Nearly

Harry snatches his hand back from the Cup again and wheels around to see Krum stumble out from one of the passageways. He looks worse for wear. His face is flushed and clammy while his robes are ripped in several places and singed in others.

”Are you all right?” Harry asks.

”Yes…” the other boy pants. ”But that Diggory… he tried to hex me…”

”What?” Harry says incredulously. ”That… that doesn’t sound like him…”

”I know”, Krum nods. 

He sidles up to Harry and he’s so hunched over that they’re almost the same height, Harry notices with a small thrill of excitement. 

”He vas not himself…”

”What happened?”

”I stunned him”, Krum says grimly. ”Go on, take the cup so ve can get out of here…”

Harry looks at the cup uncertainly. He’d been willing to take it and win the tournament only two seconds ago, but that was when he thought he didn’t have a choice… Sirius would be so proud of him if he won, but Remus… But it will be over, he tells himself. The only reason he keeps telling me not to try to win is because he thinks I’ll put myself in danger, so he can’t get too cross with me for winning if it’s all over and I’m safe… 

”Vat is it?” Krum says, frowning at him. 

”Nothing, it’s just… I promised my dads that I wouldn’t win — I mean… that I wouldn’t put myself at risk to try and win, because I’m not even supposed to be in the tournament…”

Krum’s brow furrows further. 

”You should take the cup”, Harry says. ”I’m happy to come in second. Really.”

”I cannot do that… it would not be honourable”, Krum mutters. ”You have done better than me in all the tasks. You deserve to win.”

”But…”

”No. You got here first, you take it.”

”But if Diggory hadn’t attacked you illegally, you might have beat me to it”, Harry insists, then decides to tweak the truth slightly. ”I’d only just got here when you arrived. And I really don’t care about winning!”

Krum watches him thoughtfully for a moment. 

”Fine… Ve vill both touch it and get full marks”, he relents finally. 

Harry realises he’ll win anyway if they both get full marks, since his score is higher than Krum’s but at this point he’s in too much pain and too cold and tired to argue anymore, so he just nods in agreement. 

”On three then…” he says and reaches out for the cup again. ”One… Two… Three…”

Grasping one of the Cup’s handles, Harry immediately feels swooping sensation in his stomach, like he’s being pulled through space by an invisible thread hooked to his navel, while the whole world swirls around him and Krum, connected by the Triwizard Cup in their hands. 

Then just as suddenly as the sensation started, it stops again and Harry feels his feet slam into solid ground once more. Pain shoots up his injured leg and he crumples to the ground, his fingers falling away from the handle of the Triwizard Cup.

He braces his hands against the ground (mind registering dry grass and soil under his palms) and pushes himself up on shaky arms and looks around.

The first thing he notices is the absence of mountains on the horizon, telling him he and Krum must have travelled quite far from Hogwarts. 

The second thing, is the dark shapes of gravestones breaking up the gloom of the evening shadows around them. He feels dread and fear coil in his stomach… something’s not right…

”Vat is this place?” Krum mutters. ”Did you know the Cup vould be a Portkey?”

”No…” Harry mumbles. 

He pushes himself to his feet gingerly, careful to keep most of his weight on his good ankle. Looking around nervously, trying to make out any movement in the darkness, he feels his heart beat a steady tattoo in his chest and even as he tells himself it’s okay, it’s all just part of the third task, a sinking sensation in his stomach calls him on the lie. 

He fumbles with his wand and holds it out in front of him.

”Lumos”, he mutters, then instantly recoils in fear as the light from his wand falls on a shadowed figure walking towards them silently between the graves. ”Wh-who are you?”

Harry is aware of Krum in his peripheral as the older boy also draws his wand, but he doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from the figure that keeps approaching silently.

”I said who are you?” Harry demands, but the figure remains silent. 

As it draws closer to them, it becomes apparent that it’s a rather short and stocky person but because they have the hood of their cloak pulled down, Harry can’t see their face. They’re carrying a bundle in their arms — a baby? Harry thinks uncertainly — finally the figure stops next to a massive marble headstone only six feet from where Harry is standing. 

He shoots Krum a sidelong glance. The other boy looks just as confused and wary as he himself feels. Turning back to the hooded figure, Harry opens his mouth to demand to know his identity again, but before he knows what’s happened, his scar has suddenly burst open and a searing pain shoots through his head. His knees buckle and he collapses to the ground again helplessly, his wand tumbling from his fingers as he slaps both hands against his forehead desperately. 

He feels like his skull has split open and any minute now his brain will come tumbling out and then he’ll be dead…

”Harry!” Krum cries in alarm above him. 

Harry can’t answer him though, he can barely think. All he knows is pain. White hot, all-consuming pain. 

”Kill the spare”, a cold, high-pitched voice says somewhere and it sends shivers all over Harry’s body. 

”Avada Kedavra!”

The pain in Harry’s forehead intensifies. Sure he’s going to pass out from it, Harry clutches his head and screams until his throat feels raw. He’s vaguely aware of a sudden green light through his eyelids. His stomach churns violently and he lurches forward and retches.

Finally the pain begins to subside slightly. His head is still pounding and his scar stings, but it’s not so bad that he can’t think… Sitting up cautiously, Harry blinks his eyes open. A sudden weight slams into his chest as Krum’s lifeless body on the ground next to him registers and he stares at it in mute horror… dead… he’s dead… 

Suddenly a meaty hand has grabbed a hold of his arm and hoisted him to his feet and he stumbles slightly as he puts weight on his sprained ankle, put this pain is nothing compared to what he just experienced and he continues to stumble after the hooded figure automatically. 

