"It is almost ready, my lord!"
Harry slowly lifted his head, his eyes tiredly looking around to observe his surroundings.
He was in a graveyard of some sort, that much was clear. The sky was dark and devoid of clouds, allowing the night sky to be viewed by all. The grass that covered the earthen floor was not at all similar to that of the maze he had just left. There the grass had been luscious and full of life - it was the exact opposite here.
He himself was bound to what appeared to be an ornate statue within the graveyard. It held a scythe within its right hand, which was currently wrapped around Harry's body, preventing him from moving much. He was additionally bound by ropes. When he managed to move his hand over to his robe pocket, Harry was unsurprised to find that it was empty. Someone had quite clearly taken his wand after he fell unconscious, likely the same person who had stunned him as he helplessly tried to see further than a few feet away from him.
Damn me for never getting used to portkeys.
There were a few dead trees around the graveyard. What appeared to be a small village could be seen to Harry's left. There were only two other buildings Harry could spot: an old, dilapidated shack on one side of the village, and a large manor on the other.
It was what was closest to him, however, that Harry found most interesting (although perhaps disturbing was a better word).
A lone cauldron could be found within the center of the graveyard, its contents swirling darkly. Standing above it was a man with features similar to a rodent's - Peter Pettigrew, better known as Wormtail.
Harry tried to speak, tried to voice his hate for the man before him, but no words came out. It appeared as though someone had placed a Silencing Charm upon him while he was unconscious.
To Peter's side was a bundle of dark robes. It was surrounded by what appeared to be a rather large snake. The creature was swirled tightly around the bundle - just enough to protect it without harming whatever it contained.
Harry's eyes widened. He recognized the snake - he had spoken to it during his dream nearly a month ago. But if that was the case . . .
"Then begin, Wormtail."
The high, cold voice came from within the bundle of robes. Wormtail hesitantly made his way over to the snake. The beautiful creature bared her fangs fiercely, but she did not stop Pettigrew from removing the bundle.
Carefully tucking the robes into the nook between his arms, Wormtail made his way over to the cauldron. He cautiously removed the robes, flinching as the snake hissed softly from behind him. It took everything Harry had not to flinch as well as he gazed upon what was curled within the midnight robes.
It appeared to be the body of a small child, an infant perhaps. Yet there was something very obviously wrong about it; its skin was pale, its eyes scarlet. There was no hair upon its head, nor was there anything upon it that might appeal to the eye.
It was a far cry from what had once been Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Wormtail slowly dumped the body into the cauldron. Pulling out a wand of his own, he waved it before him.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly g-given," said Wormtail quietly, "you will renew your son!"
The tombstone which Harry stood upon cracked, allowing for a stream of fine dust - seemingly all that remained of Voldemort's father - to make its way over to the cauldron, where it fell gently within it.
Wormtail seemed more afraid now, his movements tight and tensed. His eyes betrayed the fear he felt, for they were wide with trepidation. He slowly removed a dagger from the insides of his cloak, holding it shakily above his opposite hand.
"F-Flesh of the servant," he began, shivering slightly, "w-willingly given, you will revive your master!"
Wormtail closed his eyes, flexing the fingers of his right hand. Even from where he stood, bound to the stone statue many metres away from Wormtail, Harry could see the man's entire body shivering with fear. Harry, however, felt very little sympathy. After everything that had happened - especially how Harry had spared Pettigrew's worthless life nearly a year prior - Harry was unsurprised to find he didn't care what happened to the man.
A moment later a scream of agony tore through the night. Pettigrew doubled over in pain as what had once been his fell into the cauldron, causing the contents to splash about.
Blood.
There was only one component left for the ritual to complete, something that Harry absolutely refused to provide. His life quite literally depended upon what happened next.
The blood ritual of his mother currently flowed within his blood. It was there, that was true - but it was dying. Years of time being unloved by the only people who shared his blood had weakened it, something he knew very well thanks to Salazar and the many ritualistic tomes within the chamber.
In order to destroy the horcrux within him, he would need to get hit by a Killing Curse. Such a thing would instantly destroy whatever protection resided within him, and, in turn, any protection Riddle might have gained.
