Dumbledore/Harry Potter
It was the missive from the Ministry that had set the headmaster's mind plotting. Harry was to have his wand snapped and given a trial at the behest of Minister Fudge. To say this was not according to his plans was an understatement. However, it wasn’t a major hindrance in the least bit. His timetable needed to be adjusted but that may be for the best.
Shacklebolt was the first one he engaged with. The man was very adamant about not being a part of The Order, but Dumbledore knew the head of the Auror Department would at least take into consideration what he had to say. Yes, Harry may have cast his Patronus several times in front of his cousin, but he wouldn’t do it without just cause. Yes, that was still within reason for the Minister to try and have his wand snapped, but it would be a greater injustice to not give the boy a fair trial. If they were worried about him being around his Muggle family, well now would be the perfect time for a newly freed Sirius to take up his mantle as the boy's Godfather.
It would be easier to keep Harry safe within the walls of Number 12 at this point anyway. If Fudge and the rest of the Ministry were already trying to silence the truth of Voldemort’s return, then Harry wouldn’t be safe from their meddling for long. The wards may be able to keep the Dark Lord at bay, but it would do nothing against Dementors or well-trained Hit Wizards on the Minster's orders. Fudge would do anything to hold onto his power. As would Dumbledore, but the elder Wizard had put far more time into perfecting the art.
He needed to keep Harry armed. Armed and well-trained in this battle against Voldemort. Not only that, but the Headmaster had no plans on letting yet another powerful child slip right through his hands because he was far too cowardly to act on the impulse to groom the child to become a weapon that only he could control. He couldn’t have a child with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord running around and not be under his control. He made that mistake with Tom and would not repeat it here.
Tom Riddle. That boy had been powerful from the moment they laid eyes on one another. He could feel the potential rolling off of him in waves, almost stifling with his level of magical potential. Once more, he was far too charismatic, swaying many a Slytherin during his years at Hogwarts. He was so much like Grindelwald. So much potential to be great. All it would take was a bit of pushing from Dumbledore and he would have another young mind that he could use to mold the future. At least that was the plan, yet he didn’t plan on the hate Riddle held to become a driving factor for the young man.
Perhaps he should have known after the incident with the Chamber of Secrets, but all he could do was make excuses for the boy and let Hagrid take the fall. The half-giant was already so wrapped around his fingers that he was an acceptable sacrifice in keeping Tom at school and closer to him. Many a night he would spend time trying to teach and mold Tom towards his own personal ideals. To take the boy's urge for power and use it to shape the world for the better. For his greater good. Dumbledore wanted Tom to become what Grindelwald never could, someone who could lead the world toward his ideals. Yet, much like Grindelwald, Dumbledore had placed too much faith that he could sway Tom away from his darker ideals. Another Dark Lord had arisen, and it was once more on the feet of Albus himself. He would never say as much, but it was something that constantly sat on his mind.
Harry couldn’t be his third mistake. Dumbledore refused to allow that. He had vested too much time and energy into making sure Harry would become the perfect tool for him to wield. From the moment that prophecy reached his ears, Dumbledore had been plotting and planning. Making sure to test the boy every year, to put him up against challenges to prove that he was worthy of the name he carried. Ensuring that he only associated with families that he picked. Making sure that the boy had a healthy distaste for Dark Magic. Above all, fostering that urge to protect others. All of it to make sure that, when the time came, Harry would fulfill the prophecy and not be swayed to the Dark like Tom or Gellert.
Harry needing to live with Sirius was the best outcome that Dumbledore could have possibly hoped for. Number 12 may be lacking in the wards that he was sure kept Voldemort at bay, but it was hidden enough that the boy would be safe from most of the Dark Lords' followers. More importantly, it allowed Dumbledore the chance to be far more hands-on with the boys learning and training. Hogwarts only affords him so much access, even as the Headmaster. Here, the boy would only learn what Dumbledore needed him to learn. Nothing more and nothing less. No distractions either. No chance for an errant thought to turn the boy away from him.
