Work Text:
Thomas Riddle. Mary Riddle. Tom Riddle Sr.
Tom Riddle Sr.
Harry could feel his blood run cold as fingers traced over weathered marble. Three familiar names, the ancestors of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort.
“Cedric, we need to get back to the cup.” Harry said, taking a step back and looking around, his heart pounding in his ears. Panic was already rising in his chest, but he refused to let it cloud his judgement. He could hear his dad’s voice in his head recite a familiar phrase, one Harry always got tired of hearing during summer training with his dad and Tėtis. Fear is useful, panic is not.
“What are you talking about?” Cedric asked, pausing his exploration of the graveyard to glance at Harry, confusion obvious.
Harry didn’t answer, already looking around to locate the softly glowing portkey, hoping it was a two-way system. He hadn’t learned Apparition yet, but Cedric might know it, as risky as it was to ask someone who likely just got his license to apparate them both out of there. Splinching would be favorable to what Harry knew was coming. His search wasn’t fast enough, as the soft creaking of hinges and the scraping of old stone echoed from the nearby shack. Pain spiked through Harry’s forehead so quickly it made his vision swim and his balance fail. “Fuck!” he cursed, his accent wavering into an odd blend of American and British.
“Harry, Harry what is it? Are you alright?” Cedric asked, rushing to his side. The cauldron nearby suddenly sparked to life, a hot flame lighting the graveyard well enough for them both to see a fat, scruffy looking man, holding a moving bundle in his arms. Harry decidedly did NOT want to see what was in that, if his dreams were anything to go by. “Who are you?” Cedric demanded, wand drawn once more, standing just in front of Harry.
“Yeah, this is what alright looks like!” He snapped, hand pressed tightly against his forehead. It was hard to keep his vision in check, his head throbbing behind his eyes. He had to get Cedric out of here, if he could just get him to the cup.
“Kill the spare.” A horrible voice came from the bundle in the man’s arms, sounding inhuman. Harry reacted first, grabbing Cedric by the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards, sending the older teen down to the ground just in time to miss being hit by an unmistakable green burst. Harry ground his teeth, pushing through the pain, letting it fall back into the back of his head somewhere. He could hear Cedric’s grunt of surprise and panic, but his only goal was Wormtail and whatever deformed THING was in his arms. He wasn’t fast enough, a spell on the tip of his tongue when he was blasted backwards, his body hitting a tombstone with a horrible crack.
Harry cried out, his left arm now throbbing, and his wand knocked from his hand. Wheezing, he tried to search for it, to stall long enough for Cedric to get out, to warn Dumbledore, to warn his dads, but there was no time. Another burst of vibrant green filled the graveyard, followed by the sound of a body hitting soft dirt. Harry didn’t need to look over to know what sight he’d be met with, he knew what a corpse looked like. He knew the glassy eyes and slacked jaw expression he would see, with signs of the fear and panic Cedric likely felt just before the spell hit. He’d seen plenty over the years, since the day he stepped out of his cupboard to find Vernon and Petunia at the end of his dads’ knives, twin looks of glassy-eyed horror on their faces. Death didn’t scare him. But knowing it was Cedric he would find laying there made his chest clenched so tight he struggled to get in air.
Another spell hit him, vine-line ropes appearing around him, tying him tightly to the gravestone, making him grunt. Wormtail and that THING were talking, whispering, but Harry’s ears were still ringing from colliding with solid stone. A soft hissing brought him back to attention and he looked down, not all that surprised to find the snake settling around his feet.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to let me out of here?” Harry hissed, taking what was probably an inopportune moment to admire how pretty she was. Well, Tėtis did say to take time to admire beauty where you saw it.
The snake looked up, somehow conveying surprise, something he noticed happened when he spoke to snakes. His fathers both said they didn’t see any particular changes in how expressive snakes were when Harry spoke to them, so their theory was that it was tied to the magic that let Harry speak to them to begin with. He never did get his answer, Wormtail’s loud voice cried out once again. The bundle in his hands was gone, Harry could only assume it had been dropped into the cauldron, though what he was doing with it Harry didn’t know.
“Flesh, of the servant, willingly sacrificed!” Wormtail’s voice cried out, wavering in fear as he drew a blade from his side, holding it high in the air. The gesture made Harry pause, curiosity sparking. Would Wormtail really be able to cut off a part of himself? He’d done it before, sure, but that was to save his own life right then and there. But based on where the knife was being held, he planned on sacrificing a lot more than just a finger. The blade must have been charmed, as it came down clean through the flesh and bone of the man’s arm, severing his hand in one quick swipe. There was a cry of pain just before the sound of flesh splashing into liquid.
