Chapter Text
Death left a person unfinished.
It shattered hopes.
It made one feel helpless.
Death was a mercy.
It was the end of suffering.
It lifted the burdens from one's shoulders.
As Harry Potter watched Cedric Diggory’s body strike the green light, a cry escaped his lips: "Cedric!"
Cedric’s body hit the ground; his eyes were fixed blankly upon the ancient manor.
There would be no emotion left in those eyes now.
Harry did not notice someone grabbing his arm and dragging him away.
He kept his eyes fixed desperately on the seventeen-year-old.
With tears in his eyes, Peter cast *Wingardium Leviosa* to lift Harry into the air. As the fourteen-year-old rose, he snapped back to reality.
Tears streamed down Harry’s face as he was magically bound to the stone statue—depicting the Angel of Death—that towered over the mausoleum. "Let me go!"
"I can't, Harry..." Peter whispered in a low, trembling voice. "Don't fight it, Harry... let my Lord win... let your end come with mercy..."
"That’s not going to happen!" Harry shouted, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Harry groaned in pain as he felt something sharp pierce his arm. He caught the scent of his own blood.
"The blood of the enemy... taken without consent..." Peter whispered as he collected Harry’s blood into a vial.
Harry fixed his eyes on the black cauldron, a fire burning beneath it.
He knew...
After this day, nothing would ever be the same again.
Peter approached the cauldron and poured Harry's blood into it.
"Flesh of the servant... willingly given..."
He drew his wand and, without hesitation, severed his own hand.
Peter groaned in pain as Harry watched the scene in horror.
A dark stain spread across the stones beneath him.
With his remaining hand, he picked up the bone lying on the ground—a bone taken unknowingly—
"Bone of the father... unknowingly taken..."
He staggered towards the bundle wrapped in a dirty white sheet, picked it up with his remaining hand, and held it against his chest.
The sheet came undone; as the figure inside fell into the cauldron, Harry felt a searing pain in his forehead.
Harry was on the verge of passing out from the pain. His eyes were rolling back, and blood was trickling from the scar on his forehead. The gash Peter had inflicted on his arm continued to bleed.
Long arms emerged from the cauldron; cells fused together, and organs took shape.
Bone formation was completed, followed by veins, and then muscles wrapped around the vessels.
Lord Voldemort had returned.
He had lost his humanity.
Where a nose should have been, there were two slits. His pupils had turned a deep red, and a smooth surface had taken the place where hair should have grown. His skin was as pale as a corpse's.
He was the most terrifying being Harry had ever seen.
It was evident that Lord Voldemort had undergone some sort of mutation.
Peter stumbled toward the Lord and began dressing the man he worshipped in black robes.
"It is good to be back, Wormtail," Voldemort said in a hissing voice.
Peter immediately fell to his knees. "My Lord... my Lord... it is an honor..." the frail man stammered.
Voldemort grinned broadly, revealing his rotting teeth. He patted Peter’s head with an air of disdain.
Then, he moved toward the spot where Cedric’s body lay.
Harry wasn't certain Voldemort was actually walking; the man's movements were so eerie that the act of walking seemed beneath him. Harry would have expected him to glide or something similar.
"What a waste," Voldemort whispered. He pressed his bare foot against Cedric’s face and shifted the boy's head so that his vacant eyes stared up at him. "He was handsome."
"Don't touch him!" Harry shouted, struggling to free himself. Voldemort raised his nonexistent eyebrows—Harry could tell because the man's forehead creased. "Oh, Harry..." he said in a low voice. "I had almost forgotten you..."
"Hold out your arm, Wormtail," said Voldemort, grinning broadly to reveal his rotten teeth. "We shouldn't be the only ones to witness... the fall of our hero..."
Peter knelt and offered the arm bearing the Dark Mark to his Lord.
"My Lord... my Lord... you promised..." He could still feel the pain of his severed hand.
Voldemort ignored the man's silent plea and pressed his wand against the Dark Mark. "Morsmorde!"
Within seconds, white lights appeared. Figures in black robes and silver masks knelt on the ground; some even crawled forward to approach the hem of the Lord's robes, attempting to kiss his feet.