He’s thrust roughly towards the marble headstone and just has time to register the name carved into the face, before the figure has spun him around and slammed him back against it… Tom Riddle… 

No, Harry thinks numbly. That’s impossible…

But just as he thinks this, the figure reaches up and pulls the hood down and Harry heart stutters in his chest as he finds himself staring into the drawn face of Peter Pettigrew… Wormtail… Harry lurches towards the man in blind rage, but before he can reach him, the other wizard has conjured a length of rope from his wand that swiftly coils around the headstone, tying Harry to it tightly. He struggles against the restraints, but they don’t budge at all. 

Harry lets out a frustrated yell. Wormtail frowns at him and fumbles with one of the pockets in his cloak, pulling out a piece of black fabric that he shoves inside Harry’s mouth. Harry tries to push it out again with his tongue and immediately gags on the taste of it. 

Wormtail scurries out of sight behind the headstone and Harry looks around frantically, searching the dark graveyard for any sign of help or inspiration for getting himself out of here, but the only thing he can see is hundreds of gravestones spread out before him in the darkness and then twenty feet in front of him, Krum’s spreadeagled body and the still gleaming Triwizard Cup… and at his feet, the bundle of robes he’d thought was a baby at first, except he knows now that it isn’t a baby inside the robes, not really, not technically — his suspicion is confirmed when he looks down at it and his scar sears once more. 

Harry hears Wormtail’s panting breaths draw nearer again and turns his head to see the man drag a large cauldron into place in front of the grave. Prodding the underside of it with his wand, Wormtail manages to light a fire and within moments the liquid inside has begun to boil and shoot sparks. 

The bundle is moving more and more restlessly at Harry’s feet and Harry feels bile rise in his throat again as the cold, high-pitched voice slithers up from inside the robes, ”Hurry!”

”It is ready, master!”

Wormtail lurches forward and stoops down at Harry’s feet and Harry stares in horror as he folds the robes back to reveal the ugliest creature he has ever seen. It’s got the general form of a human baby, with a head and four limbs curled into its frail body, but there the similarities end abruptly. It’s dark red, as if it’s been skinned alive and the face is flat and snake-like. But the thing that strikes Harry the most are the eyes. The burning, scarlet eyes with thin slits for pupils. 

Scar searing again, Harry presses his eyes shut and focuses on breathing slowly and deeply through his nose until his nausea subsides and when he opens his eyes again, Wormtail is standing over the cauldron and the baby-like creature — Voldemort, Harry’s mind whispers — is nowhere to be seen. Wormtail mutters incantations under his breath, staring at the bubbling contents of the cauldron with a look of contained panic in his eyes. 

”Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew you son!” Wormtail wheezes and points his wand at the grave under Harry’s feet. 

The surface of the ground cracks open under Harry’s feet and a stream of dust shoots out of the rift and soars through the night air, landing inside the cauldron with a hiss. 

Whimpering quietly to himself, Wormtail pockets his wand and pulls a small dagger from inside his robes with shaking hands. 

”Flesh of the s-servant w-willingly gi-ven — you will revive your m-m-master!” he sobs. 

In one swift movement he swings the dagger through the air and chops off his hand at the wrist. A piercing scream is ripped from him and the dagger falls from his hand as he grabs his bleeding stump and hugs it to his chest. His whole body convulses and he seems to focus all of his remaining energy to stay standing. Then with a shuddering breath, he bends to pick the dagger up from the ground again.

With tears streaming down his face and moans of pain curling out of his throat, Wormtail drags himself over to the Riddle grave again, his beady eyes fixing dully on Harry. 

”Blood of the e-enemy… forcibly… t-t-taken…” he gasps. 

No, Harry thinks desperately.

”You will… resurrect… your foe…!”

”No!” Harry cries, his voice muffled by the cloth shoved into his mouth. 

Raising the dagger once more in his shaking hand, Wormtail angles the sharp tip of the blade against the crook of Harry’s arm and presses down hard… a sharp pain shoots through Harry’s arm, then subsides into more of a stinging sensation… Twisting his head around, Harry stares in dismay as Wormtail holds a glass phial to the gushing wound in his arm, collecting his blood. 

Once the phial is filled, he stumbles back to the cauldron and tips it over. The blood dribbles into the cauldron and its content gives off an aggressive hiss, then begins to turn from its blood red colour to pearly white, diamond sparks shooting out of it, while Wormtail slumps to the ground and cradles his bleeding stump to his chest, sobbing quietly. 

Please, let it have gone wrong, Harry thinks desperately as he stares at the cauldron. Let it go wrong, let him drown in there. 

Suddenly white steam thick as fog billows out of the cauldron and begins to fill the graveyard, until Harry can no longer make out the gravestones or the bodies of Krum and Wormtail on the ground in front of him. It’s like he’s staring out across the lake, with a blanket of mist covering its’ black surface. The cauldron that stands a little higher from the ground, where the steam is the most dense, can still be visible and so can the skeletal figure that suddenly stands up inside it. 

No, no, no, Harry thinks wildly, like a desperate inner mantra, his heart pounding in time with it. 

”Robe me…” the familiar cold voice says quietly. 

Harry can hear Wormtail shuffle around on the ground, still whimpering and sobbing. In the next moment he stands up and moves over to puts the robes over man’s head one-handedly. As soon as the robes fall down his body, the man steps out of the cauldron with a graceful ease and as he turns around, Harry finds himself staring into the face that has haunted his nightmares for three years… it’s deathly pale, making the vivid, scarlet eyes burn all the brighter, and the nose is flat as a snake’s with thin slits for nostrils… he barely looks human anymore, definitely nowhere near as handsome as he’d been when he was sixteen, but it’s definitely Lord Voldemort.