A little bit dramatic, Harry thought as he watched Wormtail whimper and cradle his mutilated arm, trying to stem the bleeding. Did this ritual require that much flesh? Usually these things were symbolic, another finger probably would’ve done it, though Harry kept that thought to himself. He watched as Wormtail reached for the blade again, turning beady eyes his way. Tensing, Harry couldn’t help but struggle as the man approached, bloodied blade in hand and a crazed look in his eyes.
“Blood of the enemy…” Wormtail wheezed as he came close, dragging the dirty blade against Harry’s sleeve, slicing through it with ease. “Forcefully taken!” He grinned wildly, digging the blade into Harry’s arm. Harry grunted, clenching his teeth tightly, refusing to give the pathetic man any more reaction than that, no matter how much it hurt. He’d faced far worse pain before. “Could’ve washed it first.” he grumbled out as the blade was pulled away, using the time to let out a shaky breath. Wormtail’s smile wavered, unsure what to make of so little a reaction, or the sass that came with it. With a glance at the wound, and a start as Nagini moved at their feet, Wormtail scurried back to the cauldron. “The Dark Lord shall rise again!” He cried out, flicking drops of Harry’s blood into the cauldron.
Pain split through Harry’s scar, worse than ever before, and this time Harry couldn’t keep his screams to himself as they tore from his throat. It felt as though his head were splitting down the center, as if his scar had burrowed deeper and deeper into his flesh, down to his bone, cracking through his very skull. Like something was trying to claw its way out of his head with forceful desperation. His vision was swimming, unable to make sense of the putrid, swirling, leaking mass that seemed to rise from the cauldron, assaulting his senses all at once. In a moment of spite and stubborn fury, Harry managed to force his mouth closed, muffling his screams and clamping down on the pain. He didn’t ignore it or pretend pain didn’t exist, that never really helped, but pain didn’t have to control him either. At least according to his dads.
Slowly Harry was able to focus, the pain falling into the background, just in time to see a figure unfurl. Its skin was the wrong kind of pale, blotchily transparent, looking somehow too dry and yet oily. Too-long limbs moved in disjointed, unrefined motions, each joint clicking loudly into place with a sound like snapping tendons and cracking cartilage. What face it seemed to have was nearly reptilian, and could nearly be snake-like were that not a disservice to the beauty of snakes. This creature lacked any of the beauty that came from any reptile, and it made Harry’s stomach churn with revulsion.
Shadows seemed to swirl around him, turning heavy and solid, hiding his repugnant body behind layers of fabric as cloaks appeared. At least his flair for dramatics was interesting, that was the kind of trick he imagined Tėtis pulling, while Dad rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. He almost wanted to learn it himself, just for the fun of it.
Voldemort was talking again, addressing Wormtail and entirely ignoring Harry, which was just fine for him as it gave him more time to think of a way out. Wiggling, Harry managed to move one of the ropes into reach and began to pluck at them, separating out single strands to test if they were able to be cut through. Just his luck, they were enchanted and even the hair-thin strands refused to break. He hadn’t learned enough wandless magic to do anything nearly as complicated as undoing a charm like this himself, but maybe he could call his wand to his hand. He just had to focus, calm his mind. Unfortunately he was distracted a moment later as a series of loud pops made him jump, focusing back to the scene in front of him.
One by one, a circle of Death Eaters appeared, clearly called by the Dark Mark on Wormtail’s arm. Voldemort was monologing again, but Harry’s focus drifted back to his wand, unbothered by the dramatics at play. He’d get his dad to help him replay the memories later and make notes of the names and faces of the men…if he got out of here alive. Staring at his wand, Harry continued to focus, letting his magic reach out, mimicking the wand movements of an Accio. It twitched once…twice…slowly rolling closer and closer…
A foul-looking foot suddenly extended, pressing down on his wand just hard enough to keep it in place, and Harry tilted his head to look up at the owner of the appendage. Voldemort, of course. What Harry could only assume was a sneer, though it was hard to tell without real lips or a nose to track.
“Harry Potter.” Voldemort drawled, reaching down to pick up Harry’s wand, the gesture making Harry’s heart skip a beat. “It seems our guest of honor dislikes our hospitality.” He said, earning mild jeers and sounds of amusement from his followers. “Or perhaps…” Voldemort trailed off, stepping closer and leaning down so he was eye level with Harry. “You are simply bored. Does my presence bore you, Potter?”
Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he leaned back as far as his head could go, pressed against the tombstone. “If this is your hospitality, I’d hate to see your dinner parties.”
Voldemort’s amusement vanished and he let out a low growl, standing up and pointing his wand at Harry. “Insolent brat. You still fail to understand your situation, let us change that.
Crucio
!”
