This is just a plot that's been in my mind for about a year or so first chapter will be a bit wonky, but I promise I'll try my best. ****Part of this is taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, chapter 32****
He stood outside the headmasters office, the night after the second task, with his mouth hanging open. It seemed that neither Dumbledore nor Snape knew he was standing there, listening to every treacherous word they were saying.
"It is for the greater good, Severus."The old man said wearily.
"You've lied to me!" The potions master raged, sounding as if he had slammed his hand into something hard. "All these years, while I protected him, you've raised Harry Potter like a pig for slaughter!"
"Do not think of it so cruelly, Severus." Dumbledore was trying to calm the harsh man down. "For Voldemort to fall, truly and forever, Harry Potter must die. I have already found two other Horcruxes. Then with Harry that makes three."
"Then why have you waited thirteen years?"
"I was not sure, until this year."
He couldn't stand to listen to them anymore. He turned around and raced quickly and quietly down the hallway. He needed to talk to someone. Someone who knew about dark magic and wizards. He thought, maybe Moody would be able to help him clear up, exactly what was happening.
He knocked on the door, and waited for the mad man to open it.
"What are you doing here, Potter?!" The man demanded, pushing him into the room, and checking the hallway.
"I...I over heard professor Dumbledore and Snape talking."
"I was wondering...if you could tell me what a Horcrux is?"
The older wizard looked at him with sharp eye, that momentarily flashed strangely. He looked Harry over with calculating eyes. "Why would you ask that Potter?" He questioned finally, his lips thinned out.
"So you know about it then?"
"That's a really dark bit of magic there. I read about it, in a book my father's mother owned."
"Oh. Can you tell me?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"You promise not to tell anyone?"
"Yes Potter, I promise." He rolled his eyes, sitting in his chair, and looked at Harry intently.
"Dumbledore was telling Snape, that I was Voldemort's Horcrux."
The man sat in utter silence, looking at Harry with cold eyes. "You must be...kidding?" He asked, his blue eye rolling around in his head.
Moody pushed back his thinning hair and turned away from Harry in his hair, with his hands folded into his lap. He flicked his tongue out, and licked his bottom lip, the strange habit he had displayed from day one of the school year. "Potter, I can't tell you nothin...not yet. Come back tomorrow."
He found it hard, to sit in his room, waiting for Dumbledore to come in and do the deed. For the next few months, he was on edge constantly. He would guard himself more the usual around Snape, he made excuses to not go and see Dumbledore. He did whatever he could to keep himself alive, even to the point where he wouldn't even eat in the great hall.
Then came the night of the third task. He stood there, with his hands in front of him, Moody with his hand on his shoulder. "You'll do fine Potter, just get to the cup in the center of the maze."
He nodded, not facing his teacher, looking at the crowed. They were cheering, music was playing, some people were even holding up signs. He smiled at his friends nervously, who were waving wildly at him.
He turned to his entrance in the maze, then with one last look at the stands he run forward.
The riddle had been easy enough, the changing trees, had been a different story. It took him almost fourty-five minutes before he had even seen any of the other champions. Flur had been screaming on the ground. He didn't have any idea how to help her. So he shot up red sparks. Krum had passed him in a haze, and Cedric had been out cold in the center of the maze face down in the ground. He shot up another wave of red sparks, before letting out a triumphant smile spread on his face.
Then he touched the cup, and disappeared from Hogwarts, falling onto the hard ground of a grave yard.
He let out a cry of pain, feeling the air rush out of him. After regaining his breath, he looked around him. There was fog, that covered the names of the dead, and overgrown plants that wrapped around the taller headstones. He slowly got to his feet, trying to keep calm.
He saw a figure, short and plump, outlined by the mist. He took a few steps back. "H-Hello?" He called, still walking backwards. The figure turned, and started walking quickly towards him. Harry didn't have that chance before he was flung backwards violently into the arms of a stone grim reaper, and held there.
****The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.
"You!" he gasped.
But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply ; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, rumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
Harry's wand was on the ground at the foot of the statue. The bundle of robes that Harry had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave.
It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again . . . and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes ...he didn't want that bundle opened...
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water - Harry could hear it slopping around - and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling names beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard the high, cold voice again.
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
"It is ready. Master."
"Now ..." said the cold voice.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind - but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
'Let it drown,' Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, 'please. . . let it drown. . . .'
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you wil lrenew your son!"
The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master. "
He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened - he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look . . .but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids. . . .
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him.
"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken .. . you will. . . resurrect your foe."
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly. . .. Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtails remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, rumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harrys blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened. . . .