He doesn’t appear to notice Harry or the still sobbing Wormtail at all at first, taking a long moment to acquaint himself with his new body, his long spindly fingers fluttering with delight over his arms and chest, before brushing over his bald head and down his hollow cheeks. But then his scarlet eyes flit over to Harry briefly, as if making sure he’s got an audience, before stalking over to Wormtail and bending down to hiss in his face. 

”Show me your arm…”

”Oh master, oh thank you…” the man gasps and holds out the stump that is still gushing blood. 

Voldemort lets out a small, cold laugh. 

”Your other arm, Wormtail…”

”Please, master… you promised, please…”

Face twisting in distaste, Voldemort reaches out and shoves the sleeve up on Wormtail’s uninjured arm, revealing a red mark on the inside of his wrist. He smiles coldly at it.

”It is back… they must have noticed… and now, we will see…” he says softly, pressing a pale finger against the mark. 

Harry’s scar sears in pain again, but his muffled scream is instantly drowned out by Wormtail’s howl of pain. Removing his finger from the mark, that Harry can see has turn an inky black now, Voldemort stands up again and looks up at the starry sky with an air of anticipation. 

”Now we shall know… who will be brave enough to return… and who will be foolish enough to stay away…”

Tearing his eyes from the stars again, Voldemort begins to pace the small space between the cauldron and grave where Harry is still tied. Several times, Harry catches the scarlet eyes flit over to him and the thin lips stretch into a lazy smile.

”You stand, Harry Potter, on the remains of my father”, he says softly after a moment, the scarlet eyes twinkling with something that might be amusement. ”A muggle and a fool, much like your mother… but they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child and… I killed my father, and now look… in death he has proved himself useful at last…”

Voldemort laughs again, the sound of it sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. It’s suddenly broken off and he becomes alert once more, as the crack of Apparition can be heard in the near distance. Looking in the direction of the sound, desperate hope wells up inside Harry… please let it be my dads, or Dumbledore, or Moody, or…

But soon, more cracks punctuate the silence of the graveyard and Harry can see hooded figures approach them slowly between the graves. As they get close enough that Harry can see their masked faces, his hope sinks like boulder in his chest and he goes limp against the ropes restraining him… it’s over, he thinks in despair… it’s all over… I’m dead… I’ll never see my dads or Draco again… 

”Master… master…” 

One of the figures falls on his knees and crawls the last few metres over to Voldemort, who watches coldly as the man grabs the hem of his robes with trembling hands and kisses it through his mask. 

The others follow suit, one by one, and after kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes they quickly back away from him again and move to stand in a circle around him and the grave, leaving spaces between them as if waiting for more people to arrive. 

”Welcome, Death Eaters…” Voldemort says softly. ”Thirteen years it’s been since last we met… and yet you answer my call as though it was only yesterday… we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”

Moving slowly along the inner edge of the circle, Voldemort throws his head back and inhales deeply through the slits where his nose should be. 

”I smell guilt…” he hisses. ”Here you stand before me, whole and healthy, your powers intact… and I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

No-one speaks. No-one even seems to breathe. 

”…and I answer myself”, Voldemort continues calmly, his voice deceptively gentle. ”They must have believed me broken… they thought I was gone, so they slipped back among my enemies and pleaded innocence, and ignorance…”

As Voldemort continues to speak, fear and pain courses through Harry and he struggles to stay focused. He lets his gaze wander over the hooded figures facing him… Death Eaters… the expressionless silver faces of their masks staring back at him… and he is reminded of the recurring nightmare he’s been having ever since the World Cup, in which he’s running with Draco through the woods and they get captured by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

At least Draco is safe now, he thinks faintly. 

And then, as if his thoughts have somehow narrowed his focus, a flash of white-blonde flashes in his peripheral and he whips his head to the side and stares at one of the Death Eaters standing to his right. His face is hidden behind a mask just like the rest of them, but there is no mistaking the immaculately cut strands of blonde hair that falls just below the man’s shoulders, the perfectly even ends sticking out between the mask and the hood… Lucius… 

For one awful second, Harry allows hope to fill him once more… 

Here is someone he knows, someone that is part of his life, someone who invited him along to the Quidditch World Cup less than a year ago… surely a person like that might try and help him? He knows he’s not Lucius’ favourite person in the world, but he is his son’s best friend after all (unofficially even more than that, and he sure the man knows it), so surely for Draco’s sake he’ll try and safe Harry?

But just as sudden as these traitorously hopeful thoughts have flitted through Harry’s mind, he feels himself deflate again. How can Lucius possibly help him now, even if he wanted to? He’d proably be struck down before he moved a muscle…

As if illustrating this suspiscion of Harry’s, one of the other Death Eaters flings himself to his knees in front of Voldemort suddenly, begging for his forgiveness and Voldemort lets out another peel of cold laughter. Then he raises his wand and whispers, ”Crucio…”

Harry lets out a startled yell as pain explodes in his head once more. Squinting his eyes open again, he can see the man collapsed on the ground at Voldemort’s feet, his whole body writhing, guttural shrieks of terror and pain welling out of him and echoing in the night air around them all… Blinking tears from his eyes, Harry looks across the circle of Death Eaters. A new tension has spread through the group now. No-one else dares move, or speak. All they can do is wait — for what? to watch their friend finally die? for their turn?

Voldemort lifts his wand again, breaking the curse. The Death Eater remains convulsing on the ground, gasping and panting. 

”Get up, Avery”, Voldemort hisses. ”Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you! Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, haven’t you, Wormtail?”