What it would not eradicate, however, was the fact that Riddle's blood would be identical to Harry's. He would easily be capable of entering Harry's vaults within Gringotts, getting past any blood wards Harry or Fleur set up, and likely a number of other things Harry didn't remember at the moment.
All because my family never loved me.
Harry quickly looked around the graveyard once more, looking for what he had not seen earlier. Sure enough, the corpse of Cedric Diggory was mere feet from where he stood, the Triwizard Cup itself just a few feet further. The boy's body was covered in cuts, blood slowly leaking from them.
It's all my fault.
And in truth, it was - Harry knew it. He had been so focused on trying to get out of the maze that he hadn't even considered that the cup might have been the trap. Had he not lost control of his emotions, had he considered the possibility of a portkey taking them away, had he just been better . . . perhaps Cedric Diggory would still be alive.
It's all my fault.
Harry couldn't help but feel an immense wave of guilt as he wandlessly levitated a few drops of Cedric's blood towards him. Although he had not known Cedric very well, he did know that the boy's death was his fault. He was the reason the boy was dead - there was no denying it - and yet here he was, taking Diggory's blood off his dead body.
Slowly but surely the blood made its way over to him. Harry knew he could not simply allow it to fall upon him - Wormtail would not be certain whether or not the blood was his, and, if the Animagus thought through it carefully, would insist upon cutting him.
Become invisible. I don't want to see you. Please.
The blood slowly faded from view.
It was still there - Harry was sure of it, especially considering the fact that he was still levitating it - but he could no longer see it. He felt a small surge of exhaustion overcome him; he had never used anything more than tier two wandless magic before. An iota of hope gently flooded through him.
After a few moments Pettigrew got back to his feet, slowly making his way over to where Harry stood bound to the stone statue. He held the dagger in his left hand, his right hand now reduced to a bleeding stump.
Pettigrew stabbed the tip of the dagger into Harry's left arm, drawing a small amount of blood. It took a momentous amount of effort for Harry to stop the blood from touching the blade. He hastily moved Cedric's blood (which was still disillusioned) to where Pettigrew's blade met his skin.
Harry roughly kicked Pettigrew in the shins. It likely hurt Pettigrew as much as it had hurt himself (thanks to the rather tight ropes that bound him), but it served its purpose. Wormtail doubled over for a fraction of a second, during which Harry removed the Disillusionment Charm from Cedric's blood, allowing it to soak Peter's blade.
It would certainly not have fooled Voldemort, or even a relatively talented witch or wizard - but thankfully Wormtail was far from that. It was somewhat disappointing to know that what he had just accomplished did not even give him an advantage over Riddle. No, all it did was void one of the many boons Riddle himself held.
Wormtail pulled a small, glass phial from within his robes, positioning the dagger carefully above it. Both Pettigrew and Harry watched as Cedric's blood slowly dribbled into the phial. Once it had, Wormtail made his way back to the cauldron. He tilted the phial, chanting once more.
"Blood of the e-enemy," he stuttered out, the pain of amputating his arm clearly not having subsided, "forcibly taken, you will r-resurrect your f-foe!"
As he finished his chanting Wormtail sank to his knees, cradling his mutilated arm. Harry watched as the contents of the cauldron suddenly glowed a bright red, each droplet shimmering as though they were liquid rubies.
Suddenly, the cauldron exploded, streams of darkness emerging from within it. Harry's vision was obscured - he could not see a thing that was going on. He waited as the darkness cleared, just barely capable of making out the thin outline of a man.
It was as if the disgusting child from within the bundle of robes had grown. The man was monstrous in appearance. His eyes were similar to those of a snake, although they glowed scarlet with otherworldly power. His fingers were similar to the legs of a spider - long, thin, and somewhat skeletal.
Lord Voldemort had returned.
"Robe me."
As quickly as he could, Wormtail rushed over to Voldemort, carefully wrapping the man in the robes that he had been enveloped by mere moments ago. Once he had done so he retreated into a corner, once more cradling his right arm.
Voldemort carefully examined his body, ignoring Wormtail's moans of agony in the background. Harry took the time to weaken the ropes that had bound him - he had been too deeply shocked and surprised to have done so before, much to his regret and annoyance.
"The wands, Wormtail." said Voldemort lazily, making his way over to the fallen form of the Animagus.
