Pettigrew's magical restraints.
"What do you want from me?" Matthew demanded, his voice steadier than he felt inside.
Pettigrew's eyes glinted with a malicious gleam. "Oh, it's not what I want from you. It's what the Dark Lord desires. You see, you're a key part of his grand design."
Matthew's heart sank at the mention of the Dark Lord. He had heard enough about Voldemort's horrific deeds to know that being part of his plans wasn't something to look forward to.
"Voldemort won't succeed," Matthew shot back, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "You're just a pawn in his game."
Pettigrew's smile widened. "Bold words for someone in your situation. But let me assure you, the Dark Lord's power is undeniable. And you, young Gryffindor, are destined to play a pivotal role."
Matthew wriggled against the bonds, trying to find any weakness or loophole in Pettigrew's spells. He couldn't let himself be taken by Voldemort's followers; he had to find a way to escape and warn Dumbledore.
As he struggled, Pettigrew raised his wand once more, a sinister glint in his eyes. But before he could utter another curse, a sudden rustling and commotion from the shadows caught both of their attention.
"Expelliarmus!" shouted a voice from the darkness.
Pettigrew's wand flew out of his hand, landing several feet away. A figure emerged from the shadows, casting a Lumos spell to illuminate the scene.
It was Alastor Moody, his magical eye fixed on Pettigrew with a stern glare. "Caught in the act, Pettigrew. Trying to lure another innocent soul into Voldemort's grasp, I see."
Pettigrew's expression contorted in rage and fear. He made a desperate lunge for his wand, but Moody was quicker, sending magical restraints to bind Pettigrew.
"Constant vigilance," Moody growled, securing Pettigrew. He then turned his attention to Matthew, quickly releasing him from the bindings.
"Are you alright, lad?" Moody asked, his gaze sharp but concerned.
Matthew nodded, his heart pounding with a mix of relief and adrenaline. "Thank you, Professor Moody."
Moody grunted in response, then turned to Pettigrew, who was struggling against the restraints.
"You'll answer for your crimes, Pettigrew," Moody said grimly, his magical eye fixed on the captive. "The Ministry will know of your attempt to lure a student into Voldemort's clutches."
With a flick of his wand, Moody summoned the Portkey that would take Pettigrew into Ministry custody.
As Pettigrew disappeared with a loud crack, Moody turned back to Matthew, his expression softer now. "Best get back to Hogwarts, lad. It's not safe out here."
Matthew nodded, grateful for the intervention. With a final glance at Moody, he Disapparated back to the safety of Hogwarts grounds, vowing to be more cautious in the future.
"If Peter had worn a smile full of irony and inner madness until now, Matthew's comments made it melt away very quickly. Instead, a look full of hatred appeared on his face, and the Gryffindor even noticed that the traitor seemed to press the package he was carrying even more tightly against himself. "Shut up!" he yelled, pointing his wand at him. "You're not in a position to boast; you should rather worry about what might happen to you in the coming seconds!" "I'm not boasting, I'm simply stating facts, and they're not really in your favor," replied Matthew, with a contemptuous smirk. "Your Animagus form reflects your true personality, and I still wonder how my father and his friends could have so carelessly cohabitated with vermin like you, living most of the time in the sewers, feeding on the filth people leave lying around or on corpses! Perhaps if they had realized this earlier, they would never have bothered to befriend a failure like you!"