"Rise!" Voldemort hissed, and his men obeyed instantly.
Harry watched the scene in horror.
"All of you..." Voldemort hissed, narrowing his red eyes, "all of you turned your backs on me!"
One of the masked men spoke in a trembling, pleading voice: "My Lord... the signs were not there... had they been, I would have come to your side without hesitation—"
Voldemort approached the man and swiftly tore off his mask.
Harry's eyes widened once more in horror; the man was none other than Lucius Malfoy.
"The signs were everywhere, Lucius, yet you all refused to see them!"
Peter murmured in a low, trembling voice, "My Lord... I was always with you..."
"Not out of loyalty!" Voldemort shouted. "You were by my side out of cowardice, Wormtail!"
Then, just as quickly, he calmed down, grinned, and stepped closer to Peter. "But you served me well... hold out your arm..."
Peter immediately extended his arm to his Lord, murmuring words of gratitude. Voldemort murmured in a low voice; a stream of light flowed from his wand, and a silver hand appeared for Peter.
"Thank you... thank you..." Peter whispered in awe as he gazed at his new hand.
Voldemort briefly fixed his red eyes on Harry, then flicked his hand, causing Harry to fall from the statue and crash onto the hard ground.
"Pick up your wand, Potter!" Voldemort hissed.
Harry groaned in pain and crawled toward his wand.
He let out a breath of relief as he felt the wand between his fingers.
"Get up, Potter!" Voldemort commanded impatiently.
Seeing that Harry wasn't moving, he raised his hand.
The young man scrambled to his feet with a cry of pain, his muscles taut.
"Your slowness irritates me," Voldemort hissed, narrowing his red eyes.
Then he smirked: "Now, we shall duel... They taught you how to duel at Hogwarts, didn't they?"
Harry breathed raggedly, gripping his wand tightly.
"Oh, no, no!" Voldemort said in a dreamy voice. "You must bow first, Harry; we aren't waging a hostile war here!"
Harry stared fixedly at Voldemort; yes, the man had truly lost his mind.
"I said bow!" Voldemort shouted, flicking his finger, and Harry was forced to bow, groaning in pain.
Voldemort laughed with delight. "See? Look how easy that was!"
Voldemort himself bowed slightly, merely for show.
"Here we go, little hero!" He grinned broadly.
Harry gripped his wand tightly.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
The Killing Curse collided with the disarming spell. When the Death Eaters drew their wands to aid their lord, Voldemort raised his other hand and stopped them. "He is mine!"
Harry was breathing shallowly; his hands were trembling, yet his survival instinct kept him from giving up.
Voldemort was surprised by the young man's resilience, though he masked it with a sneer. "It’s over, Potter!"
"I haven't said it's over yet!" Harry shouted.
Both wands tore free from their owners' grips; the green light of *Avada Kedavra* and the red light of *Expelliarmus* merged into a brilliant white glow.
Harry blinked, staring at his wand in breathless astonishment.
Voldemort fixed his gaze on his own wand. How dare it move of its own accord! And just when victory was within reach!
The wands began to spin around one another.
An unknown energy filled the air; Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Seize the boy!" His voice was laced with panic—and, for the first time, anxiety.
Lucius Malfoy whispered a spell that knocked the fleeing Harry to the ground; though Harry cursed himself for being caught so easily, he wasn't surprised. He was stumbling—starving, parched, and weak from blood loss.
Voldemort’s crimson eyes turned skyward, watching as the stars drifted sideways.
A powerful wind rose up—strong enough to easily sweep away frail people—and, tragically, Harry was incredibly frail.
"My Lord!" Lucius Malfoy wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s torso. "What are we to do?
"Take him to Malfoy Manor; chain him in the dungeons," Voldemort commanded, never once tearing his crimson gaze from the sky.
Harry screamed, "No! I won't come with you!"
"No one asked for your opinion!" Lucius snapped, then Apparated away alongside Harry.
"My Lord, what is happening?" Nott asked hesitantly, his gaze fixed on the sky just like his master's.
