Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: I was thinking along the lines of 'Be Careful What You Wish For' and decided that the resurrection ritual involving 'Bone of the Father' would have to have at least one drawback. Violence ahead at the end. You've been warned.

Resurrection 206:

"Master, we've used all of your father's bones... none of us have any body parts
we can spare... Lucius says he needs both hands to appear in public and
Bellatrix only has her original brain, tongue and nasty bits... what should we
do the next time?"

"Fool! There shall BE no next time. Potter may have outmaneuvered me 210 times of
which 206 ended with the loss of my body, but this time I will destroy the

Suddenly, glorious music filled the room as Fawkes flamed into the room and
dropped a glass vial at Voldemort's feet. He then flamed back out.


FiendFyre flashed out of the shattered vial and engulfed Lord Voldemort. The
flames left nothing but a pile of ash. His spirit rose from the ashes.

"Wormtail!" the disembodied spirit rasped.

"Yes, Milord?"

"Go to the cemetery and get a bone from my Grandfather."

"But won't that make your body old and feeble?"

"I think young Draco's donation should counteract that specific problem."

"But Milord," began Snape.

"Quiet Severus, or I shall send Wormtail to check the pauper cemetery for my
mother and I will substitute you in Draco's place. I would then make your name
into deed and sever something that is quite dear to you to counteract having
used my mother's bones."

Resurrection 1024:

"Wormtail! Where are you? Why am I restrained?"

The room is dimly lit and the dark lord stuggles against some unseen restraints. He cannot lift his head
and his arms and legs feel strange - almost as if they aren't there.

"Wormtail, get in here NOW or I'll Crucio you until your eyes bleed!"

He attempts to make the necessary hand gestures to right himself with his
impressive wandless magic skills... nothing happens.

"Someone had better attend to me or I will kill every last one of you. You hear
me, Lucius, Severus!"

"They're all already dead."

"WHAT!" Voldemort roared.

"You heard me, Lord Moldyshorts. We killed every last Death Eater."

"Potter! Kill every last marked death eater, it makes no difference; I will
destroy you!"

"I didn't say every last MARKED Death Eater. I said ALL Death Eaters. We scoured
the globe; searched everywhere. It was a massive undertaking, but EVERYONE went under veritaserum
questioning. We. Got. Them. All."

Harry came into view and made a mocking bow. "Tom, I hope you enjoy your
immortality." He started down dispassionately at the stricken figure. All the pain he had caused the entire world would be visited upon him 10 fold.

Glaring at Harry cruelly, but his eyes were narrowed as if trying to ascertain
what was going on, Tom asked. "And what, pray tell, does my immortality have to
do with anything? I am immortal... I cannot die and no matter what setbacks may
occur... I will eventually triumph. One day, one way or another, I shall be free
and I will take pleasure in torturing and raping that little mudblood of yours.
I know she's the one who came up with the plan to keep killing me again and again. She will die
cursing your name. It is… inevitable." A cruel smile adorned his lips.

"Not really immortal. It's just that you won't stay dead, isn't that the case?

Voldy scoffs. "My body won't succumb to death so easily... It was only because
you bounced back my own killing curse. None but Dumbledore had enough magical
power to kill me and he died at my servant's hands"

"So, I could cut off everything from the neck down and you'd still survive?"

"You don't have it in you to do that - boy" He tries to spit at him, but his
mouth was too dry.

"But it's true, isn't it?"

Voldemort simply sneered.

Harry made a hand motion and a hitherto unseen guillotine snapped down and
delivered Tom's head from his body.

Delicate hands picked up the body-less head and gingerly handing it to her
husband. The head was making rage filled faces as its jaw snapped. The squirming
actually made it difficult to hold, but no sound issued forth from Tom Riddle's
hate filled mouth. Naturally, a head with no lungs cannot speak .

"Thanks, Dear," he said with a smile. Turning his attention to the squirming
head, he held it firmly and brought it to eye-level. "Coming after me is one
thing, but sending Snape after my in-laws and then threatening my wife to my
face... that is an entirely different matter. The guillotine was her idea...
vacations in France, you know. This was mine!"

In one swift motion, Harry lifted the outraged head and neck high into the air
and then just as quickly brought it down in a way that was reminiscent to a
basketball player making a slam dunk.

A lead coated, cold iron pike drove its way up through the neck, up to and
through the skull and into the soft, squishy brain tissue.
Voldemort went cross-eyed and his insane intelligence that he was so proud of
became a moot point. What would be terminal brain damage on top of catastrophic
organ failure would not kill Voldemort now, not for one who had gone further
than any other along the path to true immortality.

As Harry Potter left the deepest most secure vault in Gringotts with his wife at
his side, he wondered whether he had gone too far... then his wife squeezed his
hand. No, he soon realized. He was just an instrument of fate. Voldemort had
gotten exactly what he wished for... unfortunately for him, he chose poorly.
Dumbledore had gotten one thing right... There are worth things than death.


A/N: Bloodthirsty, no?