"Crucio!" The spell hit him head-on, and for the first time in his life, Matthew understood what the word 'pain' truly meant, beyond the concept of psychological pain. It was as if hundreds of daggers struck him simultaneously while whips lashed against his skin, as if someone compressed each of his limbs in a vice and heated his skin to a searing point. Matthew writhed in agony against the tombstone, his screams echoing through the valley as tears welled up in his eyes. Then, as suddenly as the curse had been cast, its effects dissipated, leaving a fourteen-year-old boy battered and prostrate, sobbing on the ground. "Idiot!" a voice hissed angrily. "It's my job to eliminate this boy! Never take action without my consent again, or you will face my wrath, Wormtail!" "Y-yes, master," the other stammered, fearful of having gone too far. "Good, now prepare the ritual," the other commanded firmly. Wormtail nodded, then, heading towards the cauldron, he quickly undid the covering that seemed to contain something, briefly revealing a very small human-like form. Matthew only caught a fleeting glimpse of this figure, unable to discern anything more through his tears before a splashing sound assured him that this small being had been thrown into the liquid inside the cauldron. Wormtail spoke again, his voice now unable to mask a sudden fear that gave him an almost plaintive tone: "May the father's bones, given in complete ignorance, bring back his son!" Immediately, Matthew heard a strange noise directly beneath him, like a creaking door being opened, before the earth began to move as if an animal were trying to scratch its way out into the open air. To his horror, it wasn't the cute little nose of a rabbit or the powerful claws of a mole that appeared on the surface, but a bone, probably from a leg given its length, rising into the air towards the cauldron, where it disappeared moments later. "May the servant's flesh, given willingly... revive his master..." continued the Death Eater, producing a long dagger that had been hanging around his waist until then. Matthew barely had time to understand what he was about to do and to close his eyes before Wormtail's screams were heard, tearing through the silence of the night. Like before, a splashing noise accompanied his bellowing, and the young Gryffindor forced himself not to fuel his curiosity and see for himself the body part the traitor had sacrificed for the ritual. A red light then escaped from the cauldron, almost similar in color to blood, and even with closed eyes, Matthew couldn't ignore the light that managed to pierce through his eyelids. Similarly, he couldn't overlook Pettigrew's plaintive gasps and heavy breathing, which now seemed to be getting closer to him, dragging his feet as blood continued to flow profusely from his wound.
"May the blood of the enemy... taken by force... revive he who fights against it," murmured Wormtail once he was close enough to him. Still using his dagger, the Death Eater cut the ropes slightly to free one of Matthew's arms, then without the slightest remorse, he used it to deeply cut his arm. The Gryffindor screamed again in pain, even as Wormtail managed to collect enough blood to complete his preparation, and as he moved away, Matthew now feared the continuation of events: it was one thing to find himself in a cemetery with an Azkaban escapee Death Eater, it was another to involuntarily participate in the return of the one who had vowed to kill him; he could be occasionally foolish, but the chosen one knew all too well what was brewing here, and he would have still preferred never to know. Away from Matthew's turmoil, Pettigrew dropped a few drops of blood into the cauldron, and the glow changed from scarlet to bright white in less than a second. Thick tendrils of smoke billowed from the vessel and soon covered the entire area as occasional sparks rose in the sky. Splashing sounds were also heard, but it was the sudden greenish glow that caught the Gryffindor's attention, even if the fog had become very thick around him."
"A tall, skeletal silhouette began to form through the smoke. Matthew, hoping that the first thing thrown into the cauldron had drowned, quickly realized that his hopes were shattering as the appearance of his worst enemy became more distinct.
"Dress me," Voldemort hissed with an icy voice.
Wormtail, still sobbing while holding his bloody stump, didn't hesitate. What Matthew had taken for a blanket turned out to be a long, partially worn-out black robe. However, this detail seemed to matter little to the wizard, who continued to meticulously examine his spider-like hands with long, slender, bony fingers. Soon, they moved to his face, as if to verify for himself that nothing was amiss in his reptilian appearance, particularly his near-total lack of a nose or his red, luminous eyes that looked like nothing more than two slits on a waxy, smooth face. While dressing, Voldemort also took the opportunity to admire the rest of his body, his chest, his arms, his legs... as if he himself couldn't believe he had finally regained the body that had eluded him for nearly 13 long years. Satisfied, he then reached into his pocket, pulling out his magical wand a few moments later, gazing at it with genuine delight before casually twirling it in his palm.
"M-master, please... You promised..." Pettigrew pleaded, prostrating himself at Voldemort's feet.
"Extend your arm, Wormtail," the Dark Lord ordered nonchalantly.
Happily, his servant immediately offered the severely wounded arm that continued to bleed profusely. However, with a snicker that sent shivers down Matthew's spine, Voldemort calmly pushed it aside to grasp the other.
"Come now, Wormtail, I was, of course, referring to the other arm," he mockingly said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark etched on his skin. "It would be impolite of us to keep your little companions waiting any longer..."