His plans for Harry’s future were the only thing on his mind as Sirius and he made their way to Number 4 Privet Drive. He had keyed in his own signature to other wards around the house, allowing for him to apparate right into their living room. Not a moment too soon either, as Harry was seemingly moments away from being hurt by his Uncle. Dumbledore was sure it was just nothing, but Sirius blasting the larger man to the ground wasn’t how he wanted to start things off in the least bit.
“I’m sure that whatever happened, it was merely a misunderstanding. Those happen in most families after all,”
No one looked convinced of his words and paid them no heed which suited Dumbledore just fine. He had far more pressing matters to worry about than Harry possibly getting into a heated match with his Uncle.
“Kingsley,” he nodded towards the Auror as Sirius and Harry left the room, “I thank you for your prompt action in this matter. I fear had you not stepped in, Fudge would have been able to snap poor Mr. Potter’s wand without fuss,”
“His Undersecretary seemed hellbent on doing just that, so your meddling may have come in handy this time,”
“I do aim to be helpful where I can Shacklebolt,” Dumbledore responded kindly, ignoring the jab at his nature to pry. It was his right after all to do so.
“Right,” the Auror retorted quickly, “Which is why you failed to let Mr. Potter know that Sirius could have taken him in after the end of the term? And please, do not start feeding me stuff about wards keeping the boy safe,”
Dumbledore’s nose wrinkled in irritation, before letting his eyes twinkle ever brighter as a smile took over his face,
“That was simply an oversight on my part. With the return of the Dark Lord, I merely forgot that circumstances had changed. However, as you can see, I brought Sirius with me in order to rectify that. The man is more than happy to have Harry stay in Number 12 until the trial,”
Shacklebolt looked ready to say something else but was cut off by the return of Sirius and Harry, the boy looking slightly despondent to everything around him.
“Alright there Shacklebolt? Never thought I’d see you again. I heard from Amelia that you are the head of the Aurors now, right,” Sirius and his jovial nature were more than enough to take over the conversation, ending whatever accusations Shacklebolt may have been ready to level at Dumbledore.
“That’s right. I know you were looking to be a Hit Wizard and I’m more than happy to let you into the ranks. Consider it a gift on behalf of the Aurors for your wrongful imprisonment,”
“Long as the hours are good enough that I can still spend time with the Prongslet here, I’d be more than happy to give it a go. Can’t have Harry as the only one in the family chasing down Dark Wizards,”
While Sirius and Shacklebolt were chatting, Dumbledore looked over Harry. The boy clearly was feeling irritated about something, his emotions constantly being worn on his face. As their eyes met, Dumbledore pushed into the young man’s mind, swimming among his thoughts and memories unseen and unfelt. He saw the attack of the Dementors and his conversation with Sirius were at the front of his thoughts. He had no idea just what Muggle things the boy had been building, but it was clear he had been proud of it. Enough that Sirius’s rejection of a voice that sounded like James stung the boy. Hopefully, Sirius and his aversion to it would help push Harry away from creating such things. The boy was a Wizard and needed to be more focused on learning how to wield his magic than tinkering with Muggle items like Arthur Weasley.
Dumbledore gave a small cough, enough that it brought the conversation between Sirius and Kingsley to a close.
“While I am sure Sirius is more than excited to work with the Aurors' I am sure Harry would benefit from some much-needed rest. I’m sure you can hash out the details at a later date. Perhaps after the boy’s trial,”
“Right, well if that is the case, I shall leave Mr. Potter in your hands as his Godfather,” Kingsley made sure to look directly at Dumbledore while speaking, clearly trying to get across just who was supposed to be making decisions when it came to Harry.
Not that Dumbledore had any plans of heeding any of that.
“Yes indeed. If I am to understand, the court date is set for a week. Until then, Harry will be more than safe and watched after in Sirius’s care,” the words were slightly sterner than he meant them to be, but they still got his point across.
Sirius gave Dumbledore a little nod before taking hold of Harry by the arm. With a small word of warning to the boy about the sensations of apperation, the two of them popped out of Privet Drive, leaving Dumbledore with the Dursleys, Kingsley, and Tonks.
