Chapter 25
Harry landed hard, the cup rolling out of his grasp. He groaned and heard an answering sound from Cedric. He rolled over, seeing both Cedric and James, and pushed to his feet as James helped Cedric up, the older boy pale in the moonlight.
“Where are we?” Cedric whispered, swallowing, and Harry looked around. Graves spanned in all directions, and he realized with some dread they were in a graveyard.
“Get behind me.” James ordered, voice barely a murmur, his eyes fixed on a point ahead. “Someone’s coming.”
Harry nodded, but before he could, his gaze is caught by something else - a name. He couldn’t seem to help himself and approached the statue of death that loomed over the grave in front of him.
TOM RIDDLE
Harry sucked in a breath, wand in his hand and gripped tight as he turned to see what James had. There was a figure coming - carrying a bundle almost like a baby in its arms.
The pain hit him so suddenly that Harry cried out with it, falling to his knees even as a hissing voice he recognized spoke.
“Kill the spare.”
He tried to throw out a spell, threw up a hand - but the pain was debilitating.
“Avada Kedavra!” Another familiar voice rasped out, and Harry screamed as the killing curse shoots across the graveyard, catching James in the shoulder and sending him crashing down, flattening Cedric under him.
By some miracle, Cedric didn’t move, and the two approaching, Pettigrew, and somehow Voldemort, hadn’t seen him. Harry just had to hope that he could get to them and the cup before things got any worse.
He was lifted off his feet and thrown back with enough force to bruise and he gasped from the added pain of it. Coarse rope shot forward, wrapping around him and scraping his skin raw.
It was a feeling more than a sound that had him looking down and seeing the massive snake winding its way around the base of the grave.
He'd never been afraid of snakes before, but then again, he'd never been faced with the familiar of a mad man.
He swallowed, hard, and wondered if he’d survive this. Then he pushed the thought aside. He would survive. He had to. He lifted his gaze to focus on Pettigrew.
“What made you decide to betray my parents?” Harry asked, voice quiet, and saw the stumble in Pettigrew’s step, though he didn’t look at Harry. “They were your friends, weren’t they? What did he offer you that was good enough to make you turn your back on them?”
“Silence him.” The voice sent a shudder down Harry’s spine, but Pettigrew followed the order, and moments later he set down the bundle and came over to shove a cloth into Harry’s mouth, gagging him.
Without even another glance at Harry, he moved back to the figure, and it finally registered to Harry that there was a massive cauldron in front of them, filled with a potion whose colour he couldn’t quite make out. With a flick of Pettigrew’s wand, the fire beneath the cauldron lit, and it simmered quickly, spitting sparks that made it glisten like gems.
Without any further ado, he opened the sheets covering the tiny creature from which Voldemort’s voice had come, revealing the shrivelled, ugly shape of what had once been one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Harry feared he was about to be again.
Gently, Pettigrew put the hideously formed thing into the cauldron, and it sank with a dull thud.
He wasn’t sure what alerted him, but even as Pettigrew continued to prepare, Harry knew he wasn’t alone.
Trying not to move, he shifted only his gaze, searching for any sign that his senses hadn’t betrayed him.
At first pass, Harry didn’t see him, but it’s the blue that caught his attention, dragging his gaze back. There, standing in the shadows, was Newt, staring so intently Harry could feel the pressure on his mind.
Give it freely.
Harry didn’t understand what it meant - could barely think through the pain in his head, and that was when Pettigrew started to speak.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.”
Under his feet, the grave cracked, and Harry gave a startled cry as a bone floated up and out of the grave, dropping into the potion with a soft splash. rippling the surface. The colour changed to a blue not dissimilar to that of Newt’s coat.
Pettigrew pulled a long, thin dagger from his robes, and with a whimper, lifted it to the light. Harry felt dread pool in his stomach, but he looked back at Newt, who just nodded. Harry did his best to relax despite his fear.
“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.” Though afraid, there was a quality to the fear that said he wouldn’t dare do anything to betray his master. Harry watched in horror as with a cry he sliced his own hand from his wrist, letting it fall into the potion.
Harry gagged against the fabric in his mouth.
He watched, eyes wide, as the potion turned a burning red.
Then, those dark, selfish eyes turned on Harry, and he realized just what Newt had meant. Pettigrew approached, bloodied dagger brandished, and stepped carefully over the large snake at the base.
“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.” Even as he said the words and slid the blade across Harry’s skin, even as he cried out from the pain, Harry didn’t resist. He didn’t pull away. Silently, as he couldn’t make a sound with the gag in his mouth, he offered his blood, a gift rather than a theft.
Pettigrew took a vial, letting the blood drip into it, and Harry just stared at him.
It’s yours. Take it. Harry repeated, a mantra in his head, and hoped against all hope that it worked.
When Pettigrew retreated to the cauldron, pouring Harry's blood in, it swirled, once, twice, and flashed bright blinding white. Then it dimmed until the colour warmed, deepened, and swirled with something indescribable.
The scream that bubbled up from the cauldron sliced through the air, and Pettigrew’s eyes widened as he stumbled back. Something had clearly gone wrong.
Newt stepped out of the shadows, spells splashing across the graveyard, freeing Harry and protecting him before Pettigrew could so much as consider approaching him.
He heard the first shot and turned to see James back on his feet, gun in hand, and Cedric sitting up behind him, blood smeared across his cheek but otherwise alive.
He looked back at Pettigrew in time to see him turn back into a rat, but it didn't protect him. Not this time. Harry saw the moment the bullet connected, and watched as he shifted back, bullet hole between empty eyes.
Newt apparated across the graveyard, grabbing Harry and apparating them back over to where James stood over Cedric.
“Hold on.” He ordered, and as soon as James slapped a hand on his shoulder, hauling Cedric to his feet, Newt pointed his wand at the cup.
“Accio cup.”