While saying these words, Voldemort delicately touched the tip of his wand to it. It immediately turned a dark color as Wormtail was suddenly seized by convulsions that he struggled to overcome.
"How many will have the courage to return when they sense it?" he murmured, his red eyes blazing toward the stars as he continued his task unperturbed. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
Then, as quickly as he had started, Voldemort released Pettigrew and began to pace around the cemetery, indifferent to his servant's cries of pain, Matthew's desperate attempts to free himself from his bonds, or his serpent that had just appeared and was observing the scene while occasionally hissing.
"Your reputation precedes you, Matthew Potter," he said, finally turning his gaze toward the survivor. "Many legends circulate about you, many nonsense stories as well, but I absolutely wanted you to be front and center to witness my return... I doubt, however, that you'll be able to leave here in one piece to tell everyone you know about it... But don't worry, others will come soon enough to see the spectacle for themselves and do what you will soon be incapable of: report it to others!"
Voldemort then burst into laughter, but his chuckles quickly faded when he looked at Matthew from another angle.
"Tell me, boy, how old are you?" he hissed dangerously as he slowly approached.
"What does it matter to you? You're going to kill me anyway," the Gryffindor retorted boldly.
"I'll kill you much faster than planned if you don't answer Lord Voldemort!" the Dark Lord threatened.
For a few seconds, Matthew was tempted not to reply, but his bravery vanished quickly when Voldemort pointed his wand at him.
"F-fourteen," he stammered.
"Fourteen..." murmured the Dark Lord thoughtfully. "Fourteen... So you were barely a year old when I was sentenced to exile after my own curse backfired on me..."
Voldemort remained silent for a few moments, his red, glittering eyes fixed on the now extinguished cauldron next to him. Then, without warning, he turned and directed his wand directly at Wormtail, who didn't have time to react:
"Crucio!" he yelled as the scarlet spell struck his servant head-on."
The former Gryffindor fell immediately face down, and while screaming until his lungs felt torn apart, his body contorted in all directions, disjointed, as Voldemort continued to keep him under the curse.
"Fool!" Voldemort thundered angrily. "Who told you to bring this boy! It's not him I want, but the OTHER! THE OTHER!"
"M-master!" sobbed Wormtail, blood beginning to trickle from his nose. "I-I don't understand, master! I brought you the one they present as the Chosen One!"
"The one who faced me was much older than this boy!" His master exclaimed. "How could you believe for a single moment that a baby could defeat me!?"
But Peter was utterly incapable of answering him, too occupied trying not to slip into unconsciousness as the sensation of being stabbed all over persisted through his body. Matthew observed the exchange bewilderedly, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind as he struggled to comprehend the situation: What did Voldemort mean by this "other"? But it could only be him, of course! Had thirteen years of exile shattered the last shreds of the Dark Lord's sanity?
Suddenly, as strange black streaks whirled around and crashed into a cloud of smoke a few steps away from Voldemort and Matthew, the Dark Lord finally broke his curse, paying no attention to his servant's crumpled form. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the figures emerging through the thick smoke. The seven newcomers, all completely covered in black cloaks with skull-shaped masks concealing their faces, rushed immediately toward Voldemort. One by one, each kneeled before him, kissing the hem of his black robe, some lingering a few moments longer, as if to be sure that this wasn't a dream. Voldemort remained unperturbed but occasionally darkened his expression when meeting their gazes.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," he said in a low tone as the last Death Eater finished kissing his garment. "Faithful? I'm not sure if the adjective is fitting in your case, after all..."
One of them seemed eager to explain immediately, but Voldemort silenced him with a flick of his wand when he took a step forward.
"No need to burden yourselves with pathetic excuses," he said coldly. "I don't need attempts to minimize your cowardice with vile explanations trying to defend a cause that is already lost in my eyes: My regard for you. I see you here, proud and strong, untouched by the ravages of time that could have affected your physical and magical abilities, and yet... Yes, yet you didn't, during these thirteen long years, seek a way to find me, to help me regain my body and powers. Oh no, barely had the rumor of my disappearance spread that you returned to our enemies, pleading innocence, ignorance, regrettable youthful errors, or the backlash of a curse cast upon you to explain your actions."