“Is there anything else you require Kingsley? I’m sure that Harry’s family would rather we be on our way at this point,” he gestured to the kitchen where Vernon was still fuming after being knocked down, but not wanting to risk engaging with the Wizards again. His son and wife were by his side, keeping their eyes on them as well.
“No, Albus, that will be all. Seeing as we don’t need to Oblivate anyone and there are no worrisome injuries, I feel we can call this closed for the moment. At least on the part of the DMLE. Fudge, however, will be making sure Harry has his day in court and I implore you to make sure Mr. Potter stays out of trouble between now and then,”
“Do not worry about Harry. Sirius will ensure he is kept within the walls of his home until the trial. Now, if you all would excuse me, I believe Harry and I must have a talk concerning his plans for the summer,”
With a wink, Dumbledore popped out of Number 4, leaving Tonks and Kingsley to sort the rest of the mess out.
-------------------------------
“I am never traveling like that again,” bemoaned Harry as he finally pulled himself off the floor.
The moment he had landed from the spiraling tunnel that was Wixen teleportation, Harry felt his stomach gurgle as he hurled the contents of his stomach into a nearby umbrella stand shaped to look like a Troll's leg. At least he hoped it was just shaped to look like one.
Sirius rubbed small circles into Harry’s back as the boy dusted himself off, and took in a much-needed breath.
“I’d say you will get used to it, but Arthur told me how well you took to travel by Portkey. Sadly, magical travel isn’t without its ups and downs. Oh, and don’t worry about the leg, Krecher will banish the sick later. It was Mum’s favorite so he’ll be more than happy to clean it again,” Sirius spat that last bit out, his smile dropping into a sneer as if he had smelled something horrible.
“Wait, what’s a Krecher? And for that matter, just where the heck did you whisk me off to Padfoot,” Harry managed to ask once he was sure the world was no longer spinning around him.
His eyes looked over his new surroundings, finding them to be mostly made of dusty and ancient-looking furniture. Everywhere he turned there were some macabre wall decorations covered in cobwebs, or a crest of some kind taking up the other bare spots on the wall.
“This, Prongslet, is Grimulad Place, my home. Well, and you home now too I suppose,”
Home. His home. Hearing those words from Sirius seemed to brighten every ding corner Harry could see in the house. He had a home. Not someplace he would stay during the Summers as he had with the Dursleys, but an actual home. A place where he could live and just be himself and not have to worry about someone constantly calling him a freak. Making fun of his inventions. Hitting him whenever he did something wrong. No smallest room, at least he hoped not. Even if it was, the fact that Sirius told him this was his home would make even the smallest of spaces feel all the larger. He couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around his Godfather.
“Thank you, Siri. It’s…it’s perfect,”
Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair before pulling him away,
“I wouldn’t go that far. There is still way too much Dark stuff floating around these halls and rooms. Molly has been itching to get this place cleared out. Said I was a free man and I deserved a house to live in and not some hovel filled with bad reminders,”
“Mrs. Weasley is here,” Harry asked, hoping that it meant Ron would be somewhere in this house as well.
“She and a few others pop in from time to time, though she isn’t here right now. Though I imagine she’ll be along soon enough once word gets out that you are staying here. Wonder if she’ll cook some food up for us,”
Harry gave a small chuckle at the wistful face Sirius had, no doubt thinking of the amazing dishes Molly crafted. As much as Harry missed a good Hogwarts feast, nothing could compare to the spreads Molly Weasley could create.
“Anyway, enough chatter, let’s give you the tour. Not that there is much about this place you should know about. Steeped way too into Dark Arts my family was. The Black name is practically dripping with Dark Magic, though we will change that. The two of us can put some Light back into the family name. Just like Prongs wanted to,”
Sirius had this almost infectious way of talking, as he walked Harry through all the rooms and halls of Number 12. Almost every inch of the home seemed to have some personal anecdote that Sirius remembered.