”Yes, master… please”, Wormtail moans. ”Please, master…”

”Worthless and traitorous as you are, you did help me return to my body… and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…”

Raising his wand once more, Voldemort conjures a shapeless silvery substance that soars through the air and latches onto Wormtail’s bleeding stump. Within seconds, it reshapes itself into a sleek palm and finally four fingers and a thumb sprouts out it. Wormtail gasps, but this time in relief and wonder as he holds up his new hand and moves the finger experimentally. 

”Oh, thank you, master… thank you—!”

But Voldemort’s eyes flit away dismissively and zeroes in on a Death Eater across the circle from Wormtail instead, on Lucius… and even though Harry knows there is nothing he can do, tied as he is to the gravestone, he finds himself tensing all the same, as if getting ready to leap to the man’s defence… This is Draco’s dad, after all — and it doesn’t matter that he is an awful man (and even a rather rotten dad), because if something were to happen to him it would break Draco’s heart all the same. 

”Lucius…” Voldemort whispers, sliding across the circle to get in the man’s face. ”You… have disappointed me more than anyone…”

”My Lord…” Lucius whispers. ”I have not renounced the old ways!”

”No?” Voldemort says softly. ”I have heard as much… still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe?”

”Yes”, Lucius gasps. ”Yes, my Lord—”

”Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius. As fun as your exploits at the World Cup were, surely your energies would have been better spent in finding and aiding your master? Unless… your loyalties have… shifted…”

Voldemort pulls his hand back suddenly as if to slap the other man across the face, but instead the silvery mask covering it evaporates into smoke… for the first time, Harry can see Lucius’ deathly pale face. His eyes keep flitting between Voldemort’s chest and face, wide with fear. 

”No, my Lord, I swear…” he whispers frantically. ”If there had been any sign, any whisper of your whereabouts, then I would have been at your side immediately! Nothing could have prevented me—!”

”Oh, there were more than whispers, my slippery friend”, Voldemort says coldly. ”In fact, at the World Cup, a faithful Death Eater went so far as to send the Dark Mark into the sky… and you ran… oh yes, I have heard about that… and that’s not all I have heard… you see, my most faithful servant couldn’t be with us here tonight, because he is at Hogwarts…” 

Lucius’ face remains shuttered, but Harry can see his eyelids fluttering subtly… and he’s sure that if this had been any other person, they would have fainted from fear by now.

”…it was through his efforts that our young friend here could be with us instead — Harry Potter, my guest of honour”, Voldemort continues pleasantly. ”But I daresay he needs no introduction… I’m told he is almost as famous as I am nowadays… The Boy Who Lived…”

He lets out a small tinkle of laughter and his scarlet eyes flit over to Harry for a second, before he pins Lucius with another cold stare.

”But that’s not all he is famous for, now is it, Lucius?”

Lucius face drains completely of blood and for a split second he sways slightly, as if he’s actually going to faint… 

”The son of James and Lily Potter, The Boy Who Lived… a Slytherin… a parselmouth… and an honorary Malfoy, perhaps?” Voldemort adds playfully, a small smile ghosting over his thin lips even as his eyes remain hard as stone.

A few nervous chuckles can be heard from the other Death Eaters. But Lucius keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Voldemort’s chest. 

”Well?” Voldemort prompts. 

Lucius quickly shakes his head. 

”No?”

”N-no, my Lord…” Lucius whispers so softly that Harry can barely hear him anymore. 

”I’m sure Harry is heartbroken to hear that… now, now, it’s the boy last few moments on earth, after all… surely you won’t let him die without your blessing, Lucius? Come now, show some mercy…”

Another ripple of snickers erupts from the circle of Death Eaters. 

”Let The Boy Who Lived go to his grave believing that he could have been… mister… Harry… Malfoy…”

The chuckles and titters escalate into roars of laughter around them and Voldemort smiles coldly, his scarlet eyes never wavering from Lucius’ face. 

The blonde’s throat works furiously and his grey eyes shine with desperation and unshed tears. He shakes his head quickly once more.

”No?”

”No, my Lord”, he croaks. ”They are just friends from school… y-you know what… school boys… are like…”

”I know what some school boys are like”, Voldemort says lightly, to a chorus of laughs.

”They are just friends”, Lucius insists. ”Draco knows where our true loyalties lie… like my wife and myself he presents a respectable face to the world, but that is our true masks…”

He’s lying, Harry thinks. He’s just trying to save his face. It’s not true. It can’t be true. 

Voldemort says nothing for a moment, just stares at Lucius with unblinking, piercing eyes. Immediately the laughter dies down around them. Lucius’ eyes flit up to Voldemort’s face for a split second, then instantly fixes on his chest again. 

”How it must pain you then… to see your flesh and blood in the arms of a filthy blood-traitor…” Voldemort says finally, as casually as if he’d commented on the weather. 

”Yes, my Lord”, Lucius says fiercely, his eyelids fluttering with relief. ”You have no idea…”

”Hm…” Voldemort says softly. ”I am disappointed in you, Lucius, and I do expect more faithful service in the future…”

”Of course, my Lord, of course… you are merciful, thank you—”

”I am”, Voldemort whispers. ”That is why, Lucius… I am going to offer you… one… hit…”

”M-my Lord…?”

”And don’t get carried away, for I must be the one to kill him…” 

Lucius’ eyes flit up to Voldemort’s again and for a moment, a whole conversation seems to transpire in this single eye-lock… Harry’s heart is pounding slowly but forcefully in his chest, like it’s trying to beat a hole in his ribcage and escape. He can’t blame it. He’s not like the Malfoys, he doesn’t take care of his heart, doesn’t guard it… he wears it on his sleeve and no matter how many beatings it takes, he just keeps putting it out there for more, and now… now he’s really gone and done it. 

