AN: The pairings have been selected by my patrons! Which are: Fleur, Bella, Lily, and Apolline. Those who are uncomfortable with Incest, just know that there's a massive difference in fiction and reality. I'll do my best to make it more sweet and natural and less creepy, but if you still drop the fic, I understand.
Oh, and no amount of threats and insults is going to make me change my decision btw. This was selected by my Patrons and I'll do my best to write it.
Last, I've now also created a third Tier, where you can read 20 days in advance, i.e my next 5 chapters (10 Chapters for webnovel). For $10, you'll get the next two (four for WN) chapters of Mortal God of Olympus and Mystique Soldier, 1 (2 for WN) chapter of Strange Old, while also being just 4 days away from Strange Old World Chapter 8! (Ch.15 & 16 for WN)
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Now on with the chapter!
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Harry Potter was tired.
The dueling tournament had went off well into the night, finally finishing around 9 to 9:30. Even his enhanced stamina couldn't hold on without some effects after 4 hours of dueling.
Surprisingly, the tournament hadn't been as lackluster as he'd feared, though the lion's share for that goes to Fleur.
The French flower was just as beautiful as he remembered, if one ignores the depressed and nervous looks that came over randomly upon her face.
He'd wondered if he should investigate or something, but ultimately her problems weren't his. She was still a teenager, and he did not want to know if her new boyfriend gawks at her too much or some bloody bullshit like that.
As much as he liked the proud girl, Fleur had been a pretty entitled brat when they first met in his previous life.
He did introduce himself though, and that'll have to do for now.
All in all, the tournament had been a huge success. He got to experiment with spell power and utilities, and was able to test his new speed and dexterity, along with some of the more advanced spell work.
In his mental compartment, he kept a list that showed him what he must improve next.
Currently, his biggest worry i.e poor physique, was completely resolved. He moved faster than ever now, was much more reactive, and had an incredible sense of danger. Dodging the one-shotters was now as easy as breathing. As long as he doesn't get blindsided, Harry felt he'd be an extremely solid fighter physically.
Magically, he was even better. His senses were sharp and on point, his instincts were as good as they've ever been, his magic was even more powerful than at his peak, his control was pretty fucking good... honestly, if he went all out, with the unforgivables, dark magic and apparition? He felt he was pretty much back to his peak, and felt confident in atleast stalling Bellatrix.
Hell, he'd actually bet on this present self, considering his new physique and magical might.
...Did he feel ready to meet the Dark Lord though?
Well, not in Tommy's peak but in his baby form? Yeah, Harry was ready to bully that little ugly piece of shit. As long as he thwarted Voldemort from returning to his peak, he'd have plenty of time to hunt down the Horcruxes and put him down for good.
The last Horcrux especially...this time he would make no mistakes. He knew what was at stake afterall. He wouldn't let the world be in ruins, and more importantly, he wouldn't let the sacrifice of all his past friends and lovers go to waste. This time...there was no limit.
He wouldn't leave any corner of the world unsearched. He wouldn't disregard any solution for his answer. May it be killing some innocent muggle or torturing some death eater. Though the first solution in his mind was to simply mind rape Dumbledore and Snape. The bastard who knew everything, and his disloyal betraying dog.
He had a feeling he'll know everything as long as those two were in his pocket. Actually, even better would be simply mind fucking Tommy himself.
Unfortunately, he wasn't strong enough to forcefully interrogate either of those behemoths...
But he will be. Soon, with the rituals helping him, he will be as strong as those two bloody maniacs, whose expiration date had long since gone up.
For now, he'll need to focus on what he could actually improve and be the best he could be for his eventual meet up with the baby lord.
Hopefully nothing unexpected happens till then.
Oh, if only he knew.
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Gloucestershire was home to both muggles and magicals, and with it's rich history for their kind, Peter wasn't surprised to know the Selwyn Manor was built here.
What he was surprised though, was by the fact that those inbreded fucks actually built it inside the forest of Deans. He wasn't really scared by the Acromantula colony that resided here, neither was he particularly bothered by the vast number of poisonous and lethal insects that infested the area...
But the giants scared him. The giants that had marked the forest as their colony so long ago... they frightened Pettigrew.
Which was why he specifically asked for a portkey directly inside the Manor's boundry.
A shame he couldn't use the fireplace. Though he didn't dare complain about it.
When Lord Voldemort commands you to not use the fireplace, you better not use the fireplace.
Soon the time was up, and he felt the twist of tea-cup portkey taking him along with it, though he barely managed to land on his feets when the cup dumped him out of space.
"Pettigrew." An old gravely voice rasped out scathingly, and Peter quickly turned to face the voice.
There stood the lord Selwyn, a glare of hatred and a sneer of contempt fixed on his face.
'Aww, the poor lord is still pissed about this.' Peter snickered in his mind.
And Peter understood it really. It must gall the powerful man, having to greet a 'Filthy Half-blood' like Peter as an equal.
But that's what you get, when you have the Dark Lord's confidence. Blood status simply doesn't matter if your position in Lord Voldemort's court is high enough. And being the left-hand of the said lord, Peter's position was high indeed.