Voldemort's final words struck them painfully, like a dagger plunged into their flesh with every syllable. Some shifted on their feet, while others kept their eyes fixed downward, afraid to meet the Dark Lord's gaze. However, he continued his tirade without displaying the anger that fueled him.
"How, even knowing what I was capable of, the wonders and feats I had already performed in the past, some of which some of you witnessed, how could you believe for a single moment that I wouldn't return? Even I wonder..."
Voldemort paused, circling his loyalists and positioning himself behind them, like an animal lurking in the bushes ready to pounce on its prey.
"I must confess my disappointment, thinking I could place my trust in my most loyal servants..."
"Master!" one of them exclaimed, turning toward him. "Master, forgive me!"
But Voldemort's only response was to cast a Cruciatus Curse toward the man. He collapsed, convulsing, his screams, like those of Wormtail and Matthew earlier, breaking the stillness once more. However, unlike them, the Death Eater did not endure the curse any longer before Voldemort stopped it.
"My forgiveness?" Voldemort's voice held a hint of amusement. "To earn my forgiveness, Avery, you must deserve it. And in this case, I don't think I can give it to you until you've repaid the entire debt you owe me, spread over... Thirteen years? Yes, you'll have my full trust once this time has passed. Now get up, Avery. I already find it unpleasant to consider keeping you alive, I don't intend for you to wallow in the mud forever."
The man didn't need to be told twice, trembling on his legs as he struggled to stand upright before his master, who continued his leisurely stroll around his comrades.
"This night should have been a moment of joy for us, my return to you and the renewal of our movement," Voldemort continued after a few moments of silence. "Unfortunately, circumstances prevented us from fully enjoying this reunion."
He gestured to a space between two Death Eaters where others could easily have stood.
"Unfortunately, some are not here to complete the circle of my lieutenants," explained the Dark Lord wearily. "Death struck them even as their master aspired to a bright future for them. But to die for our cause and for me is the ultimate mark of loyalty, and I will in the future commemorate their memory as it deserves. Some have chosen to renounce their freedom, preferring imprisonment in Azkaban rather than betray me... They too shall have their reward. As for the last ones, those cowards who preferred to cower in a hole rather than return among us, they will pay for their disloyalty. Only one can excuse his absence tonight, and he is currently at Hogwarts, working for me in secret for months now to facilitate my return. He will be duly rewarded for many years, and Lord Voldemort grants his full and complete trust only to very few chosen!"
A shiver ran through the assembly as Voldemort's words clashed against the egos and pride of his followers. Meanwhile, Matthew pondered a particular detail: the Death Eater present at Hogwarts. Could it be Snape? The possibility didn't even surprise him, and after all these years living alongside the surly man, Matthew had long accepted that Snape didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual. For Snape to have sent him here to participate in his master's resurrection, it wasn't a leap that the Gryffindor found hard to make.
"The second reason disrupting my plans for this evening concerns the boy tied to the tombstone in front of you," Voldemort continued in a much colder tone. "I had in mind for another person to pay me a small courtesy visit and witness my return, but it seems someone else has taken their place..."
All eyes converged in Matthew's direction, and although terrified by the situation he was now deeply immersed in, he still met the piercing red eyes of the Dark Lord. "Yes," Voldemort continued, moving slowly towards him. "I expected to celebrate my return in the company of the one who pushed me to lurk in the shadows for thirteen years, but what a surprise to find this boy before me instead of the one I expected, older than him..."
At this point, several murmurs arose among the Death Eaters, particularly among those who had previously encountered Matthew Potter. Nevertheless, Voldemort ignored them once again.
"When I went to Godric's Hollow thirteen years ago, my objective was to annihilate the entire Potter family. The reasons are known only to a very select few, especially those it concerns. However, one of my loyal followers had informed me that a danger could arise from this family, taking the form of one of their sons."
"One of their sons?" echoed one of the Death Eaters in disbelief.
"I do not appreciate being interrupted when I speak, Lucius," Voldemort reminded, his tone cold. "After all this time, and after the numerous times you've suffered for it, you should know..."