”How old are you now, Harry?” Voldemort asks suddenly, but without looking at him. ”Fourteen years? Fifteen? You’re in Fourth Year, I believe? That’s four years at Hogwarts, four years of… friendship… four years of watching The Boy Who Lived ensnare your son’s — your only son’s — senses, surely with that much frustration built up, you would leap at the chance to release some of it?”

Lucius finally breaks the eye-lock and stares at the ground in front of him instead. Something resembling resolve seeps into the cloudy grey. His knuckles whiten around the silver top of his walking stick… Harry remembers the weight of it on the back of his neck, as Lucius used it to shepherd him and Draco towards the Stadium at the Quidditch World Cup… that seems like a different lifetime now… 

”Well, Lord Voldemort is merciful… and Lord Voldemort is generous… he is all yours, Lucius… all I ask, is that you leave him for me to finish off…”

With that, Voldemort takes three steps back.

Lucius keeps staring intently at the space in front of him, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

After a second that feels like hours, he takes a small, jerky step forward into the circle and turns his body to face the grave — and Harry — and although his face is a mask, Harry can tell his hands are shaking slightly when he pulls his wand from its hiding place inside the walking stick and slowly aims it at Harry’s heart, still without looking straight at his face… Harry can see his lips move, but his voice is so soft the word doesn’t reach him —

Excruciating pain beyond anything Harry has ever felt before in his life courses through him… every bone in his body is set aflame inside his skin and he jerks violently inside the restraints of the ropes, slamming his head back against the marble gravestone with a sickening crunch and his head explodes in white light… he must be screaming, because he feels the inside of his throat burn and the muscles around his jaws throb —

Then just as suddenly as it struck, the pain has left him again although his arms and legs continue to spasm for a few seconds and he strains against the ropes. He remembers the spider in Moody’s class, twitching on the table long after Moody lifted his wand… The Cruciatus Curse, he thinks faintly.

”Is that all?” Voldemort whispers from wherever he’s standing now, but Harry keeps his eyes screwed shut.

In the next moment, the pain is back and this time it doesn’t stop; it just continues to course through his body relentlessly, gradually growing in intensity until Harry can’t think at all. His entire existence is narrowed to a fine point and that point is pain…

After what must have been hours, days, lifetimes, he’s vaguely aware of the Curse lifting again. But the pain doesn’t immediately stop, it just fades slightly. His whole body continues to convulse and his head pounds, either from the lingering effects of the Curse or from the imapct with the headstone — Harry’s lost count on how many times he’s slammed his hack back against it now…

Voldemort is clapping his hands together somewhere, a mocking show of impression and soon the other Death Eaters join in. But Harry is too drained to lift his head and even if he could, he doesn’t need to see any more… doesn’t want to see any more… he just wants it to be over, as horrible as that is and as weak as that undoubtedly makes him, Harry just want it all to be over now… Please, let it be over… Please, let him just kill me —

”Satisfied?” Voldemort asks Lucius, a hint of mocking in his soft voice. ”Sure?”

”Y-yes, my Lord… th-thank you…” 

”Very well… then resume your position in the ranks. The time has come to fulfil the prophecy at last.”

Harry glances up, despite himself. His head is still hanging in defeat, but eyes flitting upwards instinctively — a knee jerk reaction, nothing more — at the mention of a prophecy and he catches the ripple of restless movement amongst the Death Eaters. Here is the last piece of a puzzle, Harry just knows it. Unfortunately he hasn’t seen the other pieces, or at least not all of them so this one means nothing to him. 

Of course, he remembers his daddy mentioning the prophecy, the reason Voldemort set out to find and kill him as a baby, but as always when talking about the past, Remus had been very vague… I’m just glad you’re safe…

Oh, my poor daddy, Harry thinks miserably as tears well up in his eyes and stream down his face. He’ll be crushed. Both him and dad. They’ll never get over this…

He’s aware of Voldemort moving closer and closer, his soft voice slithering around Harry’s pounding head like an insistent fly, as he tells his Death Eaters the story of what really happened that Hallowe’en night almost fourteen years ago. He casually mentions Lily’s sacrifice — like a footnote in the story of how he himself lost his body and his powers — like a silly, stupid thing that she did to herself, that then had accidental consequences for him… Harry is torn between laughing bitterly and shouting ’you murdered her’ but he is too tired and in too much pain to do either, and besides it doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. She is dead. And soon he will be too… 

Again, his mind is flooded with images of his dads; horrible fantasies of the look on their faces as his dead and mangled body is dumped on their doorstep, like some hateful special delivery in the green glow from the Dark Mark conjured over the cottage… and he imagines Dumbledore standing up in front of the whole school in the Great Hall and making a small speech where he tells them all, and then Trelawny nodding sombrely as if to say, ’You see? What have I been telling you for the last two years?’

And Draco… Draco’s face… Will he cry? 

No, Draco cry in public? Not a chance… Where will he go? The bathroom again? Who will comfort him? 

This thought hurts more than any of the others and Harry’s chest feels impossibly tight, like someone is pushing on his breast bone and crushing his ribs. His heart pounds frantically, harder and harder. 

There’s no-one, he thinks. Draco has no-one to go to. 

No, stop thinking like this, he tells himself furiously. There’s Blaise, and Pansy, even Seamus — he won’t accept it at first, but they’re good friends. They won’t give up. They’ll pester him and provoke him and push him until he breaks, and then they’ll be there to pick up the pieces… like I would have done —

But it should be me, he thinks in dismay. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die, I’m not ready!

”… but no matter”, Voldemort says lightly, his breath hitting Harry’s forehead as he leans in close. ”I can touch him now.”

Harry feels the back of one cold, spindly finger brush against his cheek and again pain bursts behind his eyes and he lets out a scream. It’s nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse, so it startles him more than anything. Voldemort laughs softly, then moves away again. 