Pettigrew slowly pushed himself off the ground, sinking to his knees. He withdrew two wands from his inner robes pocket: one a pale white, its end curved slightly into a hook, the other a rather familiar looking one - Harry's.
Voldemort gently took them from Pettigrew, still paying no attention to the man. He twirled the white one carefully within the palm of his hand.
"P-please, Master . . . please."
"Hold out your arm, Wormtail."
"T-thank you, M-master! Thank y-you . . ." wheezed Pettigrew as he held out what remained of his right arm.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, p-please - "
But Voldemort did not wait. With a careless flick of his wand the sleeve of Wormtail's left arm lifted, revealing what was unmistakably the Dark Mark. It was faint, not fully visible - something which changed the moment the tip of Voldemort's wand touched it. It burnt a pitch black, not unsimilar to the night sky.
Rip.
Harry had managed to tear one of the ropes that held him in place. Unfortunately, he had not accounted for how loud the noise would have been. The scarlet eyes of Lord Voldemort slowly turned towards him.
"Harry Potter." said Voldemort, his eyes shining with mirth, "You stand upon the grave of my late muggle father . . . he was so very different from your mother, you know . . . she died to save you . . . and in death, my father has saved me."
Harry tensed, still trying his hardest to tear through the ropes that bound him. Voldemort noticed, but seemingly didn't care - something which Harry could sadly understand. There was undoubtedly a massive gap in power between the two of them.
"You see that manor, just over the hills? And the shack, on the opposite side of the village? Those were the houses of my parents. I never knew them - we have that in common, it seems."
Harry did not respond. In truth, Harry was not sure how he felt about them, his parents. He had always yearned for them, had always loved them - something that had only grown after discovering how they died to save him. But he had never known them, and likely never would.
What he did know, however, was that it was because of this man that he had been raised by the Dursleys. It was because of him that he had spent the first decade of his life as a slave to some of the most horrible people he had ever known.
"Yet it has made you stronger, has it not?" said Riddle with slight amusement, his eyes upon Harry's.
Harry frantically occluded his mind - something much more easily said than done, given the situation he had managed to find himself in.
"Do you know, Potter," began Voldemort softly, his neck tilting slightly to the side, "You and I are both quite fortunate to be half-bloods - it gives us a greater advantage than anyone else, despite what the purebloods and the filthy mudbloods claim."
Harry froze, no longer attempting to hastily cut the ropes that bound him.
"There is a reason for that, I think." continued Riddle, "You see, Purebloods are handed everything from the start - they do not revere magic as they should, they have not been through the hardships you and I have. They see it as a tool - nothing more, nothing less. It holds them back, never allowing them to become something great, as I have.
"The mudbloods have it worse." said Voldemort quietly, "They see it for what it is - a gift. But they do not hold any ties to the magical world. No one waits for them, no one leaves anything for them - it holds them back. Despite what the old fool claims, no one has ever cared for mudbloods - they are far too attached to muggle beliefs, and so they are unable to enter the wizarding world with open arms. They have no access to knowledge or wealth, no family assets, no political power - they walk their path alone.
"Certain half-bloods, specifically those like you and I, are the most fortunate. We were raised in the muggle world, and therefore we understand the value of magic. Yet we have a place in the wizarding world as well. Should we ever seek it, the secrets of magic are within our grasps. I sought them out long ago . . . whether you have or have not . . . well, we shall find out soon, shall we not?"
As he finished Voldemort turned around, his head tilting in the most peculiar of fashions. All around them, people were apparating in. Upon seeing that Harry immediately tried to replicate the feat - but he did not have his wand on him, and try as he might to do so wandlessly, he was met with no success.
The hooded figures slowly made their way towards Voldemort, their eyes widening behind their masks upon seeing their master standing leisurely, the Boy-Who-Lived by his side, just barely bound to a stone statue.
Harry was certain he recognized quite a few of them. Not well, of course, but it was alarming how many of them looked like people he had spotted in the most usual of places - perhaps in Diagon Alley, or maybe at King's Cross.
Others, however, Harry recognized with absolute ease. There was no mistaking the long, blonde hair of the man that stood mere metres away from him, that much was certain.