"It seems Potter and I have opened a gateway," Voldemort said; seeing his own wand and Potter's fall to the ground as the connection broke, he quickly snatched them up before the powerful wind could sweep them away.
"I thought it was a myth..." he continued.
"My Lord!" cried Peter, clinging tightly to the tree.
"Take Wormtail away from here," Voldemort said sharply to Nott; Nott approached Wormtail without hesitation, seized the small man by the scruff of his neck, and Apparated.
Voldemort tucked his own wand and Potter's wand inside his robes. He glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to break apart.
He wanted to observe the situation, but he knew that Harry Potter's prolonged absence would have drawn the attention of Hogwarts and the Ministry, and that Dumbledore—that old, so-called leader of the light—could piece the puzzle together with a moment's reflection.
He Apparated.
Albus Dumbledore was counting the minutes in his mind. His blue eyes had lost their usual twinkle; the endearing, grandfatherly smile was absent from his lips.
The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions had already arrived, yet there was no sign of the Hogwarts champions, Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter.
Cedric’s father’s hands were trembling, so Minister Fudge was trying to get the anxious man to drink some lemon water to steady himself.
"Potter... That Potter—he’s harmed my boy, hasn't he?" Amos said, weeping, his voice shaking. "He was jealous of my son's success!"
Ron Weasley, a close friend of Harry Potter, started to move toward Amos but was stopped by his father, Arthur.
"Amos, my friend... Harry truly wouldn't intentionally harm anyone..." he tried to explain. "I'm sure they'll be back soon..."
"That’s easy for *you* to say!" Amos shouted, tears in his eyes. "If it were one of *your* sons in Cedric's place, would you be saying the same things about Potter?"
At that, Arthur had no answer.
Fatherhood was a powerful thing; it could turn friend against friend.
Seeing that Arthur did not respond, Amos’s sobs intensified. "My son is gone! I’ve lost my son!"
Dumbledore took a deep breath and stepped closer to Amos. "Believe me, Amos... Harry would far rather have been the one harmed than see Cedric come to harm."
"Perhaps you don't know Potter as well as you think!" Amos shouted at Dumbledore. "Perhaps Potter has been playing you all for fools!"
Hermione stared at Amos in horror; she did not want to hear such things said about her close friend. She wanted to speak up, yet she empathized with the man's anguish.
Hagrid, the kindly half-giant, strode rapidly toward Amos, his face twisted in anger.
The students screamed in terror at the sight; Hermione and Ron cried out, "Hagrid, no!"
"Don't you dare slander either Harry in my presence!" Hagrid hissed.
"Hagrid, you'd best step aside—take the students for a walk on the grounds," Minister Fudge grumbled, looking at Hagrid with unease.
The vast majority of the students left with Hagrid, but Hermione, Ron, the Weasley twins, Ginny, and Neville decided to wait with the adults.
Draco Malfoy was sitting in a dark corner where he was sure no one would see him, trying to overhear the adults' conversation.
Minerva McGonagall approached Dumbledore with brisk steps. "I’ve informed Mr. Lupin of Harry’s absence; he’ll be here in a few minutes."
Fudge grimaced. "There is no need for a werewolf to be here!"
"Mr. Remus Lupin is an adult whom Harry holds in high regard, Minister," Dumbledore said without looking at Fudge. "Where is Alastor?"
"He had to do something to his wooden leg, or something of the sort," Arthur said with a sigh. "Old man's habits, I suppose."
Dumbledore shot Arthur a sharp look but made no comment; if the young man believed Alastor was old, then he must surely view Dumbledore as the living dead!
"Albus..." said Minerva in a low, anxious voice. "Do you have any idea what might be going on?"
Dumbledore turned his blue eyes toward the worried woman. "I have an idea, but it’s hard to be certain until Harry returns."
He glanced around for Severus; he hadn't been seen for over an hour. This only made his suspicions seem more likely.
Minerva nodded. "I hope Mr. Potter and Mr. Diggory return safe and sound soon."
"I have never wanted anything more," said Dumbledore, the weariness in his blue eyes becoming apparent.
"Hey, what's happening?!" Ron's gaze was fixed on the entrance to the maze. His voice was full of panic.