He continues to spin his story, telling his Death Eaters about going into hiding, possessing the bodies of animals to get by while biding his time… he tells them about Quirrell and the plot to get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone, and Harry just wants to yell at him to shut up, but at the same time he’s painfully aware that as long as Voldemort is speaking, he gets to live… and maybe, just maybe if the man — no, can’t call him a man anymore — if the Dark Lord speaks for long enough, help will come…

”… but my plan to get the Stone failed. I was thwarted… thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter!” he hisses. ”The servant died when I left his body and I was left as weak as I had ever been… I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers… yes, that was my darkest hour… I could not hope to find another wizard to possess, and I had given up hope that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me.”

A heavy pause. The air thick with tension and fear, as everyone waits for an inevitable strike as Voldemort lashes out, unsure of who will be the unlucky one to be on the receiving end… but it doesn’t come. Voldemort continues talking like he’d never paused at all.

”Then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned all hope, it happened at last… a servant did return to me: Wormtail here was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted as friends, and decided to return to his master finally… he tracked me down, with the aid of rats he met along the way… but it wasn’t a smooth journey, was it, Wormtail? On the very edge of the forest where he’d hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for a bite to eat, and whom should he meet there, but Bertha Jorkins from the Ministry of Magic… this could have been the end, but displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected of him, Wormtail actually managed to convince Bertha to accompany him, then overpowered her and brought her to me…”

Despite himself, Harry looks up. Voldemort has begun to pace within the circle of his Death Eaters now, resembling a caged animal — ironically enough… 

”And Bertha Jorkins, my friends, proved to be quite a gift indeed”, he says, his red eyes glinting like rubies in the gloom. ”With a little persuasion, she told us about the Triwizard Tournament happening at Hogwarts, and she also told us she knew of a faithful Death Eater that would only be too willing to help me, if only I could contact him… unfortunately, after we’d broken the powerful memory charm that had been placed on her and extracted all the useful information, Bertha Jorkins head and body were damaged beyond repair, so I could not possess her… Wormtail, of course, being a wanted man was not ideal for possession either, but — poor wizard though he is, he is at least capable of following instructions — and together we managed to return me to a body of sorts, and weak though it was, it was sufficient to sustain me until such time that we could get our hands on the three essential ingredients needed for the potion that would revive me… well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? flesh given by a servant… but in order to retrieve the bones of my father, we would have to come here… and then there was the third and most important ingredient…”

He stops pacing abruptly and wheels around to stare back at Harry, a small smile still visible on horrible face. 

”Blood of a foe… Wormtail would have had me use the blood of any witch or wizard that hates me… but I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again and be more powerful than I had ever been. I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who stripped me of my powers in the first place, for then the lingering protection of his mother’s sacrifice would reside in my veins too…”

The cold smile grows into a terrible grin. The eyes seem to glow, like burning embers. 

”But how to get at Harry Potter? Protected not only by Ancient Magic, but powerful wizards, whether at home or at Hogwarts… I knew I had to gett him away from them all, get him here… but how?”

Strolling closer to Harry once more, Voldemort stands astride the crack in his father’s grave. His eyes burning with what Harry can only assume is hatred, because his scar bursts open once more and his eyes fill with tears. He grinds his teeth together, to keep the screams from escaping, not wanting to give Voldemort the pleasure…

”By using my faithful servant, stationed at Hogwarts, of course… with his help, the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire and he won the Tournament, just as I meant for him to do, ensuring that he would be the first person to touch the Triwizard Cup once my servant placed it inside the maze and secretly turned it into a Portkey… a whimsical, but ingenius plan… and it worked without a hitch — well — one hitch”, he adds, glancing over at Krum’s body indifferently. ”But no matter… I have been resurrected and I have Harry Potter… exactly where I want him… now, let us pick up where we left off, thirteen years ago…”

Do it, Harry thinks faintly. Just do it.

”It is laughable to think that this boy has ever been — or will ever be — stronger than Lord Voldemort, but I don’t want there to be even a whisper of a doubt in anyone’s mind, so therefore, I am going to prove my power to you, my servants, once and for all… I am going to kill Harry Potter, right here… right now… where there is no mother to die for him, no Dumbledore or werewolves to protect him… and I am even going to give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and then you will see… who is the stronger…”

Sweeping around, so that his robes flutter around his ankles, Voldemort moves to stand farther away from the grave. Then turning his head to the side, he speaks in a hissing undertone, ”Just a little longer, Nagini…”

Harry doesn’t turn his head to look, doesn’t want to see the snake coiling in anticipation in the shadows. He feels sick. 

Voldemort turns his head back again, then plants his feet squarely on the ground, visibly steeling himself.

”Untie the boy, Wormtail… and give him back his wand…”

Wormtail approaches him hurriedly and begins to loosen the ropes around his body, eyes fixed on his own hands. The new silvery one glints beautifully in the gloom. Harry blinks heavily, forcing himself to focus… The ropes untie and fall away. He tries to get his legs under him, but he’d forgotten about his sprained ankle and immediately collapses on all fours.

There’s a chorus of snickers around him. The Death Eaters move closer to him, tightening the circle around him and Voldemort. His arms and legs tremble violently, either from the residual effects of the Cruciatus or from adrenaline, he’s not sure… Suddenly his wand is suddenly shoved in his face and he grabs it clumsily in one shaking hand. 

”You have been taught how to duel, I presume, Harry Potter?” Voldemort says. 

Harry’s mind automatically flashes back to the Duelling Club in Second Year and Gilderoy Lockhart showing him an elaborate wand movement and promptly dropping his wand… a bitter laugh wells up in his throat, but he manages to swallow it down again. 