Harry ignored the Death Eaters, all of whom had begun to slowly drop down to their knees. He had more pressing issues at the moment, he was nearly unbound - not that it meant much, given that he was not particularly skilled with his wandless magic yet, and the fact that Voldemort currently held his wand.
Harry's attention turned back to Voldemort and the Death Eaters upon hearing Peter whimper softly once more. It appeared as though the Death Eaters were just as scared as Wormtail - even when their faces were obscured by their masks, Harry could see the awe and fear they held for the man before them.
"It has been thirteen years, my Death Eaters." began Voldemort, his voice soft, deadly, and yet still it held a trickle of amusement within it. The Death Eaters, however, did not seem to hear it, judging by the way they shifted fearfully in their spots.
"Thirteen years . . . how the time flies."
Voldemort leisurely observed the semicircle that surrounded him. There were a few gaps within them, but Riddle did not seem bothered by it - if anything, he seemed slightly more amused.
"These are the spots of those with the most loyalty, or those with the greatest lack of it." he said, his head tilting as he observed the area, "They will be found, of course. And when they have, they will reap what they have sown . . . for better or worse."
Riddle's voice was quiet, yet everyone heard it as though he were but a foot from them. The man slowly moved to the center of them all - a spot that allowed him to be an equal distance from each and everyone one of his servants.
"Here you bow before me, all healthy and fit, each enjoying the many luxuries of life." said Voldemort lazily - Harry truly had no idea how he still managed to sound menacing, "But it appears, my friends, as though you do not understand the true meaning of loyalty . . ."
One of the men within the circle dropped back upon his feet, leaning towards Voldemort in a prayer position.
"Please, my lord, forgive us! Had there been so much as a sign - "
"Crucio!"
The screams of the Death Eater tore through the quiet night as though the air was paper.
"You wish for forgiveness, Avery?" said Voldemort, his head tilted once more as he observed Avery's twitching body, "I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years it has been - that is quite some time, is it not?"
With a casual flick of his wand, Avery's body flew across the graveyard, landing upon one of the many gravestones with an audible crack.
"Only you returned to your master, Wormtail." Voldemort continued, "Out of fear rather than loyalty, it is true . . . but you were of great help to me . . . and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers . . ."
From the tip of Voldemort's white wand coalesced what appeared to be molten silver, its colour identical to the two silver chess pieces upon the board within the Chamber of Secrets. The substance spun in the air, carefully attaching itself to Wormtail's mutilated arm upon taking its shape - a hand.
Wormtail's cries of agony suddenly stifled. Pushing himself off the ground, Wormtail flexed the fingers slowly, watching as they instantly reacted to his thoughts.
"Thank you, master . . . it is beautiful, master . . ."
But Voldemort paid no attention, his eyes now upon the other Death Eaters.
"I confess myself . . . disappointed."
The Death Eater all flinched.
Voldemort paid no attention to them, continuing to walk through the small portion of the graveyard. His eyes eventually landed upon the dead body of Cedric Diggory.
"Such a pretty boy . . ." said Riddle, his eyes looking over the cuts and bruises that littered Cedric's body, "A shame . . ."
Harry felt another strong surge of emotion flood through him as Voldemort lazily kicked Cedric with his feet.
But it's my fault, after all, isn't it? I'm the reason Cedric's dead. All my fault.
Harry tried to scream, to yell, to let out even a semblance of sound - but he could not break the Silencing Charm. It appeared as though Pettigrew had not been the one to cast it.
Look away from him. Harry pleaded silently, Leave him alone.
But Voldemort's eyes did not continue to wander. They stayed fixed, observing one particular cut upon Cedric's corpse. When his eyes finally rose, they glowed with power and fury. For a moment, they flickered towards Harry before finally landing upon Wormtail.
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a sudden flash of green light, aimed directly into the semicircle of Death Eaters.
Thump.
The lifeless body of Peter Pettigrew fell to the ground, unmoving.
"Fool . . ." Voldemort seethed, his anger causing him to lapse into Parseltongue "But no matter . . . the boy will not be protected for much longer . . . it is of little importance."
Voldemort transfigured Wormtail's corpse into a simple bone, banishing it across the graveyard. He walked back and forth in silence for a few moments, seemingly gathering his thoughts. The Death Eaters all stood rigid, each of their eyes wide with evident horror.
