Chapter Text
Harry stayed completely silent as Peter Pettigrew, violently shaking from head to foot, raised a curved ritual knife towards his arm. He didn’t scream as the blade punctured skin, or when the serrated edge mutilated it. He didn’t beg for Peter to stop, or convince him to see the light. He just stared at Peter, watching his beady eyes move from side to side, obviously uncomfortable.
When the Dark Lord Voldemort rose from the cauldron, Harry frowned. But he didn’t make a sound. He watched Peter thank his master profusely, offering up the bleeding stump of his arm, only to cry in agony and despair when Voldemort gestured to the other one.
Viciously, the bald, scaled wizard poked the tip of his wand into the faded tattoo-like mark in Peter’s arm, whispering in latin.
As Peter screamed in agony, the mark started to move, getting darker and darker until it was pitch black. Soon after, several people apparated into the graveyard, wearing black cloaks and white masks. They gathered in a circle, kneeling. There was complete silence in the graveyard.
That was when Voldemort spoke for the first time. ‘Hello, my dear friends,’ He whispered, a cruel smile threatening to take over his face. ‘How lovely it is to see you all after thirteen long years.’ The crowd shifted, but a look from the monstrous man stilled them. ‘You must have gotten on with your lives, then? Made a name for yourself helping the community, donating to hospitals,orphanages, caring homes - all, of course, to make up for what you did during the war, Imperiused as you all were.’ He was cut off, however, by one of the many cloaked figures. They threw themselves down, clutching the edge of Voldemort’s robes tightly.
‘My lord, I did it so I could support you from the shadow-’ a flick of Voldemort's wand silenced the grovelling man. And another had the man spasming in great pain.
‘Shadows, Yaxley? You did not “support” me from the shadows.’ He turned to the rest of the crowd, ‘None of you even bothered to look for me!’ He bellowed angrily, his anger fueling the spell that was focused on the man on the ground. The man, who could no longer keep silent through the pain, had now started screaming. ‘I. . . find myself feeling deeply disappointed in all of you, for when your fame and fortune were threatened, you denounced me - just like that. You forgot about me, your leader and guide, and left me roaming around with nothing less than a fraction of my soul!’ His voice could no longer be called that, for angry hissing had replaced it. The cloaked figures cowered, pressing themselves into the ground in a futile attempt to avoid their masters wrath. But nothing happened, and instead, like a child with too many toys to count, Voldemort turned his attention to Harry. ‘Harry Potter,’ He said, glee shining in his red eyes - A great contrast from from his earlier anger. ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived, Albus Dumbledore’s greatest, and most precious pawn, and judging by your dead friend over there, the first Triwizard champion in centuries.’ He laughed when Harry narrowed his eyes, anger glinting in the low light. ‘Ah, yes. Your list of titles is almost as long as Dumbledore’s boy.’
Harry said nothing, instead looking at each of his arms, that were starting to go numb.
Voldemort, seeing no reaction, continued. ‘You have witnessed a great thing here today, Harry Potter. Not just my resurrection - as marvelous as it was - but a gathering of friends. And, as I did in your very first year, I am offering a chance for you to. . . join this group friends. To laugh with us, cry with us, and scream with us.’ Voldemort looked at the mass of cowering cloaked figures at that moment.
‘No, I’m sorry, Tom, but I’m going to have to decline that invitation.’ Harry replied.
Showing no anger at being referred to by his muggle name, he turned and stepped into the circle that his Death Eaters had formed. He turned, and with a flick of his wand, the bindings that kept Harry attached to the headstone, disappeared. Another, and the brother wand of his own was sailing toward Harry, which he caught with a bit of difficulty; still getting used to the feeling in his arms. The cut had long ago clotted, so Harry didn’t need to worry about that.
‘I’m feeling oddly generous today, Harry Potter. So I have decided that I will let you fight for your release. If you win, I die. If I win, you die. Simple, is it not?’ Voldemort asked. Harry simply nodded, and stepped into the circle. They both bowed, but what happened next was entirely unexpected.
They both raised their wands, and looked each other in the eye, but that was the mistake.