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
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- 67
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.
Voldemort began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.
“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” He hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool, very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child, and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death.”
Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.
“You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. He didn’t like magic, my father...
“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... But I vowed to find him. I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name… Tom Riddle...”
Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.
“Listen to me, reliving family history...” He said quietly. “Why, I am growing quite sentimental. But look, Harry! My true family returns.”
Wizards, and possibly some Witches, it was impossible to tell, hooded as they were, were appearing, cracks of Apparition ringing out over the graveyard.
One by one, they moved forward… Slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.
“Master.” He murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle’s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people.
Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
“Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen long years it has been, since last we met. Yet you answer my call as if it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then. Or… Are we?” Voldemort asked.
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.
“I smell guilt.” He said. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.
“I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact—such prompt appearances!—and I ask myself, why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”
No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.
“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment…
“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?
“And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. Perhaps they now pay allegiance to another. Perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”
‘Okay, so I agree with him on the subject of Dumbledore not being all that great, but, really, who can blame me there? He’s the one who left you with the Dursleys, after all.’ Shiloe interjected.
‘Shut up!’ Harry mentally hissed.
‘Touchy, aren’t we?’ Shiloe mumbled, but was silent after that.
“It is a disappointment to me,” Voldemort was saying, “I confess myself disappointed.”
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet.
“Master!” He shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand. “Crucio!”
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked.
Harry remembered the spiders in class, and winced.
Voldemort raised his wand and the Death Eater laid there, trembling and gasping.
“Get up, Avery. Stand up.” Voldemort ordered. “You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years, I have waited. I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt to me already, have you not, Wormtail?”
He looked down at Wormtail, who was still curled up on the ground, sobbing.
“You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.” Moaned Wormtail. “Please, Master, please...”
“Yet you helped return me to my body.” Voldemort said coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers.”
Voldemort waved his wand, and whirled it through the air.
A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand’s wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail’s bleeding wrist.
Wormtail’s sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
“My Lord.” He whispered. “Master, it is beautiful. Thank you, THANK YOU.”
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes.
“May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail.” Said Voldemort.
“No, my Lord. Never, my Lord.”
Voldemort made a small noise of surprise. “I must confess, I expected Lucius to return to me. He was always my most trusted servant. He will be found, and punished, of course.”
‘No, he won’t!’ Shiloe snarled.
Harry was forced to agree. He’d protect Lucius, and Lucius’ daughter, come to that. The child might not be legally his, but it was still his responsibility to make sure she didn’t suffer a horrible fate because her father had been a Death Eater.
“The Lestranges should stand here,” said Voldemort quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us, they are our natural allies. We will recall the banished giants. I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear.”
Voldemort continued to walk along the circle. Some of the Death Eaters, he spoke to, others, he simply nodded to.
‘Okay, big shot, how do you propose we get out of here?’ Harry asked, ignoring Voldemort for the time being.
‘Umm… You know, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought of that.’ Shiloe answered, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘We can’t do ANYTHING, until he releases you. Just hope he does that before killing us, yeah?’
Harry let out a mental sigh, before he turned his attention back to Voldemort.
“And here we have six missing Death Eaters, three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return… He will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever… He will be killed, of course… And one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service.”
‘He’s talking about Snape, right?’ Harry asked Shiloe.
‘Couldn’t be. Severus’ magic was NOT on that Cup. It HAS to be someone else. There’s another Death Eater at Hogwarts. Someone loyal.’ Shiloe told him.
‘But who?’ Harry asked as another Death Eater spoke. ‘Can’t be Moody, he’s an Auror.’
Shiloe hummed in thought. ‘You know, Moody DID have traces of magic around him, which I thought was odd, but I discounted it because I’d never seen anything like it before. Maybe… Do you think he’s under the Imperius Curse? It would explain a lot. It didn’t look like Imperius, or feel like it, come to that, but I might have misjudged, maybe it looks different if it’s been on someone for a long time…’
Voldemort was standing close to Harry now, and he put one finger very close to Harry’s cheek.
“His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice.” He was saying. “This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it. But no matter. I can touch him now.”
He touched Harry, and Harry cried out, as Shiloe screamed again.
‘Fuck, I wish he’d warn me or something!’ Shiloe ground out. ‘That REALLY hurt. Okay, so when we get back, we’re going to have to warn Dumbledore. Someone on his staff, most likely Moody, is only a puppet, or something. Man, that old coot really knows how to choose ‘em, doesn’t he? Aside from Remus, every single Defense Professor has either tried to kill you or been a total and complete lackwit.’ He finished in disgust.
‘Don’t call him an old coot.’ Harry said in resignation, knowing Shiloe probably wouldn’t listen to him on that point. ‘But I agree, his choice of Professors does leave something to be desired. How exactly am I supposed to get back there, anyway?’
‘The Cup, of course.’ Shiloe responded. ‘The only spell active on it now was Dumbledore’s. I recognized that one under the foreign one. It was probably to take you just outside the maze when you touched the Cup. Too bad there was another spell over it, really. I would have liked to give this whole “party” a miss.’
‘Is he ever going to shut up?’ Harry wondered.
Shiloe snorted. ‘Really? How could you have lived this long and not realized that all evil megalomaniacs love to hear the sound of their own voice? Honestly, I’m not surprised he’s still talking. He’d probably talk well into the day tomorrow if we let him. Oh, look, he mentioned the Tournament! I think he might be winding down, finally!’
“Why, by using Bertha Jorkins’s information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament—that he touched the Triwizard Cup first—the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is; the boy you all believed had been my downfall...”
Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.
“Crucio!”
It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end, to black out, to die...
And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.
“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me.” Said Voldemort. “But I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini,” He whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching.
“Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.”
Wormtail approached Harry, who scrambled to find his feet, to support his own weight before the ropes were untied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled out the wad of material gagging Harry, and then, with one swipe, cut through the bonds tying Harry to the gravestone.
There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have considered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled.
Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where the Triwizard Cup lay and returned with Harry’s wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry’s hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.
“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?” Asked Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.
Somehow, Harry didn’t think that a few sessions with Snape were quite what Voldemort was talking about. He was woefully unprepared for this.
“We bow to each other, Harry.” Said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed. Dumbledore would like you to show manners. Bow to death, Harry.”
The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him. He was not going to give him that satisfaction.
“I said, bow,” Voldemort said, raising his wand—and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.
“Very good,” said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. “And now you face me, like a man, straight-backed and proud, the way your father died…
“And now—we duel.”
Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life—
And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.
“A little break.” Said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement. “A little pause. That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”
Harry refused to answer.
“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” said Voldemort softly. “Answer me! Imperio!”
It took a few seconds of battling within his mind, before the words “I WON’T!” erupted from his mouth, echoing over the graveyard.
“You won’t?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. “You won’t say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. Perhaps another little dose of pain?”
Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort’s father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry,” said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. “You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry, come out and play, then. It will be quick, it might even be painless, I would not know. I have never died.”
Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope, no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet. He was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible.
Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone, Harry stood up. He gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.
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Shiloe