"Why is it that you never sought me out?" Voldemort questioned aloud, "There were many signs - I should know. Perhaps you were afraid . . . or perhaps you foolishly believed that there was someone greater out there? Perhaps Albus Dumbledore, or his precious champion, Harry Potter?"
The Death Eaters all frantically shook their heads, though Voldemort once again paid no mind. His attention had redirected itself upon Harry.
"Do you know how you survived that night, thirteen years ago?" asked Voldemort, his lips surly slightly, "Or did the great Albus Dumbledore think you were too young to know?"
Harry's cheeks hollowed slightly, though he did not respond. He did, in fact, know exactly how he had survived that night, and Dumbledore had, in fact, deemed him too young to know.
"You see, Harry." began Voldemort, "That night, all those years ago, your mother died to save you - and in doing, so she provided you with a great protection, one formed through ancient magics - blood magic."
So he does know.
"As long as it remained, I would not be able to truly harm you." said Voldemort, "It was one of the many reasons why I invited you here tonight, Harry. Yet Wormtail's ineptitude has complicated things . . . but the ineptitude of your filthy muggle relatives has righted that for me."
Harry froze, listening to every word that Voldemort said. How much did he know?
"You see, Harry." continued Voldemort, his amusement seemingly growing, "The ritual is dependent upon the love of those who share your blood. But they do not love you, and so the protection is weak. It may allow you to survive me once more, if you are lucky - but nothing more."
He knows.
It was of little importance, Harry assured himself. As long as Voldemort remained unaware about the horcrux within Harry, it did not matter.
"I am here, my master . . ."
Harry instantly turned his head towards the voice. It came from the mouth of the beautiful snake. She was facing Voldemort, slowly making her way towards him.
Voldemort, however, was watching Harry's reaction with what could only be described as curiosity.
"Do you know, Harry," Voldemort continued, his voice soft, "I have heard many rumours about you. I dismissed them, of course. Yet it appears as though it is true . . . and if that is true, then we are indeed family . . . or did you never know?"
The heads of the Death Eaters all shot up, each of their eyes wide - but Voldemort paid them just as much attention as he had before.
Harry tried his hardest to clear his mind, to create a false memory of not knowing what Riddle was talking about - but a single memory, a single phrase his ancestor had once said made its way to the forefront of Harry's mind.
" . . . When Riddle decided to call himself Voldemort, I told he was no longer worthy of being a Slytherin . . ."
Voldemort's eyes left Harry's. Instead of the fury Harry expected, Voldemort's face was covered in foreboding curiosity.
"So you do know . . ." Riddle answered for himself, "And you have had the aid of the portrait . . . perhaps there was something to that prophecy after all . . ."
Voldemort turned around for a moment, his eyes landing upon the broken down shack upon the opposite side of the village. After a moment Voldemort turned back around, and with a simple flick of his wand, the ropes that bound Harry to the statue ripped apart.
"Now, Harry," began Voldemort once more, now speaking slightly faster, "We may continue where we left off, all those years ago. Let us see how the remnants of your mother's protection and the knowledge of a dying portrait aid you."
Voldemort threw Harry's wand to the ground, quickly making his way to the opposite side of the lawn. Harry staggered slightly as he pushed himself off the earthen floor - his legs had seemingly gotten used to being supported by the stone statue.
"Up, get up now, Potter!" snapped Riddle impatiently.
Harry eventually got to his feet, warily keeping his eyes upon everyone within the clearing. Voldemort lazily flicked his wand upwards, and Harry felt his lips loosen - he could speak again, little though it seemed to mean at the moment.
"First we bow, Potter." said Voldemort, allowing his body to lean forward slightly. Harry did not move a muscle - there was no way he would bow to the man who had killed his parents, even if he never had met them -
"I said," Voldemort repeated, his wand now pointed directly at Harry, "Bow."
Harry's body folded in on itself against his will.
"Good, Harry, good. And now, now we begin."
At once, Voldemort unleashed a barrage of spells at Harry, who immediately ducked to the side. The spells that shot from Voldemort's wand were obscenely powerful, all fired at a ridiculous rate - Harry was sure the man had cast half a dozen spells in less than a second.