”Maybe not… well, lesson one, is to stand up…”

More snickers and chortles from the Death Eaters. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry pushes himself to his feet and squares his shoulders. 

”Very good”, Voldemort says mockingly. ”Lesson two… we bow to each other…”

Voldemort bends forward a little, but carefully keeps his face upturned so that he doesn’t break their eye-lock and Harry glares back stubbornly, his back still straight and vibrating with tension… I won’t, he thinks furiously. I won’t give him the satisfaction —

”I said bow!” Voldemort hisses, slashing his wand through the air. 

An invisible force slams against Harry’s shoulders, bending his spine and forcing him to fold at the waist. 

”Very good”, Voldemort says. ”Not the brightest student, but O for effort…” 

The Death Eaters howl with laughter and clap their hands. 

The invisible force lifts from Harry’s back again and he almost topples over backwards. Staggering back, he puts his weight on his sprained ankle and a dull pain shoots up his leg. But it’s nothing, he realises. Now that he’s experienced real pain, a throbbing ankle and a stinging scar is nothing. 

”And now…” Voldemort whispers. ”We duel—”

Harry twitches with the impulse to defend himself against the strike, but he barely has time to lift his wand let alone think of a spell, before excruciating pain is coursing through his whole body once more. He crumples helplessly to the ground, writhing in agony as his bones burn and his skin is pierced by thousands of ice-cold needles. Acid flows through his veins. His head is split open. Bolts of lightening shooting through the crack in his skull and incinerating his brain —

Then it stops. Harry becomes aware of screaming, only when his voice stops suddenly and he gasps for breath. Rolling over and scrambling to his feet, he staggers sideways on his shaking legs and stumbles into the chest of a Death Eater who immediately pushes him away with a snarl. 

”It hurts, I know…” Voldemort says softly. ”You don’t want me to do that anymore, do you, Harry? You want me to put you out of your misery, don’t you? Go on, ask me to… Beg me, Harry… Beg for death and Lord Voldemort shall comply… you see, I’m not heartless — not anymore, thanks to you —  so beg…”

No, Harry thinks. 

”I said… beg me! Imperio!”

All the residual pain evaporates from Harry’s body suddenly and his mind is wiped of all thought, which is almost a greater relief… he feels light, like he might soar away at any moment… he’s flying, even with his feet firmly planted on the ground, he’s flying… dreaming… beg, a soft voice whispers in his head… say ’please’… just say ’please’…

I won’t, a stronger voice speaks up at the back of his mind. I won’t do it, I won’t beg. 

Just say ’please’…

I won’t —

SAY ’PLEASE’ —

”I WON’T!” 

A stunned silence spreads over the small crowd, as Harry’s bellowed words echo across the graveyard. The light sensation leaves his body, his jumbled thoughts rush back into his head and the aches of his body slam back into place. He staggers slightly under the weight of it all. 

”You won’t?” Voldemort repeats coldly. 

The Death Eaters aren’t laughing anymore. 

”You prefer a slow and painful death, then? Fine by me… Cruc—!”

But this time, Harry is ready for it. Before the curse has left Voldemort’s lips, he throws himself to the ground and scrambles behind the gravestone. He hears the crack of the marble as the curse hits the face of the headstone. 

”We are not playing hide and seek, Harry Potter…” Voldemort says loudly.

Harry can hear a few nervous chuckles from the Death Eaters again. He glances up at their masked faces. He is completely surrounded. It’s over. Even if he could match Lord Voldemort in a duel, he is out-numbered thirty to one… he is going to die. It’s not so much a fear, or even a thought anymore. It’s a sense that fills his whole body and mind. A certainty. 

But I am not going to die like this, hiding like a child playing hide and seek, he thinks furiously. I won’t die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet, anymore than I’ll beg him to kill me!

Standing on shaky legs, he grips his wand tightly and holds it out in front of him. He hears one of the Death Eaters closest to him let out a small huff of surprise and incredulity, or maybe it’s just amusement. 

He hurls himself round the headstone. Voldemort is standing right there, his wand is aimed straight at Harry’s face and his mouth is already moving to form the Killing Curse. 

”EXPELLIARMUS!” Harry shouts. 

A jet of red light shoots out of Harry’s wand and connects with the jet from Voldemort’s — green like Harry’s nightmares — and suddenly, Harry feels his wand begin to vibrate violently in his hand. He quickly lifts his other hand to help steady it. 

He stares helplessly across the thread of light leading from his wand to Voldemort’s, right into the other wizard’s face. The scarlet eyes are burning more than ever, but there is a hit of panic around them now. He doesn’t know what’s going on either, Harry realises and it feels like a triumph. Maybe he’ll die here tonight, maybe he’ll die any second now, but at least he will have gone down fighting…

The red of Harry’s Disarming Charm and the green of Voldemort’s Killing Curse both begin to fade and soon their wands are connected by one narrow beam of golden light… Suddenly, Harry feels his feet lift from the ground and before he knows it, he is soaring into the air… Voldemort too, is suspended above the ground, gripping his own wand with both hands and staring in astonishment at the golden beam of light still connecting their wands… they begin to drift away from Tom Riddle Senior’s grave and the circle of Death Eaters and land on a patch of grass away from the gravestones. 

The Death Eaters come running after them, shouting in panic and asking Voldemort for instructions. Some of them draw their own wands, but no-one dares interfere… 

”Do nothing!” Voldemort yells. 

The golden beam of light connecting their wands begins to splinter, until a whole weave of narrow beams is surrounding them in a dome-shaped web of light. 

The Death Eaters run back and forth on the other side, their voices strangely muffled now. 