“See that burn mark, that’s where Regulus tried to use Fiendfyre for the first time. Almost burned down the entire house before Mum stepped in,”
“Cissa came by one time after getting into a fight with Lucius. She made us tea and just vented about the prick. She still married him though,”
“Will never forget when James came for me that night. Pulled me out of the jaws of death when dear old Mum found out I was dating Moony. James was the best brother I could ever have,”
On and on he went, sometimes fighting back tears, other times letting out peels of laughter. It was so odd for Harry to see Sirius like this. To see him so…well human. He had only really spoken with Sirius by way of letters or an occasional floo call. It was honestly humbling to see his Godfather so comfortable around him that he could just bare all that was on his mind. Part of him wondered if Lupin had heard half of these stories.
Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a black door, the name James had been crossed out, replaced by Harry’s own, neatly carved into the wood.
“James was adamant that one day he would help me take this place back from my Mum and all the Dark Magic that had infested it. Went as far as to give him his own room. Feels kind of poetic to let his Prongslet have it instead,”
“Sirius, you…you know that-," Harry began before Sirius held up his hand to cut him off.
“I know you may think it’s a lot, but you deserve it. James would have a fit if his son didn’t have the best room in this dump. It’s even already decked out in the proper colors,”
Sirius opened the door and Harry’s eyes were assaulted by a barrage of red and gold. It was like stepping into the Gryffindor common room after they had won a Quidditch match. Banners with lions were hung from the wall, while the four-post bed was done up with soft-looking red sheets and a gold comforter. There was even a golden snitch rug on the ground, animated to flap its wings ever so often.
“Wow this is…well it is a lot to take in Siri,” Harry said, feeling rather taken aback by the sudden assault on his eyes. The room was nice, if not a bit over-decorated, and there certainly wasn’t room to fit a table for him to tinker at.
“If you want to redecorate we can go out shopping. I just know that some of this stuff was James’s favorite so I figured,” Sirius trailed off, looking slightly forlorn.
“Oh, it isn’t bad Sirius. Maybe just needs a splash more color. And perhaps a worktable for me to tinker with some stuff. I’ve been dying to see if I could get Muggle tech to work around Magic and if I’m going to be here for the summer this seems like the prime place to test it,”
Sirius gave a snort, one which quickly became a bark of laughter.
“Oh, you sound like this friend of ours from way back when. Was always going on about building stuff in his spare time. Total nutter if you ask me,”
Curiosity grew in Harry as he took a seat on the bed, finding it to be rather comfortable. A far cry from the stiff bedding he had at Number 4.
“You had a friend who built stuff? I thought Wixen weren’t that big on building things. Well, outside of Mr. Weasley of course,”
“He was a Muggle we spent time with right after Hogwarts. Just before the war got really bad. James, Lily, Remus, and I meet him at a bar one night. Was a great kisser, though don’t tell Moony I said that. Think he is still bitter over it,”
Sirius conjured himself a chair and set at Harry’s bedside, eyes filled with memories
“We were just trying to live life while we still could. Dumbledore thought things were going to go south with the whole Dark Lord thing and wanted us to be ready if he needed us. So, while we waited, we all decided to just…do a bit of living. In case we wouldn’t get another chance. Wasn’t just us either. There was this Slytherin bloke who had wormed his way into James and Lily’s heart somehow. His name was Laci, have no idea what happened to him,
“Anyway, one night we were all just boozing around at some Muggle bar when Lily dares me to go up and kiss this random bloke at the bar. He wasn’t too bad of a looker, easy on the eyes if you know what I mean. So I go up to him, tell him that I was dared to kiss him and you know what he does? He kisses me. Full on, tongue and everything,”
“Oh gods, too many details Pads, don’t think my innocent ears should be hearing this,” Harry quipped with a smirk
“Oh, give it time, you’ll be doing the same. Now, where was I? Right, so he kisses me and then goes with me back to our table. Within moments he is talking our ears off and fitting right in with the rest of us. He was going shot for shot with Lily and doing way too much flirting with Laci. We thought he’d hang around for just a night, but nope. The man seemed to just fall in love with us, and was damn near ready to leave his Muggle company and live with us. He did for a bit, stayed in a flat James had with the rest of us,
“Tony just became one of us. Another Marauder in all but blood. He spent hours talking about all these crazy inventions he wanted to make. He swore he would make a bike that could outrace mine. Bit hard since it runs on magic but he tried all the same. And gods did he love Laci. The two of them bickered like crazy but clearly had it bad for one another. Sadly, we had to leave him. Dumbledore called us to start the fight against You-Know-Who and Tony Stark just didn’t fit in that life with us,”
“Wait,” Harry felt his world turn on its head, “Stark. As in Tony Stark? As in “I built a billion-dollar suit to save the world, Tony Stark,”
“Uh, I guess. I mean his suits were nice, but I don’t see how some fancy Muggle clothing can cost that much,”
Harry didn’t bother to correct him, his mind racing with far too many thoughts. Tony Stark knew his mum and dad. Not just knew them, but was friends with them. It was almost too much to believe. He had been following the man’s career whenever he got back from Hogwarts and to know that they had a connection through his family was insane.