There's absolutely no way I can beat him.
As depressing as the thought was, Harry knew it was undoubtedly true. The man before him was in an entirely different league - Harry could not hope to match him. Not yet, and not for quite some time.
"Come out, Potter!" taunted Voldemort, "Surely you can spare your extra life? The old fool would have wanted you to share . . . "
With a flick of his wand Voldemort decimated the gravestone which Harry hid behind, sending both him and the debris flying. Harry quickly tried to apparate away, but found himself incapable of doing so. Voldemort had clearly set up wards to prevent such an occurrence.
"Fiendfyre!" Harry roared as Voldemort approached.
A basilisk formed from golden flames emerged from the tip of Harry's wand, just as it had hours ago. It was much weaker than before - the basilisk was barely ten feet tall - but it was present nonetheless. It bared its fangs at Voldemort, slithering towards him menacingly.
"Such dark magic, Harry." said Voldemort with amusement, somehow managing to redirect the flaming basilisk, causing it to dissipate, "What would Dumbledore say?"
"Depulso!" Harry cried out angrily.
With another casual flick of his wand, Voldemort sent Harry flying across the graveyard.
"You are not focusing." Voldemort taunted with amusement, "An enraged opponent is more likely to make mistakes, Potter - surely you would know? Or have Salazar's teachings diminished in value?"
He's right.
Not that Harry liked it, but Riddle was correct. Quickly ducking behind another grave, Harry schooled his features, allowing for his Occlumency to calm him down as it had so many times over the past school year.
The effects were practically instantaneous. Harry could almost feel the magic flowing through his veins, desperately seeking release. His magic had not suddenly increased in strength - such a thing was not truly possible. But his control over it had.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A bright green light shot from the tip of Harry's wand, soaring directly towards Voldemort. The man merely stepped to the side, allowing for the curse to continue in its path. The green sphere of magic came into contact with one of the Death Eaters in the semicircle. The man crumpled to the floor at once, suddenly unmoving.
Riddle, however, did not seem the slightest bit upset at the loss of one of his inner circle. He was instead looking at Harry, his eyes seemingly filled with fascination.
"You and I are very similar, it seems." whispered Riddle softly.
Harry paused, his wand hand outstretched.
"Both powerful half-blood wizards, one parent as pure as they come, the other . . . less so. Both Parselmouths, the last heirs of Slytherin. Both raised by the filthy muggles, and both stronger because of it. But you are a Gryffindor, while I was a Slytherin . . . or is there more to it?"
Harry quickly remembered to occlude his mind. It was not perfect; given time, Voldemort could almost certainly break through it. Unfortunately for Riddle, he did not have much time.
The tight expression upon Harry's face, however, seemed to answer his question.
"How fascinating." said Voldemort softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement, "Salazar must be disappointed . . . to think, an heir would deny his noble house . . ."
Voldemort leisurely sent a barrage of curses Harry's way - a speed which was certainly not leisurely for Harry. Harry dodged them this time, his Occlumency now fully implemented. He quickly returned fire, and although it was not nearly as powerful nor dangerous as the attacks of the Dark Lord, Voldemort did have to move out of the way.
Voldemort quickly flicked his wand, causing the gravestones all around the graveyard to disintegrate. The man flicked his wand once more; the earthen soil of the yard was slowly moving now, and then -
Crunch.
The broken bodies of those who had been buried within the graveyard slowly creaked with magic, each attempting to make their way out of the earth. Once they had done so, they each turned to Harry.
Inferi.
Thankfully, Harry knew exactly how to combat such a thing. Fleur was immensely talented when it came to all things fire, which happened to be a weakness of the animated corpses.
"Protego Diabolica!" roared Harry.
A ring of dark blue flames suddenly surrounded him, each flame pulsing with light. It was a spell created by Grindelwald, used in the Lestrange Mausoleum - a building located in Paris - during the year 1927.
The spell was a secret guarded by the French government, for it did much more than create a ring of fire around the caster. The flames were only dangerous to the enemies of the witch or wizard who cast it; their allies could walk through without the slightest amount of pain. Fleur was undoubtedly more talented with the skill than Harry was himself, but it would more than suffice against Inferi.