The adults and Ron's friends looked where he was pointing to see what he was talking about.
Dark blue and dark green ripples were shimmering in the air.
Without hesitation, the adults drew their wands.
Three figures appeared, huddled together around the Triwizard Cup.
One was covered in blood. The other two appeared unharmed.
"What is happening?" Dumbledore cried out in shock and horror.
A stunningly beautiful young girl with long, wavy red hair and—familiarly—emerald green eyes looked around in terror; she was wearing Gryffindor robes.
The face of the person beside her was hidden, but from behind, he looked very, very much like Harry—except he appeared healthier, taller, and more muscular.
He, too, was wearing Gryffindor robes and was gasping for breath.
As for the person covered in blood... it was Cedric himself. His eyes were devoid of all emotion. He was dead.
For Amos, it was as if the world had stopped turning.
His eyes were fixed on his motionless son, who lay on the ground, covered in blood.
He swallowed hard in fear; his hands trembled.
He did not even notice the other two young figures.
He stumbled past the witches and wizards who were whispering in alarm.
His gaze never left his son.
"That's my son..." he whispered in horror.
He fell to his knees. He pressed his palms into the earth. "That's my SON!"
Wails of anguish poured from the father. "THAT'S MY SON!"
Arthur and Dumbledore rushed toward Amos, but the man was so focused on his child's motionless body that he did not even notice the bewildered whispers erupting around him when the young man stood up.
The red-haired girl’s eyes were fixed on Amos in horror, welling up with tears in the face of such an emotional scene.
The young man, meanwhile, was looking around. "See? Look, the Goblet brought us back to Hogwarts."
Dumbledore decided to leave Amos be, for the father was still clutching his son tightly, sobbing uncontrollably and murmuring his child's name.
"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked, sensing what the answer would be.
After all, it was impossible for him to forget the brightest witch of her age—who had studied at his school for years—or the leader of the Marauders, who had chosen to devote his brilliant mind to pranks instead of anything else.
The young woman and the young man stared at Dumbledore in bewilderment. "Professor, are you all right?" the girl asked anxiously.
The young man pressed his lips together, evidently struggling to keep himself from making a witty remark.
"Answer me," he whispered. "You aren't the ones who are supposed to be here! Where is Harry?!"
Fudge narrowed his eyes. "Why does this man look so much like Potter, Albus?"
Minerva’s eyes had gone wide; she seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
Hermione’s eyes were wide with shock; Ron was blinking rapidly; Neville was swallowing hard while nervously holding the hand of Ginny, who was staring at the newcomers in astonishment; and the Weasley twins were whispering quietly to each other.
Draco, sitting in the shadows, narrowed his eyes; a decidedly unpleasant scent was wafting toward him.
"Look, Professor, I think it's your turn to play a prank; are you trying to get back at me?" James said teasingly.
Then he pressed his lips together and looked at Amos, who was still muttering Cedric's name. "Um... okay... I realize you aren't joking... but what is going on?! And how am I supposed to know where Harry is—or who Harry even is?!"
Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. "Minerva, there are things I need to check; make sure our guests are comfortable. Write to Lupin again—tell him not to try coming here."
He walked away, ignoring Fudge's shouting behind him.
The young woman and the young man had smiled broadly at the name 'Lupin.' "Where is Remus?" the young man asked cheerfully. "And what about Sirius? Peter?"
Minerva looked away. She cleared her throat.
"Explain to us who you are," Minerva said, though she couldn't stop her voice from trembling.
The young woman took a deep breath and turned her emerald-green eyes—familiar to everyone present—toward the adults and the few students standing there (whom she didn't recognize, despite their Gryffindor robes).
She looked at the young man beside her. "We've either come to the past or the future!"
"Oh—what?" The young man started. "What do you mean? Merlin!"
Minerva tried to maintain her stern posture, but she was so shocked and so filled with longing... it was incredibly difficult.
"You haven't answered my question." She cleared her throat.
The young woman and the young man looked at Minerva in astonishment.
"Lily Evans."
"James Potter."
The end of the first part!
I look forward to seeing your criticisms, suggestions, and any topics you'd like to chat about in the comments!!!