“You okay there Prongslet, you look kinda out of it. You know Tony or something,”
“I know of him. He is this really famous Muggle. Works with this group called the Avengers. I’m shocked you don’t know more about him. He helped stopped aliens from invading Earth years back,”
“That can’t be the same Tony. The Tony I know was way too up his own ass sometimes to worry about saving the world. Even then, not like I got much news while rotting away in Azkaban,”
Harry heaved a small sigh, lamenting just how unplugged Wixen were from the world at large. At least British Wixen. He wondered if the same were true for ones living in America.
“Well, maybe he changed. Either way that is just way too wicked. Wonder if he still knows you. I’d love to get him to take a look at PRONGS for me. He could even help with the whole Muggle tech not working around magic. Hell, between him, Hermione, and myself we could probably figure a workaround. I should send him my data and- “
“Whoa, slow down there Pup,” Sirius got up and sat beside his Godson, “I said we only knew him for a month years ago. Considering we kind of vanished on him, I doubt he’d want anything to do with us after all this time. Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that Muggle stuff. Since you’ll be living here you will finally be able to live like the Wizard your dad would have wanted you to be,”
Harry didn’t say anything but bristled at his words. Sirius was nice, and he would forever thank the man for giving him a place to live, but every other word out of his mouth had been about his dad. He loved the man too, but he hoped that Sirius would see him instead of just a younger version of his dad.
“Ye-yeah I guess you are right. Anyway, I think I should start getting things unpacked. It’s been just…far too long of a day,” considering his day started with Dementors attacking, Harry felt more than justified in trying to get some alone time.
“Sure thing Prongslet. I’ll unshrink your things and you can move them wherever you need. If you need to catch up on some sleep go on ahead. If you get hungry I’m sure you can find something in the kitchen. Krecher may not like me, but he does keep the pantry well stocked,”
Harry still had no idea what a Krecher was but figured he’d figure it out eventually. Sirius gave him another hug as he left to his own devices. Harry’s eyes roamed his room, breathing in deeply. There was so much…stuff here that it was honestly overwhelming to a point. He wasn’t the tidiest person, but he kept everything in a state of organized chaos. Here, it was just a clutter of imposing reds and golds. There was house pride and then there was this. Even if it may hurt Sirius a bit, Harry knew he had to do some redecorating here.
It had taken some time, seeing as he still couldn’t use magic, but eventually, Harry got all of his things in place, including hanging his meager wardrobe up. He was already missing PRONGS. It felt so odd to not know his little A.I. wasn’t watching out for him, keeping him on track with his various projects and plans. Sure, he still had Hedwig who was sleeping peacefully in a new cage, but nothing could replace that companionship of PRONGS.
Sinking into the bed, Harry looked up at the ceiling, letting his mind drift. Even if Sirius wasn’t too keen on trying to reconnect with Tony, perhaps Harry could reach out himself. He highly doubted the man would be able to get an Owl, but perhaps he could go into town tomorrow and send an email or something. There wasn’t a guarantee that the man would get it, but there was a chance. As his thoughts drifted to Tony and getting to know the man, Harry found himself getting pulled down into the depths of sleep, feeling a twinge of discomfort from his scar as he drifted away.