”NO NOTHING!” Voldemort shrieks again. 

Suddenly a soft, beautiful sound begins to swell out of the many beams of light and fill the air inside the web. Although it’s almost more of a feeling, than a sound. It seems to fill Harry’s body with warmth and his chest with a frail but beautiful hope… it’s like phoenix song, he thinks astonished… hold on, it seems to tell him. 

His wand is vibrating more violently than ever and beads of light begin to travel up and down the thread of light connecting it to Voldemort’s, before they slowly start to move away from Voldemort and closer to him… and the closer they get, the more violently his wand vibrates… the hotter the wood seems to get inside his hands… as the first bead gets close to the tip, Harry is sure the wand will burst into flame if it connects and concentrates all of his thoughts on willing it to move back… 

The bead pauses uncertainly and Harry’s wand shudders in his hands. He fixes his eyes on Voldemort’s wand and focuses all of his remaining strength on one single thought: get the beads to his wand instead —

Voldemort’s eyes widen in shock and a hint of fear flares up inside them as the beads begin to travel back down the thread of light. 

Hope swells inside Harry’s chest and he lets it fuel him, pouring all of it into his new mission — to push those beads into Voldemort’s wand —

When the first bead to reach the other wizard’s wand touches the tip, the wand emits a scream as if in pain and then smoke begins to curl out of it, except it’s not just smoke… it’s a shape… it’s the shape of a hand, and Harry realises this must be the ghost — or echo — of Wormtail’s silver hand, like the wand is regurgitating its’ own spells… no sooner has this thought flared inside Harry’s head than another, horrible thought occurs to him… the spell performed by the wand before the hand… the Killing Curse… Krum…

Sure enough, the next smoky shape to emerge from the tip of Voldemort’s wand turns out to be a human head… Krum’s head, furrowed brows and all… followed by the rest of him, and he slouches over to stand next to Harry, frowning deeply at the thread of light connecting the two wands as another shape starts to emerge…

”Hold on, Harry”, Krum’s ghost — ghost? echo? shadow? Harry thinks numbly — mutters darkly. ”Don’t break the connection.”

The next shape is that of an old man, the muggle from Harry’s dream last summer. He leans heavily on his walking stick and moves to stand next to Krum, glaring at Voldemort. 

”Killed me, that one…” he says. ”You fight him, boy!”

The next person to push its way out of Voldemort’s wand is a woman Harry doesn’t recognise, but knows must be Bertha Jorkins. 

”Don’t let go, now!” she cries. ”Don’t let him get you, Harry — don’t let go!”

But Harry is barely listening. He stares transfixed as another woman’s head pushes its way out of Voldemort’s wand, his heart hammering in his chest… Lily… She lands gracefully on the ground, her long hair falling in cascades down her body as she straightens up. She sweeps over to stand next to Harry, Krum, Bertha Jorkins and the old man instinctively moving aside to let her pass… Harry tries to keep his eyes fixed on Voldemort, but her smile burns in his peripheral and his vision blurs… 

”Sweetheart…” her soft voice says. 

A half-choked sob pushes its way out of Harry’s throat and he turns his head to look at her face. She is beautiful and her almond-shaped eyes are shining somehow, despite her form being made from some sort of dense smoke… and her smile… it’s radiating with love, pure and unconditional love… Harry thinks of Remus and his chest pinches. 

”It’s all right, sweetie…” Lily says softly. ”We weren’t meant to have more than a year together, you and I… but know that you carry my love with you always…”

Harry is gripped by a overwhelming emotion, it feels like guilt and fear and relief all mixed into one. He knows he should say something to her. But his throat has closed up and no matter how hard he tries, his voice just won’t cooperate. 

The other three shadows of Voldemort’s victims begin to pace around them, as if to counteract the Death Eaters still running around on the outside of the dome, and they murmur encouragements to Harry when they pass him, but they linger around Voldemort… glaring at him and hissing in his ears… Voldemort is shaking desperately, his eyes wide with fear now… 

The shape of James Potter falls out of his wand and straightens up. Harry looks from Lily to him and quickly takes in the man’s features, his square face and messy hair… Joining his wife’s side, he looks down into Harry’s face and gives him a sad smile… Please don’t say anything, Harry hears himself think, sure he won’t be able to bear it. 

”When the connection is broken”, James says quietly. ”We will only be able to linger for a moment, but it will give you enough time to get to the Portkey… it will take you back to Hogwarts, do you understand, Harry?”

Nodding quickly, Harry grips his wand desperately. It’s begun to slide in his sweaty palms. 

”Be ready to run…” James whispers. ”Do it now… now!”

Pulling his wand upwards with all his strength, Harry breaks the golden thread and in the blink of an eye, the entire dome of light vanishes and the phoenix song dies… but the shadows of Voldemort’s victims do not disappear, they close in on Voldemort —

Harry bolts. He’s only vaguely aware of charging into the bodies of two stunned Death Eaters who stagger aside as he pushes them away. He hurtles across the graveyard while everyone is still too shocked to react. 

”OUT OF THE WAY!” he hears Voldemort shriek, and he knows the shadow figures must have vanished finally.

”I WILL KILL HIM—!”

Harry’s chest is tight and his entire body is shaking violently, but he manages to stay on his feet long enough to reach Krum… Harry feels a curse brush the side of his head, just before he collapses over Krum’s body. He thrusts his wand out in front of him and gasps, ”Accio Cup!”

”HE IS MINE—!”

The Cup soars through the air and he grasps the handle. Voldemort’s scream of fury is instantly cut off and Harry feels himself dragged through space by an invisible hook behind his navel, the Cup magically stuck to his hand and his whole body stuck to Krum’s.