Malfoy didn't react to the remark. After a slight shiver, recalling his master's "punishments," he chose to remain silent.
"Nevertheless, I preferred to safeguard myself from this danger by eliminating it from infancy," he narrated once more. "Wormtail here had been appointed as the keeper of the Potter secret, and no one could make contact with them without going through him. But Wormtail's allegiance had, in the meantime, shifted in my direction. Therefore, I only needed to wait for him to inform me of the Potter's whereabouts so I could take matters into my own hands and make them pay for their insubordination towards me. It was very easy for me to penetrate their home, overpower the parents, and target their two children. But then something unexpected happened, something I hadn't foreseen, and it led to my own downfall..."
The Dark Lord paused for a few seconds, as if recalling the infamous evening of October 31st.
"A prophecy had been made about a child born at the end of July who would possess a power I myself knew not... I thought this power would be revealed later during a formative period where his abilities would be showcased and amplified. I hadn't for a moment considered that this power would manifest so rapidly and at such a young age... Overconfidence can cloud your judgment and analysis of situations presented to us, and that night, I made the mistake of underestimating the danger."
Voldemort was now just a few meters away from Matthew, but his gaze was no longer fixed on him; instead, it was directed a few steps behind the tombstone against which he leaned.
"The threat was before me, pathetically weak and insignificant compared to the vastness of my powers. I only had to raise my wand and cast the killing curse in its direction. However, I made the mistake of targeting the weaker of the two. The other then revealed his own abilities to protect his brother, and the power he unleashed, which he probably wasn't even aware of, was enough to deflect my curse back at me and strike me."
The dark wizard then turned back to his followers, pointing his wand at Matthew and addressing them directly:
"I was briefly aware of baseless rumors about the boy who defeated me, of the feats he was capable of, and of the unwavering protection he received from the Ministry and the Hogwarts headmaster," he admitted calmly. "But it seems the entire magical community of this country was deceived by an important detail in this story: the boy standing before you is the one who was in the path of my curse, but it was not he who repelled it, but his elder brother."
Once again, murmurs accompanied Voldemort's words, and even Wormtail, who continued to groan on the ground and bleed, seemed stunned for long seconds by the news.
"The Potters did have another son, didn't they, Wormtail?" he asked.
"N-now that you mention it, master..." stammered the other, struggling to breathe properly. "But... But everyone agreed that it was Matthew. I-I believed it when I escaped from Azkaban..."
"A regrettable mistake that even managed to deceive my faithful Death Eater at Hogwarts," confirmed his master. "All this time, I spoke to you about this boy and my intention to bring him here to understand the source of this mysterious power, but I never thought there could have been a mix-up. The boy we're referring to was a few years older than his brother here," he added, addressing the other Death Eaters, "old enough to converse with me while I was enchanting his mother in front of him, and his younger brother was crying in his cradle. He should be... sixteen or seventeen today, am I right, Wormtail?"
"N-no, master," his servant whispered. "Please, master, I won't last much longer..."
"You deserve to die at my feet like the filthy little rat you are for failing in your mission," Voldemort coldly reminded him. "A little more patience, and perhaps I'll grant your wish... or put an end to your suffering."
The thinly veiled threat made Wormtail groan even more, but Voldemort had already redirected his attention to a completely bewildered Matthew as the conversation took an unexpected turn.
"Tell me, Potter, where is your brother now?" Voldemort questioned almost gently.
But Matthew was too occupied trying to process the information coming at him to think about responding. His brother, the chosen one? Impossible! All his life, everyone had insisted it was him and no one else! That Harry was nothing more than the black sheep of the family, the unloved eldest son of his father, destined for nothing good in life! That he was nothing, lacked his talent, abilities, or even the slightest trace of a personality that could overshadow him! That, alongside his parents, his brother had been found under the rubble of their room while he alone had confronted Voldemort! But how could anyone imagine that a one-and-a-half-year-old would dare to defy a dark wizard? He had never considered it, but now that he did, the idea seemed utterly ridiculous...
"Answer!" Voldemort shouted, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"I... I don't know!" stuttered Matthew, feeling truly lost and disoriented for the first time in his life.