The pull around his navel had been enough to set off warning bells in Harry’s head. Before he could do anything about it the world was turned into a spiral of colors and sights. His eyes couldn’t focus on anything for too long. He felt his body tumbling around empty space, only to suddenly come crashing to a stop as he landed in a heap on soft grass.
“Oh gods, Potter, are you okay,” he heard Cedric say from someplace behind him. His glasses were broken but he could just make out the black and yellow of the other boy’s jumper as he turned to face him.
“I’m fine Cedric. Bit sore but fine. You reckon this is another part of the maze,” Harry struggled to his feet, his legs still not in the best of straights after the run-in with the acromantula.
“It would have to be. Imagine they did it to prevent a tie. Though why they would send us to a graveyard is beyond me,”
Harry cast a quick spell to fix his glasses before finally looking at where they had landed. Rows and rows of tombstones greeted them. A thick mist hung low to the ground, giving the entire place a deep foreboding feeling to it. So much so Harry could feel it sinking into his bones. Everything about this felt off. Felt wrong. He could hear Moody in his mind, screaming about constant vigilance. Which is why Harry kept his wand drawn ahead of him.
“I don’t think so. Do you know where the Cup went? Maybe we can use it to get back,”
Harry looked around, spying the handle of the cup just behind a gravestone. He had only taken a few steps before a searing pain ripped across his head, coming from his scar. It felt as if the old wound was starting to split his head in half, hissing whispers filling his mind.
“Harry! Are you okay, what’s going on,” the panicked voice of Cedric barely broke through the noise and pain.
Harry tried to lift his head, tried to fight beyond the pain but it was proving almost impossible. Then, he heard it. He heard a voice calling from out of the darkness of the graveyard.
“Kill the spare,” it hissed
A jet of green light came from the darkness. It cut a path, moving almost in slow motion as Harry watched it strike the center of Cedric’s chest.
“No,” Harry whimpered, watching as Cedric’s body dropped to the ground.
Cedric. Eyes lifeless. Unmoving. Dead.
There was no time for him to process as Peter Pettigrew stepped out of the shadows of the graves, flicking his wand to conjure ropes that lashed Harry tightly against a gravestone.
The cowardly man slunk back into the shadows for a moment, only to return holding a small buddle in his arms. As Harry’s eyes looked upon it, the pain in his scar seemed to double, his vision almost turning white from it all.
“Harry Potter,” that voice hissed. The voice of Voldemort, “How I have waited for this moment. To finally be your downfall. To finish what began 14 years ago,”
Harry bite back the rise of bile in his throat, swallowing it down and doing his best to summon every ounce of courage that was in his body.
“You couldn’t beat baby me as a full-grown man, pretty sure you stand even less of a chance if Wormtail of all people has to carry you,”
“Curcio,” spat Peter, using his free hand to cast the spell.
The pain was instant. Crippling. Inescapable. It sparked across Harry’s body as he writhed in his bonds. It only lasted but a moment, but it was enough to leave Harry gasping for air.
“Enough of your foolish words’ boy, I will soon be done with you. Peter, you may finish the ritual,”
Peter said nothing as he placed the bundle containing what was left of Voldemort before him, a spell holding it aloft, before pulling out a small bag. With another wave of his wand, a massive cauldron appeared before them all, a fire lit under its base. Curls of red smoke rose from the air, filling the area with a noxious scent.
“B-bone of the Father,” Peter stammered as he pulled a skull from his bag. Strips of decaying flesh still hung from its pale white exterior.
Carefully he dropped it into the potion, the smoke shifting to a foul yellow hue. Once the bubbling has subsided, the pitiful man reached back into the bag, pulling free a long silver dagger.
“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken,”
Harry watched, eyes wide as Peter moved closer to him. He was still in shock from the spell, unable to do little more than twitch a finger. There was no way to avoid the blade, no way to avoid his blood being used for whatever ritual Voldemort was planning.
His blood. Forcibly taken.
Peter took hold of his arm in one hand, the other held aloft with the blade.
“I give it freely. I give my blood freely,” Harry whispered just as Peter plunged the dagger into his arm and slashed downward.
