Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shiloe	By : Sablesilverrain Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 47211 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the Potterverse, or anything you recognize here. I make no money from this either, sadly. I'm terribly poor. -.-

Chapter List
- 64
- 65
- 66
Everything you recognize here was written by JK Rowling, I just borrowed it and tweaked it a bit. I make no money for including it here.

Harry felt his feet slam into the ground. His injured leg gave way and he fell forward, the Triwizard Cup falling free from his hand.
Shiloe snarled in frustration. ‘Get up, wand out. Where the HELL are we?!’
Harry stood, pulling his wand out as he looked around. He was in a graveyard, that much he could tell right off. He saw the outline of a church to his right. To his left was a hill with a large house atop it.
It was silent, and the quiet was starting to wear on Harry’s nerves. Was this still part of the Task, or had the cup been tampered with for another purpose?
‘Someone’s coming, look!’
Harry stopped looking around the graveyard and focused ahead, realizing that Shiloe was right; someone was approaching.
It was someone short, with their hood pulled up—there was no chance of Harry seeing their face, which worried him a bit. Who would need to be hidden so fully if this was part of the Task?
The person was carrying something. It looked like a bundle of robes, or perhaps a baby.
‘SHIT!’ Shiloe shouted in alarm right before Harry’s scar exploded in pain, though not quite to the extent it had before, in first year.
From the screaming he could hear in his head, he understood why—Shiloe’s presence was enough to slightly dampen the connection, and Shiloe got the full force of the pain instead.
Harry was faced with a horrifying realization: somehow, Voldemort was here. Was that what was in the robes? Whatever Voldemort had been using as a body?
The figure set down the bundle and grabbed Harry, making him drop his wand in shock, and Harry saw that the hand that grasped his arm had a finger missing.
“YOU!” Harry hissed, as he was roughly shoved against a headstone that bore the name Tom Riddle.
Wormtail didn’t respond, instead conjuring tight cords around Harry, binding him to the headstone. He checked the tightness of the cords, then pulled a length of black cloth from his pocket and shoved it into Harry’s mouth. Then, without a word, he turned and hurried away.
Harry couldn’t make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn’t turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
*****
Shiloe was in so much pain he almost couldn’t bear it, and the closet was rattling disturbingly. He was sitting against the door, holding it closed with his body weight.
“Harry!” He called out, knowing that Harry would hear him, hoping he was in a position to listen, because Shiloe couldn’t be sure, occupied as he currently was. “I really don’t think I’m going to be of much use right now! I’ve got my own problems going on in here! I’m sorry!”
*****
Harry heard Shiloe, and his heart fell. He was on his own, then.
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail’s fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry’s range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water—Harry could hear it slopping around—and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard a high, cold voice coming from the bundle.
“Hurry!”
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
“It is ready, Master.”
“Now…” said the cold voice, which Harry knew was Voldemort.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, and Harry tried to recoil.
The thing that had been in the robes—for it was certainly a THING, not a person at all—was the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face—no child alive ever had a face like that—flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail’s neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail’s weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”
The surface of the grave at Harry’s feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail’s command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
‘What’s going on?’ Shiloe’s voice asked.
‘Some kind of ritual.’ Harry answered in his head, watching and listening so that he could hopefully get back and tell Dumbledore what had happened here tonight.
Now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
“Flesh—of the servant—w-willingly given—you will—revive—your master.”
He stretched his right hand out in front of him—the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened—he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail’s anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn’t stand to look, but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry’s closed eyelids.
Harry opened his eyes to see Wormtail, one hand missing and slowly dripping blood from the stump, coming towards him.
“B-blood of the enemy... Forcibly taken… You will… Resurrect your foe.”
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly.
Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail’s remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry’s cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry’s blood. He poured it inside.
The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened…
For a few moments, Harry hoped something had gone wrong.
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn’t see Wormtail or anything but vapor hanging in the air.
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
“Robe me.” said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master’s head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry.
Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. He was whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake’s with slits for nostrils.
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
‘Voldemort’s back.’ He thought to Shiloe.
‘I can see that. Whatever was happening in here has died down. I might be able to help you now, but since I don’t have my wand, I’ll have to do it from in here.’ Shiloe answered.
Voldemort turned his attention to examining his body, staring intently at his hands as they flexed in front of him, his expression one of rapture. He patted his chest, ran his hands over his arms, and nodded in satisfaction. He was obviously happy with his body, and Harry could understand that, even if he was horrified at the thought of Voldemort being back in the world.
He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Harry again, hissing.
Voldemort reached into his robe pocket and drew out a wand. He flicked it at Wormtail, flinging him against the headstone Harry was tied to. He curled up in front of Harry’s still-tied body, crying and whimpering.
“Master, please, you promised…” Wormtail said, wrapping his arm in his robes to staunch the bleeding.
Voldemort walked up to Wormtail. “Hold out your arm.” He said.
“Oh, thank you, Master!” Wormtail held out the bleeding stump.
Voldemort sneered at it. “Your other arm.” He said in disgust.
Without waiting for Wormtail to comply, he bent down and pulled out Wormtail’s left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail’s robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw the Dark Mark, standing out stark black against the pale skin of Wormtail’s arm.
“It is back.” Voldemort said softly. “They will all have noticed it. And now, we shall see, now we shall know.”
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm.
Harry gritted his teeth against the pain, and he heard Shiloe grunt quietly, hissing through his teeth. ‘Damn, that stings.’ He gritted out. Harry had to agree.
Wormtail screamed in pain, and Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved in something that might have been a smile, on a human face.
“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” He whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”
- 64
- 65
- 66
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Shiloe