Pain like nothing Harry had ever felt flooded through him. Moltant pain flowed freely through his nerves, hot and sharp as burning knives. Like pure plasma was running through his veins, over every inch of his body, inside and out. Screams were ripped from Harry as his body writhed, straining against the ropes binding him, startling Nagini enough to slither away from him to join her master. Taunting laugher rang in his ears, barely managing to make it past his own screams and pounding heart. And then, as suddenly as it came, it stopped, leaving Harry sagging in the binds gasping for breath.
“Do you understand now?” Voldemort asked, his eyes alight with sadistic glee.
Harry was panting for several seconds longer, before he got enough air in his lungs to reply properly. “I understand..that you need a Crucio…to win.” He said, looking up with pure defiance. And perhaps bold stupidity, but there was only so much he had to work with right now, and something in his chest was starting to unfurl. He could feel it, that slow waking of something usually dormant, a feeling he’d been slowly becoming familiar with bit by bit. Encouraged by his fathers, who were all too happy to provide him with the tools to explore newfound curiosities. It was a dark, thick thing, like black blood spilling from the center of his chest, spreading out. “And I know that was
rude
.”
Rage filled Voldemort’s face as his followers fell quiet. “You…know nothing, Harry Potter!” he snapped, suddenly reaching out to grip Harry’s face tightly. His very touch lit Harry’s nerves on fire, burning his skin so strongly he was almost surprised to not smell smoke. “I can
touch
you now, the protections your
mudblood
mother left on you are gone! You only live because I allow it!”
Pain and anger bled together, feeding that wild thing inside of him. “Then prove it.”
Voldemort sneered, before pausing, considering the idea. A cruel smile slowly grew over his face. “Alright, Harry Potter. I am a merciful Lord, I will let you have the dignity of a proper duel. A fighters death.” He said, dropping Harry’s wand on the ground in front of him and gesturing to his minions to step away and give them room. “I trust you have been taught how to duel?” Voldemort asked, waving his wand to vanish the ropes holding Harry in place. “First, we bow to each oth…”
Words were cut off as Harry launched forward, barely giving himself time to pick up his wand. His eyes were wild as he used the very gravestone he’d been tied to as a springboard, flying through the air at the Dark Lord, who had not been prepared for such an attack. Wands barely had time to raise before Harry was on him, his teeth sinking deep into the flesh of Voldemort’s shoulder, just below his neck. Cries of pain sounded like music in his ears as Harry bit down harder and harder, teeth breaking through flesh, the metallic taste of blood and meat filling his mouth. It tasted putrid, like rotten meat, but he didn’t let go, his left hand reaching up to Voldemort’s face, aiming for his eyes.
A sudden blast threw him off with the sickly sound of tearing flesh, and a scream of rage and pain. As Harry landed on the ground, he grinned, his mouth still full of that foul meat. He’d taken a chunk of the disfigured man with him, though he didn’t dare swallow it, not when he had no idea what kind of disgusting things his flesh might hold. Voldemort was cursing, hand to his shoulder as Harry pulled himself to his feet, spitting out the chunk of flesh onto the ground. He wanted to go again, to rip more out of him, to tear his throat out, to watch him choke on his own blood, but now wasn’t the time. He’d have his chance another time, right now he had another goal.
Spinning on his feet, Harry began to run, barely dodging the curses and hexes hailing down on him, focused on reaching Cedric’s body. He nearly made it before being struck with a leg-locking hex, making him yelp as he tumbled to the ground. Flipping to his back, Harry saw a Death Eater that vaguely reminded him of Crabbe standing not far away, looking furious and terrified in equal measure. “You’re not going anywhere,
Potter
!”
“
Bombarda
!” Harry cursed. The man quickly threw up a shield, expecting the spell to hit him dead on, but Harry already had other ideas. The dirt just in front of him exploded, the shockwaves causing the man to stumble backwards, giving Harry enough time to cancel out the leg-lock curse. “You duel like your children!” He called out, pointing his wand at some grave stones. “
Alarte Ascendare
!” With a jerk of his wand, the tomb stones flew into the air. “
Bombarda
!” he called again, hitting the biggest one dead-center. It exploded into a storm of rocks, raining down on the still-recovering Death Eater, and the two who had broken away from their Lord to join the fight.
It was enough of a distraction, and Harry darted forward once again, sliding to a stop by Cedric’s body, not stopping to look down at his blank expression. “
Accio Cup
!” He called out, reaching out to catch it. As it flew through the air towards him, Harry looked at the scene in front of him, and the chaos he had caused. The Crabbe-looking Death Eater was laying prone on the ground, blood seeping from his head, and another was clutching his shoulder. Cries of rage and panic filled the Graveyard as Harry’s fingers closed around the cold metal of the glowing trophy. The last thing he saw was the satisfying sight of Voldemort still clutching his shoulder, blood gushing through his fingers.
The blood looked almost black in the moonlight, it was almost beautiful.