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There were only a few more meters ahead of him, a few more steps and he would finally be free of that miserable tournament he was forced to participate. Honestly he wasn't even surprised that he was the first one to get to the cup, the other contestants were just plain stupid, seeing how that Durmstrang student was easily bewitched or how that poor Beauxbatons student screamed in horror after being attacked by a giant spider, not to mention the poor Cho Chang, trapped between the vines on the wall begging for help, after all, how can that goblet found that waste of oxygen worthy of participating the triwizard tournament.
Coming back, when he touched the cup, he felt the pulling sensation in his navel that resembled a portkey, of course, the devil had to put him in the tournament just to do all this theatrics and in the end it was just to take him somewhere. Bro, why not just send a letter with the portkey, or, kidnap him on a visit to hogsmeade, but the devil-like man can't think of something like that, he'd rather see the boy fuck himself trying to kill a dragon or try not to die drowned.
And while his head was full of daydreams, not really caring where he was right now, a figure emerged from the shadows, that place had too many shadows not to be cursed, but of course the fucking Wormtail had to be the little diner resurrecting that thing, the rat had to say the spell three times to pin it to the unnecessarily large tombstone of someone it didn't have the slightest desire to know even the second name. Did Voldemort really trust this Squib with the task of bringing him back? Like even the Dumbledore would do a better job.
Anyway, the rat calls a cauldron, missing the spell at least five times more than usual, which is honestly worrying cause after all it was a wingardium leviosa, and with that stinky green goo oozing out of it, made he want to vomit just from the smell of it. Unfolding the bag of rags that was on his lap revealing voldemort's homunculus, wait a minute, he hadn't seen that bag of rags before, well he had, only he thought it was the fat rat's belly, abruptly throws the weird stuff into the big boiler, which starts to catch fire burning the traitorous miserable arm, well done.
From the eyes of the most loyal Death Eater in the world, read sarcastically, that boy tied by the neck and arms against his sire's father's tombstone was the purest sense of the word insane, he was laughing uncontrollably but was also completely relaxed, as if don't care about the most dangerous dark lord of the last 10 centuries wasn't reappearing in front of you (no, hitler was not a dark lord, in fact he was just a muggle).
Looking in the other direction, a pale, extremely pale body rose from the cauldron, the boy didn't know that it was possible for a dark lord to have such a beautiful and well defined body or silky and dark hair like that, maybe he was starting to get horny.
The other man was irritated, why is there a loud laugh in the background, who dared laugh as he finally got his resurrection. The first look went to the fat man Peter, that one luckily already had the white wand in his hands handing it to the lord, who conjured a black robe, which in fact was not just a robe, but a suit of three pieces and tie all completely black and of course a floor-length cape, everything appeared to be a light material, satin perhaps. The laughter stopped, was replaced by a loud moan of discontent, and then he looked into his eyes, after so many years he was looking into the eyes of his greatest enemy, spitting out the name of the useless rat who extended her arm with the mark, the scared rat was already afraid of the pain that hadn't even been there yet, Voldemort called out to all the Death Eaters in the inner circle, all while continuing to look into his eyes.
Yes, they were all present, watching his re-ascension, but the first time everything was clear, his ideas for a long time messed up in his mind became transparent and a sordid question was hammered in his head, this time everything would be different, his target should not being a baby without any exceptional magical power, but the ministry or that dumb Dumbledore, but of course he should put an end to the story he had with the little boy in front of him.
Walking closer to him, Voldemort who still hadn't cut his gaze whispered, in a tone so low you could hear a needle dropping to the floor.
— Do you fantasize about killing me? Harry.
And in the same whispering tone was answered
— Yes.
— Tell me, how would you do it? - Another question was asked, but this time the answer was not solid like the previous one, no, it was said more like a groan of excitement than really anger.
— With my hands.
The spell that held the boy to the wall was undone, leaving him free to throw himself on top of the lord, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing tightly, all the death eaters were ready to intervene, but when the boy pressed his lips to his master's, everything seemed to fall apart.