Title: Harry Potter and the Book of Amun Ra

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: All your Harry Potter are belong to J.K. Rowling & Etc. Likewise, "The Mummy" is the property of Stephen Sommers and Univeral Pictures.

Rating: PG

Summary: 600 words, one-shot. When Voldemort asked for "immortality", he should have specified "immortal life" ...

Spoilers: The Harry Potter series in general; "The Mummy" (1999)

Notes: I was suffering from writer's block on another fic and put in a movie to relax my brain; I ended up inspired to write this bizarre little crossover instead. (Yes, this is a rewrite. It was 100 words shorter before and posted in the HP section).


With a loud pop not unlike that of Apparition, Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle and occasionally the bearer of more unwieldy titles, found himself in a place he had hoped never to see: The Afterlife. It was sunny, strewn with sand, and Ancient Egyptian in d├ęcor - not a surprise, given the direction and nature of his magical research. At some point, one really had to pick a god or gods to petition when in pursuit of ultimate power, and it was not unreasonable to expect that to have an effect on one's eventual destination.

The greeting party waiting for him, however, did not even remotely match his imaginings of this worst-case scenario. There was no jackal-headed being waiting to claim him, nor white-crowned Lord of the Underworld impatient to judge him, nor hybrid monster Amemait, eager to devour his heart. Instead, he was faced with an Egyptian wizard: a golden-skinned, bald, impressively muscled man narrowing kohl-rimmed eyes at him.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" the stranger asked by way of greeting, in an amused, resonant tone of voice.

Voldemort blinked. "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named," he replied, surprised. Like all true students of immortality he had heard the tale of Imhotep, the ancient High Priest who had existed undying for more than three thousand years beneath the sands of Hamunaptra. Of course, the priest's achievement had been somewhat spoilt by the fact that his near-immortality had been neither voluntary, nor pleasant, and that he had been extinguished, not by wizards, but by adventuresome Muggles. Nevertheless, his record remained unbroken.

"Your fame reached us before you," Imhotep continued dryly, "but I had not though you had any expectation of following it here."

Voldemort curled his lip in a sneer, reflexively lifting one thin, scaled hand to his abdomen. "No more than I expected to face Soul Magic, or to die on the point of a sword," he hissed, shuddering with the aftershocks of that particular memory. The Potter boy's eyes - as green as Avada Kedavra, so like his mother's - had glinted in triumph as the ghostly chariot swept past, carrying the better part of Voldemort's power away with it. One last thrust of that blasted Lion's ceremonial weapon had been all it took to finish him. A thousand-year-old bloodline and seventy years' worth of scheming had all come to naught at the hands of a half-blood teenager.

Imhotep frowned at the comment, and his eyes darkened with memory. "Nor did I," he said bitterly. "But death is only the beginning."

"The beginning of what?" Voldemort demanded, angered. "I was promised immortality!"

"And so you have it," Imhotep replied, gesturing at the landscape around them.


Elsewhere, amidst the blood, wreckage, and scattered bodies littering the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans, daughter's daughter of Richard O'Connell, kicked a pale corpse off of Gryffindor's blade with a hoarse cry of triumph.

"It actually worked!" Bill Weasely panted, collapsing to his knees with a golden book clasped in his arms.

Harry slumped down next to him, bracing his sword against the floor for support, and watched in exhausted fascination as Hermione set the body alight with a fiercely whispered Incendio. "And to think, I have Aunt Petunia to thank for this. If she'd never sent me up to empty those trunks with Grandma Evelyn's journals ..."

A red jet of spell-light split a statue behind them with a resounding crack, and they struggled back to their feet. The battle wasn't over yet, but the war would be soon. Voldemort's death, at last, marked the beginning of the end.

(fin)