"Come!" The man spat. "The Lord is waiting."
In all his life, Peter had only ever entered two manors that belonged to Pure-Blood families; one was of course, the Potter manor, and the other: Malfoy Manor.
Both had been grand in their own way, with things that made them unique, and both had left a strong sense of awe in Peter. Personally, he would still put the Potter manor ahead, simply because he hated worthless display of wealth like the Malfoys loved so much.
So with his prior experience, Peter felt he was ready for Selwyn Manor.
He wasn't.
Completely out of his expectations, the manor they entered looked on the verge of falling. Old decrepit walls were hidden behind plain silver linings that displayed house Selwyn's symbols. Bits of spider-webs and dust was present around the corner, showing the clearly half-assed attempt at cleaning the manor.
"The manor has seen some better days, eh?" Peter asked, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement.
The lord didn't reply, but his feelings were clear in the way he banged open the doors with too much force.
"We're here." The old man snarled out with pressed teeths, visibly controlling himself. "Tidy yourself, unless you want to greet the Lord with your disgusting appearance."
That...was actually a good advice.
"Thank you for your reminder, Lord Selwyn." Peter replied with a cheerful tone, before giving an exaggerated look around at the 'disgusting appearance' of the manor. "I see you're learning from your mistakes. The Dark Lord indeed doesn't like shabbiness, eh?"
And as the Pure-Blooded inbred walked forth with a contemptuous snort, Peter couldn't help but marvel at his own newfound confidence.
The time to live like a cowardly rat was over for him. Now he was Peter Pettigrew, one of the most trusted of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters.
Selwyn opened the final door to the main hall, and Peter cleared his mind with the meagre skill he possessed in Occlumency.
The door opened faster than he'd expected, and he took a deep breath as his eyes took the scene within.
The hall was dimly lit, with only the blazing furnace providing any light. The long sitting table was already occupied with people. To the rightmost, directly beside the main chair, sat his best mate Sirius. The opposite chair to him was empty, and Peter made his way towards it without looking back at Selwyn.
His eyes took in the other figures present; Lady Selwyn and her daughter sat furthest away from the front. Evan and Felix Rosier sat around the middle, their position uncertain. The Carrow twins, who had begged for forgiveness as soon as the wind of their lord's survival reached them, sat above the Rosier.
And there, at the centre of it all, sat Lord Voldemort, with his chair turned to the furnace and a glass of...milk in his hand?
Peter almost stumbled, catching himself before he was made a fool of.
'No, it's probably some potion.'
Even if for some reason the Lord started craving milk, he wouldn't be drinking it in front of his death eaters.
He couldn't see his Lord's face from behind, but the Lord definitely sensed him.
"Peter... we've been waiting for you." The Lord purred, his voice a little tired.
Pettigrew's heart quickened, wondering if he was in trouble, while his mind scrambled for some response.
"But you're hear now, so we may begin." The Lord continued, not sounding even a little angry. If anything, he sounded distracted. "Come, take a seat."
He did as commanded quietly, sharing a nod with his friend as sweet relief spread through him.
"Sirius has brought some news for us, I trust?" The Lord's hisses were particularly bored today.
"My lord." Sirius bowed, looking much better than the last time Peter saw him. "I've relayed the message. The Alliance will work with us, and there shall be no delays in the ritual."
"Good. Excellent." Lord Voldemort replied after a painful minute of silence, though Peter caught something... strange in his voice this time.
Lord Voldemort never showed weakness. Even in his current form, the Dark Lord still maintained a powerful and menacing image. And having been with him the longest, Peter was very aware of that.
Bur for some reason, it almost felt like the Lord was a little...absentminded today. He seemed almost startled by the news. The superiority and menace that his tone always carried was almost completely absent today.
"But if I may, my Lord?" Sirius continued.
"Hmm? Yes, Sirius, go on."
"I think Grindelwald is being too arrogant. His man actually believes you owe him something for this. I say screw the Alliance, we'll collect the Potter brats by ourselves. Britain belongs to you my Lord, perhaps it's time to show everyone why."
Again, a long silence ensued, and Peter was completely sure Sirius was about to experience a solid bout of Cruciatus for even daring to say anything against their Lord's plan.
Instead, when the Lord spoke again, he sounded...amused. Amused and unconcerned. "Patience, my dear lieutenant. Everything is according to the plan. Let Grindelwald have his fun. The old man knows who he owes his life to, and he will not forget it."
"Of course, My lord." Sirius bowed again.
"For now, continue as you were. A few more weeks, and our time shall come."
There was a clear dismissal in his tone, and everyone took it as a sign to get up. They all asked for his permission of course, but once again the Lord barely bothered waving his tiny skinny hand in acknowledgement.
As Peter took his leave with the rest of them, he couldn't help but ponder.
There was something wrong with Lord Voldemort today. But after mulling it over a little, Peter found he couldn't bother caring. It's not like the wizard would ever inform him of it.
For now, all he could do was wait and prepare. He had a feeling the world cup final was going to be a big day for him.