Disoriented - that was the word that could sum up his state of mind. He had been lied to from the start! His father, his godfather, Dumbledore, everyone! But were they even aware they had lied, or were they all ultimately the victims of a monumental mistake that had accompanied him throughout his life?
"We'll find out soon enough," Voldemort assured him, pointing his wand at him. "Legilimens!"
Immediately, Matthew felt a strange and particularly unpleasant sensation, as if his head had been suddenly plunged into icy water and compressed in a vice. Memories seemed to flash before his eyes, disappearing as quickly as they appeared, replaced by other moments from his young life, most of which he barely remembered. He could scarcely place the context of one before another replaced it, an unstoppable change delving further into his past. Faint episodes of his life emerged, some solely about him, others highlighting people in his surroundings - initially his father, his godfather, Dumbledore, then eventually Ron, certain Gryffindor friends, and over the passing years, other individuals who briefly crossed his childhood, culminating in his mother, his little sister... and even his brother.
Matthew didn't know why the connection broke at that moment, but his gaze returned to the cemetery he hadn't even left, especially to Voldemort, whose enigmatic smile signaled trouble:
"Where does your aunt live?" the Dark Lord politely inquired.
"I-I don't know," he swore, trying to appear more confident than he actually felt.
"I can easily verify that, you know," Voldemort assured him. "I could delve deeper into your memories to find one where your parents might have inadvertently let slip that information... So don't play the hero, and give me the information I ask for!"
"I'm telling you I don't know, snake!" he spat before immediately regretting his words as the other raised his wand towards him.
A second later, new memories flooded his mind, causing him to lose touch with reality once again. Matthew saw glimpses from a past he thought buried, conversations he had with others, or those others had in front of him, scenes from his daily life with his father mostly, occasionally with his godfather, but also with his mother, Harry, and Rosie. And then, much like before, Voldemort's grip on his mind loosened, allowing him to regain consciousness of his surroundings.
"Well, that's interesting," Voldemort commented with a contemptuous sneer. "Wormtail mentioned the rumors about your filthy Muggle mother leaving the family home that he had read in the press, but it was said she left willingly for various reasons other than what I've just seen... What's it like living with a man who beats his wife and eldest son, Potter?"
"I don't know, but it probably can't be worse than being in your company!" Matthew retorted.
"Crucio!"
The pain was excruciating, and on a scale of intensity, Matthew was convinced that the effects of the curse were much more powerful when cast by Voldemort than by Wormtail. In his state, the young Gryffindor was incapable of even considering grading the scale of powers. Writhing violently, all he could do was scream and twist in his bindings, feeling like his flesh was searing, and every bone was being played with until it broke.
"Insolence is a flaw I do not tolerate in the least, Potter!" exclaimed Voldemort as he lifted the curse. "Insolence and stupidity, and unfortunately for you, both have decided to take up residence in you!"
"I-I don't care!" retorted the other through sobs. "K-kill me if you wish, others will avenge me and defeat you!"
"Oh, but who spoke of killing you?" he said, feigning surprise. "It's your brother I want to see dead; your fate interests me little! But you see, if this Harry I saw in your memories is as impetuous and brave as you, he'll rush to me without waiting to save you!"
"Are you going to use me as... as bait?" asked Matthew, while internally, a battle raged in his mind about whether Harry would indeed come to save him.
"You're not as foolish as you seem, Potter!" confirmed the Dark Lord. "If my deductive abilities are correct, and I have no doubt they are, your mother, fleeing the family home, probably went to get her dear son from her sister's, and both are probably together as we speak. From what I gathered, there wasn't much love lost between him and you, but it's not the same for your Mudblood mother. I'll just have to let the magical world know that I'm holding their precious chosen one captive, and if she doesn't come to your aid, she'll probably ask her eldest son to save you. Then I'll have to eliminate the threat that could still prevent me from ruling the wizarding world."
Seen in this light, Matthew saw no flaw in this plan except for the uncertainty of his brother's assistance. His brother's help... The very idea disgusted him, and he still couldn't understand how this boy without any particular talent could truly be the one Voldemort feared the most.