Fleur's father, who happened to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within he French Ministry of Magic, was one of the few people who knew of his existence - though Harry had a feeling Voldemort would at least recognize it for what it was.
Surely enough, the eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle narrowed as the Inferi slowly walked into the blue flames, each burning into nothingness. For a moment, the ring of fire remained, burning softly. The next it collapsed, leaving nothing but the cold air to separate the two descendants of Slytherin.
Harry and Voldemort studied each other carefully, the former making sure to avoid looking the other in the eye. His skills in Legilimency were not even remotely close to those of Voldemort; it was a fight he could not even hope to win.
The two raised their wands once more, each pointing at the one opposite them.
"Crucio!"
"Stupefy!"
The two beams of red light, conjured by Voldemort and Harry respectively, met each other in mid air. They coalesced for a moment, before suddenly glowing golden. The sphere of magic stretched out into a sort of golden rope of magic, each end connecting to the wand of the two combatants. Three bright beads formed upon the line, glowing brightly.
"Leave him!" yelled Voldemort in annoyance as both he and Harry were suddenly lifted off their feet, "He is mine!"
The Death Eaters all froze in their spots, watching fearfully as their master and foe were slowly lifted higher off the ground. Voldemort's eyes (like Harry's) were glued to the three golden beads, all of which were slowly making their way towards the tip of his wand.
Harry truthfully didn't know what was going on; this was not remotely similar to any sort of magic he had ever heard of. He was certain, however, that it would be within his best interests to keep the golden beads of light as far away from him as possible.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Several tiring moments passed, and yet the beads had barely moved a foot. It did not make sense; Harry was doing his best to pour as much of his magic into it as possible. Surely the beads would have moved a bit more?
That can't be right.
The movement of the beads could not be based on power, for if it was, Voldemort would have won this fight many minutes ago, regardless of the ample amounts of magic Harry was exerting. Harry was immensely powerful, yes, but even he knew he was not at Voldemort's level - not yet, anyway.
Harry continued to struggle, trying his hardest not to let the beads come near his end of the golden thread.
Come on now, get away, go to Riddle, I just want to get back to Hogwarts -
Slowly but surely, the three golden beads of light inched closer to Voldemort. Harry pushed harder; it was his willpower that was affecting the movements of the beads, his desire to succeed. This was a battle he could win; his motivation to win was likely much stronger than Riddle's. It was his life on the line, after all.
One of the beads of light slowly approached Voldemort's wand, pausing for a moment. There was a quick flash of golden light before a beautiful sound began to echo through the courtyard, reverberating against the many gravestones.
It reminded Harry of Hedwig's song. He had rarely heard the phoenix sing, but the few times he had, it was, without a doubt, the most uplifting and beautiful thing he had ever heard. This song was slightly different, however, perhaps a bit more masculine.
It was Fawkes' song. The enchanting voice was that of Caladrius.
The song grew louder as the second bead of light connected with Voldemort's wand. It disappeared within the tip of Voldemort's yew wand, just as the first bead had. The final bead of light slowly made its way towards Voldemort, who merely appeared slightly angered, but nothing more.
The final bead enveloped the tip of Voldemort's wand, causing the phoenix song to grow louder than ever before. Another noise accompanied it now - Voldemort's wand seemed to be screeching in pain, its tip glowing a familiar bright green.
But the green light dissipated, and what appeared to be the smokey outlines of a human body replaced it. The smoke coalesced, eventually taking the form of a man Harry could not fail to recognize -
"Wormtail." he muttered, struggling to keep his wand steady as it twitched violently within his palm.
The blurred man paid no heed to his words, however, instead choosing to bow his head in what could only be described as shame.
Harry turned his eyes back to Voldemort's wand. Another murky figure was beginning to form, a figure much more physically appealing than that of Wormtail. It slowly flowed out of Riddle's wand, eventually stopping before Harry. The figure was distorted at best, but it was unmistakably that of Cedric Diggory.
"Don't let go, Harry." warned the figure, his voice far more distant than even the most detached of beings, "They're here for you, they'll help you - but don't let go."
Harry nodded, unsure of what it was that Cedric (if the smokey figure before him could even be called by that name) meant. Who was here for him? Who would help him?
More figures had begun to form from the tip of Voldemort's wand.
