Pain came first.
Not sharp, heavy. A crushing weight behind the eyes, a fog pressing down on Harry's thoughts like wet ash.
Stone dug into his spine.
Cold.
His wrists burned.
Harry sucked in a breath and found it shallow, constrained. He tried to move, and iron bit into his arms.
Chains.
He forced his eyes open.
Gray sky stretched overhead, moonlight thin and sickly. Crooked headstones jutted from the earth like broken teeth. Dead grass whispered in a wind that smelled of rot and old magic.
The Riddle graveyard.
Memory snapped into place with ruthless clarity.
Cedric. The cup. Pettigrew. The stunner.
Harry twisted his head and saw it, looming above him, carved in stone.
TOM RIDDLE
Father of Tom Riddle
Harry was bound to the grave of Voldemort's father.
A thin, wheezing laugh echoed through the graveyard.
"Well done, Harry Potter," came the high, trembling voice. "Even now, you are right where we need you."
Peter Pettigrew scuttled into view, wand clutched in his remaining hand, eyes shining with fevered devotion. At his feet stood the cauldron, stone, ancient, filled with something that shimmered darkly in the moonlight.
Harry pulled against the chains, muscles straining, instinct screaming, move, transform, break free.
Nothing.
The iron was soaked in magic older than Hogwarts.
Pettigrew began to chant.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given,"
He scooped white dust from a small bundle and tipped it into the cauldron. The potion hissed, flaring sickly green.
Harry's jaw clenched.
Think.
Pandora had taught him this. When strength failed, stillness remained.
Observe. Endure. Wait.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given "
Pettigrew hesitated only a moment before placing his right hand over the cauldron. There was a wet, meaty thud, a scream that tore the night open, and blood splashed into the potion.
The cauldron roared.
Harry thrashed again, chains biting deeper.
"No!"
Pettigrew turned toward him, face pale and ecstatic.
"Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken."
The knife flashed.
Pain exploded through Harry's arm as Pettigrew slashed deep, holding his wrist over the cauldron. Harry snarled, tried to wrench free, but Pettigrew was stronger than he looked, desperation lending him force.
Blood poured into the potion.
The cauldron surged.
The contents spun violently, light blooming from within until Harry had to squint against it.
And then, a shape rose, tall, skeletal and
Inhuman.
A body formed from darkness and fire, from bone and sinew knitted together by hatred older than memory. Red eyes snapped open, burning like coals in a skull-white face.
Voldemort breathed.
Harry stared.
Not with fear.
With grim recognition.
So this is how it happens.
The Dark Lord stepped from the cauldron, water sluicing off his pale skin. Pettigrew sobbed as he wrapped him in black robes, babbling praises.
Voldemort lifted a long-fingered hand.
"I am reborn."
His gaze slid to Harry.
"And you… you will witness it."
He pressed his wand to Pettigrew's arm.
"Call them."
The Dark Mark burned.
One by one, figures Apparated into the graveyard, Death Eaters falling to their knees in a widening circle. Lucius Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. Nott. Jugson. Macnair. Fear and awe radiated from them in equal measure.
Voldemort began to speak.
His voice carried, cold and cruel, weaving threats and promises, punishment and absolution. He spoke of betrayal, of loyalty tested, of the world that would burn.
Harry listened.
And grew still.
Not numb.
Centered.
This was a battlefield. He had stood on hundreds like it, Pandora's ash fields, burning seas, shattered forests. He had watched gods bleed and tyrants fall.
Chains or not, he was not helpless.
Voldemort finished his speech and flicked his wand.
The chains fell away.
"Stand, Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly. "Let us see what you have become."
Harry rose slowly.
The Death Eaters leaned forward, eager.
Harry exhaled.
And shifted.
His body stretched, bones flowing rather than breaking, magic and flesh moving as one. Blue skin rippled into being, muscles coiling, height surging upward until he towered over the circle.
Gasps rang out.
Voldemort's red eyes widened, just a fraction.
"What"
The ground answered.
Harry slammed his foot down.
The earth bucked violently, a localized quake ripping through the graveyard. Tombstones toppled. Death Eaters cried out as they lost footing, spells going wild.
Stone erupted upward around Harry, forming a wall of jagged earth that swallowed curses and fire alike.
Before they could recover, Harry raised both hands, and drove them down.
Rock spears burst from the ground like fangs.
Macnair didn't even scream.
Nott tried to run.
Stone punched through his chest and pinned him to the earth.
Silence fell.
Voldemort stared.
Harry inhaled and pushed.
Air exploded outward in a concussive wave, flinging Death Eaters like dolls. Jugson slammed hard into Harry's grasp before he could flee.
Harry grabbed him and held him up, body between himself and Voldemort.
Spells struck.
Jugson screamed.
And went limp.
Harry let the corpse fall.
Then he changed back.
Human again, bloodied, barefoot, wand in hand.
Voldemort's lips curled.
"At last."
They raised their wands together.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Green met red.
Light exploded between them, golden and blinding, forming a shimmering dome. Ghostly figures emerged, echoes of the dead, faces twisted in anguish and resolve.
James.
Lily.
Jenkins.
They surged toward Harry.
"Hold on!" James shouted.
"Don't let go!" Lily cried.
Voldemort screamed in fury.
The air cracked,
And then voices shouted from beyond the graveyard.
"AURORS! DROP YOUR WANDS!"
Silver light streaked in from all sides.
The Death Eaters fled.
The shades turned on Voldemort, holding him back as Harry tore his wand free and hurled a cutting curse,
It carved deep across Voldemort's chest.
Harry followed with fire.
Flames roared, engulfing the Dark Lord's form.
Voldemort shrieked, and vanished in a cloud of smoke and fury.
The golden light collapsed.
Harry fell.
Hands caught him.
The report echoed through the stadium.
"Harry Potter is alive and is being treated at St Mungo's."
Cheers turned to sobs.
"Voldemort has returned."
Silence fell.
"Three Death Eaters confirmed dead."
Surprised gasps rippled outward.
Parents clutched children in fear and relief. Professors bowed their heads in disappointment at wasted potential. Students stared at the sky as if expecting it to crack open, with some Slytherins wondering which of there parents had returned to Voldemort and died.
And somewhere deep in the crowd, fear and awe tangled together, because Harry Potter had faced Voldemort.
And lived.