"But enough talking, let's amuse ourselves instead," suddenly proposed the Dark Lord as he moved away slightly. "I want to see what the one who, for thirteen years in the eyes of the wizards, was my greatest threat is capable of... I hope the game will be worth the candle, so don't disappoint me, Potter!"
With a flick of his wand, he severed the ropes still binding Matthew. He had been immobilized for several minutes now and struggled to move his arms and legs correctly, taking even longer to stand up.
"You probably know the rules of a wizard's duel, am I right?" Voldemort asked, aiming his wand at his face before gracefully lowering it. "Come on, Dumbledore would be quite upset to see his little protégé so impolite when it comes to respecting the rules of good conduct. Greet me as you should, or bow before death, Matthew," he continued, noticing that his opponent had no intention of obeying.
But Matthew flatly refused to grant him the privilege of offering his neck and remained as straight as an arrow, staring at Voldemort's wand. Losing patience, Voldemort forced him to bow with a spell, while the Death Eaters, who had positioned themselves in a circle around them, roared with laughter at the spectacle.
"Do honor to your impure blood, Matthew, and fight like your father, proud in the face of adversity and danger..."
Proud, his father always was, and the years had only strengthened the pride that guided him every day of his existence. But would it be the same in this situation, where he hadn't faced a powerful wizard for a long time? Matthew doubted it.
"Let Hogwarts' champion honor its reputation!" exclaimed Voldemort, pointing his wand at him. "Do not disappoint me, Potter... Crucio!"
Matthew barely had time to see the curse coming and evade it with a desperate roll to the side before another struck him seconds later, pinning him to the ground while unbearable pain surged through him again.
"Very disappointing," commented the Dark Lord, clearly enjoying his opponent's trembling body. "Come on, Matthew, your brother could certainly do better if he were in your place... The prodigal son humiliated by his own father's unloved child, the laughingstock of his family... What a downfall it must be to be weaker today than the one who was tormented so much in the past!"
Stung by these words and freed from the Cruciatus Curse, Matthew managed to stand up despite the weakness in his legs. The dark glare he shot at Voldemort in that moment could have made many shiver... except the Dark Lord.
"Stupefy!" he shouted, sending the spell directly at Matthew.
Voldemort easily countered the spell with a magical shield and then counterattacked with another Cruciatus Curse, which Matthew struggled to evade. Desperate, he resorted to a much less glorious tactic: hiding. The first tombstone in his line of sight became an unexpected gift, behind which he threw himself.
"I expected better from the chosen one than a shameful game of hide-and-seek," commented Voldemort as his followers chuckled again. "You are certainly not an opponent worthy of me, Potter, but I remain convinced that your brother will be much more formidable."
A spell was directly sent towards the tomb serving as Matthew's hiding place, and it immediately exploded, sending stone and marble fragments flying in all directions. The young Gryffindor barely had time to hide behind another tombstone before a Cruciatus Curse struck him in the back, causing him to collapse to the ground.
"No!" shouted Voldemort. "MacNair, you will pay for this!" he added towards the culprit.
The curse immediately ceased, but its effects lingered for a few seconds before Matthew could sit up again. Throughout this time, Voldemort had remained motionless, waiting for his opponent to regain his senses to resume the duel, but impatience and boredom were nevertheless palpable in him.
"You are wasting my time, Potter," he hissed coldly. "I could have already taken you elsewhere to rot in a cell, but I hoped to have a bit of fun before that. I think we will shorten this painful task and move on..."
Once again, the tombstone serving as protection for Matthew exploded, but he had already anticipated the move. Near him lay the Triwizard Cup, casually placed on the ground but still shining brightly. So, without thinking, and mostly hoping that the portkey worked in both directions, he took advantage of the projectiles flying in all directions to rush towards it, ignoring the stone fragments hitting him. Voldemort seemed to quickly understand what he intended to do as he heard the attraction spell leaving his lips behind him. However, as the cup flew rapidly in his direction, Matthew grabbed it in passing and disappeared with it from the graveyard. The Gryffindor didn't hear the Dark Lord's furious scream, nor were the sounds from the Quidditch stadium's stands ringing in his ears upon arrival. No, he barely felt the comforting thickness of the grass beneath his body before losing consciousness.
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