'Let it have drowned.' Harry thought, 'let it have gone wrong. . . '
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or the cauldron or anything but vapor hanging in the air. ... It's gone wrong, he thought. . . it's drowned. .. please . . . please let it be dead. ...
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry . . . and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was sharp as a knife, and abnormally small. Lord Voldemort had risen again.
Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.
Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.
"My Lord . . ." he choked, "my Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise ..."
"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.
"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master ..."
He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please . . .please ..."
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.
"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see, now we shall know ..." He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.
The scar on Harry s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black.
A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.
"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool. . . very like your dear 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 see how useful he has proved himself, in death. ..." Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.
"You see, that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. ... He didn't like magic, my father.
"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage, but I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name . . . Tom Riddle. . . ." Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.
"Listen o me, reliving family history . . ." he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental. But look, Harry! My true family returns. . . ."
The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes.
"Master . . . Master " he murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people.
Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years. . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answered my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his nostrils widening.
"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench or guilt upon the air."
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare to step back from him.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! 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 spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.
"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment.
"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . .
perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.
"It is a disappointment to me ... I confess myself disappointed. . . ."
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.
"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Harry was sure the sound must carry to the houses around. . . . Let the police come, he thought desperately, anyone, anything. . .
Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.
"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "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, have you not, Wormtail?"
He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.
"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail, "please. Master . . . please ..."
"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me ... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers... ."
Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtails bleeding wrist.
Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My Lord," he whispered. "Master ... it is beautiful. . . thank you... thank you. ..."
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ."
Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius. . . . Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. You have disappointed me. I expect more faithful service in the future."
"Of course, my Lord, of course. You are merciful, thank you."
Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space - large enough for two people -that separated Malfoy and the next man.
"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us ... they are our natural allies ... we will recall the banished giants ... I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. "
He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.
"Macnair . . . destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide.
"Thank you, Master . . . thank you," murmured Macnair.
"And here" - Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures - "we have Crabbe . . .
you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"
They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.
"Yes, Master ..."
"We will, Master..."
"The same goes for you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure
in Mr. Goyles shadow.
"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful -"
"That will do," said Voldemort.
He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.
"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return ... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever ... he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service."
The Death Eaters stirred, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks.
"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that I discovered something very interesting about our young friend.
"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his red lips dangerously as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor."
There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask.
"Master, we crave to know ... we beg you to tell us ... how you have achieved this...this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. "
"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins - and ends - with my young friend here."
He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle.
"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him - and unwittingly provided him with protection...****but it was not her protection. Something I had not foreseen, and I could not touch the boy."
He raised one of his long thin fingers, almost touching Harry's cheek. "It was not Lilly Potter, who placed protection over her son, as the old fool believes. No...my followers, and believe me when I say, I was just as surprised, but it was my protection that saved young Harry here." He let his words flow over the crowed, letting off a satisfied air. "When I killed his mother, a piece of me...latched onto the boy. It was only through my power that Harry Potter is alive today."
He smiled at Harry dangerously, his long, lanky black hair falling into his red eyes. "It was almost a, happy accident, a boon, a repayment from the universe for being set back so long in my plans." He turned to his followers, once again stepping into the middle of the circle. "His mother, has foolishly, made me truly immortal."
"My Lord?" Nott interrupted hesitantly. "Weren't you already immortal before?"
Voldemort turned and glared at his follower, but answered all the same. "Yes, I was. But now...truly nothing can harm me. A sward, a curse, nothing."
He walked quickly back to Harry. He leaned in very close to his ear. "I'll take very good care of you, my dear Horcrux." He whispered, his lips touching his skin uncomfortably. There was a strange sensation that traveled quickly down his spine. Voldemort pulled away and looked at his Death Eaters, still close to Harry. "Lucius, bind him. He will be coming with us, back to your home."
"Yes, my lord." The rich man said, stepping closer to Harry, with a smug smirk on his face. He unbound Harry from the stone, but kept the gag around his mouth. He tied Harry's wrists together, then his legs. "He's secure my lord."
"Very good." Then collectivly, all the Death Eaters, and their master aparated to Malfoy's home.
So, this is where the other three books are more or less tossed out the window, so I won't be using them again (I swear the only reason I did this was because I couldn't get the resurrection part correct.)
The differences between my Voldemort and cannon Voldemort is obviously he has hair and a nose. I hope that doesn't bother anyone.
I'm also not sure if this is going to be a HP/LV slash or not.
Harry will definitely be grey in this story, with questionable morals, and Voldemort twisting him every step of the way.
So, please leave a comment, a question, or a suggestion, and have a nice rest of your day.