"So he's a wizard, eh?" asked an old man, most likely a muggle, "Killed me, he did. You fight him, boy! You fight him!"
"Stay strong, Harry!" yelled a woman to his left - Bertha Jorkins, unless Harry was mistaken, "Stay strong! They are coming!"
Harry nodded frantically, redirecting his attention to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was observing the many figures with interest rather than any sort of fear. He then turned back to Harry, his head tilted slightly, an insane sort of mirth gleaming in his eyes. Clearly there was something that the man found amusing, but what was it -
Wait.
The figures. First Wormtail, then Cedric, then Bertha Jorkins and then the muggle from his dream. All people whom Voldemort had killed, seemingly starting with his most recent kills.
Yet Voldemort had killed the muggle man just days after receiving his yew wand from Pettigrew. Harry knew that for certain; he had been able to figure it out within the dream he had over the previous summer. But if that was the case, then the next people to emerge from the wand -
"You're so beautiful." said an angelic voice, "Just as I knew you would be."
The voice was certainly one that matched the woman's body. Though she was only made of smoke, her immense beauty was undeniable. Long crimson hair cascaded down her shoulders. Angelic features adorned her face. Beautiful eyes - eyes that were once emerald in colour - met his own.
Even now, hidden within the obscurity that was death, the woman was far more beautiful than Harry could ever hope to be.
Her form was different from the others, in a way. They were all distant, all just barely out of reach - she was as well, no matter how dearly Harry wished otherwise. But the emotions, the love that enveloped her was far stronger than those of the others.
And most importantly, those emotions were all directed towards him. Him and him alone.
"You're so loved." whispered Lily Potter, her voice passionate yet soft as she stood before Harry, "So loved."
She raised a single smokey hand, gently allowing it to edge closer to his face before hesitating. A single tear cascaded down her blurred form, one made of smoke. It dissipated as it hit the earthen floor, vanishing into nothingness.
Echos. They aren't real.
Harry remembered the words of the sphinx, a conversation that seemed to have taken place years ago. Yet, even with the words playing on repeat within the depths of his mind, Harry could not take his eyes off the woman that stood before him.
The woman shook her head sadly, turning towards the direction of the Dark Lord. Another, final figure had formed from the tip of his wand, one that Harry instantly recognized. It was strikingly similar to the one he had always seen in the mirror, at least up until a year ago.
"Be brave, Harry." whispered Lily once more, "You must let him hit you . . . be brave, be strong . . . our love will protect you . . . we will always protect you . . ."
"When you are hit, we will linger, for a moment." his father warned him, "You must be prepared to fight him once more, you must be ready to escape. Be ready, Harry."
Harry nodded frantically, trying his hardest to reign in his emotions. He did not dare look near Voldemort; his emotions were far too scrambled for his mind to be protected. This was too much, far too much.
It was what he had once seen within the Mirror of Erised. But, just as it had been in the mirror, they were just out of reach. Their voices were distant, their features blurred. What he had yearned to have, if only for a few minutes, stood just before him, but it would not last, and he knew it.
"Harry?" said Cedric, his distant voice wavering slightly, "Take my body back, will you? For my mum and dad?"
Harry nodded vigorously, both hands wrapped around his wand, desperately trying to prevent it from flying out of his hands. He could not keep it up for longer, he could not control it anymore. He needed to let go.
Harry yanked his wand upwards, watching as the golden thread vanished from sight and listening as the phoenix song faded away. Only the figures remained, but they too had begun to fade. Harry had very little time; he had to act fast.
"Avada Kedavra!" roared Harry, his wand pointed at Voldemort.
This was the only time where he would be protected, even after being hit by the Killing Curse. He suspected, thanks to both his research and his many discussions with Salazar, that the curse would only render him unconscious for a moment. This was his moment, a moment where he would be protected - a moment during which Harry would be safe.
If I survive.
As expected, the glowing green orb of magic missed Voldemort, crashing harmlessly into the graves behind him. Voldemort, however, had not remained idle. He raised his wand, pointing it directly towards Harry -
"Harry, mama loves you . . ." whispered a voice from somewhere before him, "Dada loves you . . . Harry, be safe . . . be strong . . ."
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of green light, and Harry saw no more.