The cut wasn’t shallow by any means, the gash biting deep into the side of Harry’s arm. He watched, utterly detached as Peter filled a vial with his blood, the man looking at anything but Harry’s face.
“Look at me, you rat-faced fuck,” Harry spat, the ire in his voice drawing all of Pettigrew’s attention,
“When I get out of this, I will kill you. You better hope Sirius finds you first because what I will do to you will make his revenge seem meager and insignificant. You swear-dwelling pile of toadstool,”
Pettigrew looked at Harry, searching those bright green eyes, looking for some kind of sign the boy was bluffing. He found none. Hands shaking, the man capped off the vial, letting Harry continue to bleed as he moved back to the potion.
Once Harry’s blood was added, the smoke took on an icy blue tone, bringing with it a sudden drop in the air around the graveyard. Harry paid it little mind, worried more about his still bleeding arm. He had no idea if his cry of giving his blood freely would matter, but if his not giving it willingly mattered to the ritual, perhaps his words would screw it up somehow.
“Fl-Flesh of-,” Peter continued, holding the blade against his left hand
“Do it, Worrmtail. Affirming your loyalty to your Master,”
Harry watched as the sweaty hand of Peter doubled and he closed his eyes.
“Flesh of the Servant, willfully given,” he gritted between clenched teeth before he swung the knife downward.
Harry couldn’t keep the sick down as he watched Peter’s hand fall into the potion, blood spewing from the stump. The cut wasn’t clean, as Harry had spotted a bit of bone before he shut his eyes to the gore. He couldn’t, however, unhear the wails of Peter as he languished in pain. A bitter part of Harry was glad to know that he was suffering in some way for this.
The sound of the boiling cauldron drew Harry’s attention as his eyes opened, watching as the smoke, a mixture of icy blue and pitch black, writhed in the air. Peter struggled to his feet, taking hold of the bundle that held the remains of Voldemort and he dropped it into the cauldron.
Red light exploded forth, the tendrils of smoke coming together as the sound of soft hissing grew into a turbulent maelstrom. The wind rattled the trees and sent debris flying into the air. All Harry could do was watch. Watch as the ritual took hold and Voldemort began to be reborn. His scar was sparking with pain as Harry watched, transfixed on the resurrection. Eventually, the wind died down and the light vanished. All that remained was smoke blanketing the area.
Harry looked closer, watching the darkness above the cauldron for any form of movement. His hopes that his last-minute decree of giving his blood freely had worked were dashed as a figure began to rise from the base of the cauldron. Harry expected a monster. Some malformed being that defined all things human. Instead, from out of the depths of the cauldron stepped a man.
It was as if he was looking into the face of Tom Riddle from the diary, merely a few years older. Sharp handsome features were apparent. His jawline was sharp and striking. Thick tress of hair cascaded almost to his shoulders. His skin was light brown and warm with life. The only place where humanity ended was his eyes. Bright red orbs, slit like a snake were staring directly at Harry as the man gave a devilish grin.
“Harry Potter. Face to face at last,” The man stepped closer to the bound Harry, bending ever so slightly to look into the boy’s eyes.
Harry knew his own were wide with fear, as Voldemort’s gaze seemed to hold him in a trance, unable to look away. His face went slack as Voldemort reached out with his hand. He could move away, he could barely think. All he could do was stare into those eyes, unable to break his gaze. His mind was blank. Empty of everything beyond the fear he felt.
“I have you to thank for this. Your blood has given me more than just a new body. It has given me life and power. And I intended to take more of that from you,”
His fingers reached out and pressed against Harry’s scar.
The pain broke him out of his trance.
And he screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Harry was still screaming as he writhed in his bed, sweat plastering his body. Trapped in his dream, he had no idea that the Dark Lord himself was watching this transpire through their connection. That he had been the one to force the boy to dream of that memory. The connection snapped as the boy was roused from his sleep by whomever he was staying with. Not that it mattered to Voldemort. He had fun.
“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed from a place far from Number 12, “You shall soon be mine. You and all of your hidden power,”