|
After | ||||||
|
Category: Alternate Universe, Asylum Challenge (2013-3), Asylum Challenge (2013-3) Characters:Albus Dumbledore, All, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Lily Potter, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Other, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Violence Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 105 Summary: *** Winner of Best Overall, Best Drama and the People’s Choice Award in the Asylum Challenge *** *Nominated for 2014 April/May and November/December DSTA for Best Romance and Best Drama* *Nominated for 2016 January/February DSTA for Best Drama and Best Completed* Ginny's plans for the weekend were just perfect: a day out in Hogsmeade with her girlfriends. Spend the morning window shopping and wishing, then lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and then to the local theater for a production of the Scottish Play (Macbeth). Unfortunately, the bad luck of the Scottish Play strikes before it even starts. The village is invaded by Death Eaters, Dementors, and a man she had hoped to never see again in her life. And in the middle of the battle, Ginny sees something she'd never thought she'd see. Voldemort and one of her greatest friends dueling; Harry Potter and Voldemort fighting so fiercely, she lost focus on her own battle. Harry Potter, crying out, falling, and hitting the ground. Dead. And then, someone she never expected to help her saves her from Voldemort’s wrath. Hitcount: Story Total: 169267; Chapter Total: 5700 Author's Notes: This chapter I’d rate a bit PG-13, because there are some gory bloody things in here. Also I did my best to differentiate this from Chapter 38 of Goblet of Fire, but it will probably sound very similar, especially the dialogue. I was reading that chapter as I was writing this chapter of After, so I could keep to the story as much as possible. |
Previous Next |
|
||||
|
The Graveyard Again My hands flew to my mouth in shock. “What the hell?” I muttered through my hands. Lowering them, I looked around me. I stood in a graveyard, the sky above me was just moving on from twilight to night. Beside me, a boy crouched on the ground, by a glowing blue like a trophy. On my other side, a cauldron, large enough for a grown man to bathe in, glinted dully in the light of the moon and a yew tree stood regal and dignified against the night. In the distance, the silhouette of a large mansion stood out against the dark sky. “It’s a Portkey,” he said, turning to me. “Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?” “I- what?” I stammered. “Where are we?” “I thought you knew,” he said, standing. “Didn’t you just say you’ve been here before?” “No,” I said. “No, I’ve never been-” I heard a scraping sound, and turned. A door to our left was being pushed open, and someone was coming through. “Wands out, then?” whispered the boy to my left. I nodded, and then remembered I didn’t have one. I glanced around, and spotted a wand lying a few feet from me. I bent, and grabbed it. The moment my fingers grasped the handle, I felt warmth spread up my arm, not unlike the way if felt when I lifted my own wand for the first time, but there was something different about this warmth. I felt a sense of comfort spread through me, and for the first time since I had woken in the Realm of Dreams, I felt safe. The figure across the graveyard stepped towards us. I saw it was a short, balding man, and that he was clutching something to his chest. The man glanced around, and his eyes found us. “Who’s there?” the boy beside me called. The little man started towards us; I backed away. “We shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “You might be right, Potter,” the boy beside me said. I froze. Potter? Why was he calling me Potter? And then I remembered: this was Harry’s nightmare. I glanced around, searching my surroundings for something to tell me where I was, when my eyes were caught by a tall gravestone, with a grim reaper type statue standing behind it. The name on the headstone read, in large letters, ‘Thomas Riddle.’ My hand flew to my mouth. Graveyard, a trophy, a tombstone with the name of my worst nightmare. I stood in the graveyard where Harry had witnessed Lord Voldemort return. As soon as I realized this, a voice hissed, “Kill the spare!” The little man drew a wand, pointed it at the boy beside me, and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” A jet of green light issued from the man’s wand and hit the boy square in the chest. He fell back onto the ground; I gasped, and looked back over to the little man. His chin quivered, but he turned the wand on me. “Expelliarmus!” My wand flew from my hand and through the air to the little man, who twirled his wand with a flourish, and ropes sprang from them to coil around me, binding me tightly. I bit back a scream, and struggled against the ropes. I had to face Harry’s fear. I had to live through his nightmare. The little man drew closer, and set down the bundle by my feet. He turned to the caldron, waved his wand, and a fire sprang up beneath it. I fought harder against the ropes. My recent experience with fire still burned bright in the back of my mind. The cauldron filled with what appeared to be water. He turned back to me, and I froze as moonlight lit up his face. He had next to no hair. His eyes were small and watery, like a mouse’s. His chin quivered as his eyes met mine, and he looked away quickly. Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, turned to the large headstone behind me, and raised his wand once more. “Bone of the father,” he started, his voice high pitched and shaky. “Unknowingly given.” The headstone cracked and a stream of white powder rose into the air. “You will renew your son.” Wormtail directed it with his wand, and it flew into the caldron, staining the water gray. Wormtail pulled a knife from the inside of his robe. He held his trembling right arm over the caldron. His other hand shook as he raised the knife. “Flesh of the servant…” he squeaked. “Willingly given...” I gasped in horror as he brought the knife down, as it sliced into Wormtail’s wrist, and dark red blood sprang from the wound. Wormtail let out a cry of pain, but gritted his teeth, and pressed the knife further into his skin. I tried my hardest to close my eyes, but I was frozen in fear as the knife struck bone. Wormtail hacked at his own wrist, and his hand finally detached from his arm, and fell into the cauldron with a splash. Wormtail gasped in pain, tears welling up in his eyes, as he clutched his arm to his body. “You will… re-revive your master,” he sobbed as the water in the cauldron turned black. Wormtail sank to the ground, holding his arm to his chest. I fought against the ropes. I knew what was coming next. Wormtail’s eyes sought mine. He rose to his feet slowly, gripping the knife with his remaining hand tightly. “Blood of the enemy,” he hissed through his teeth. “Unwillingly taken…” He grabbed one of my arms, and wrenched it from the ropes that bound it. I balled my hand into a fist and punched him as hard as I could, right on his bleeding stub of an arm. Wormtail gasped in pain, and fell back. Blood dripped from my knuckles. I went to untie the ropes binding me, and Wormtail twirled his wand in the air. The ropes sprang to life, and grabbed my arm, pinning it to my side but leaving the underside of my arm bare. My fingers were crushed by the ropes. I bit my lip, hard. I tasted blood in my mouth. Wormtail approached me with his knife. I did my best to move away from him, hopping back from him, but the backs of my legs collided with something solid, and I fell over backward. I looked to see what tripped me, and bile rose in my throat as I saw the body of the boy laying under my legs. Wormtail flicked his wand, and I rose into the air and dropped down in front of the grim reaper statue. It creaked and its arms lurched forward, grabbing me in a cold, deadly embrace; the tip of its scythe pressed into my belly. Wormtail stepped forward, and pressed his knife into my arm. I bit down harder on my tongue as pain shot through my arm. I kept quiet, but hot tears cascaded down my cheeks. This isn’t real, I thought. It’s a dream. But it had been real for Harry. The tears came faster as my thoughts turned to him. I remember seeing him after the Third Task, and the long cut down his arm. I remembered asking him about it, and his dull voice saying that Wormtail had used his blood to revive Voldemort. Wormtail pressed the knife deeper into my skin, and blood sprang from it. I looked away, but I felt the blood trickling down my arm. It left a warm, sticky trail. “You will resurrect your foe,” Wormtail hissed in my ear. He turned, and held the knife over the cauldron. I blinked tears out of my eyes. He tapped the knife with a finger. A droplet of blood formed on the end of the knife. The droplet quivered as Wormtail shook it, and then, I watched as if in slow motion as it fell and hit the water with a gentle ‘plop.’ “Quickly,” a voice hissed from the bundle of cloth on the ground. “Do it now!” Wormtail bent, and opened the bundle. I bit back a scream when I saw the thing inside. It resembled a baby in shape, but that was where the resemblance ended. Its skin was a blistered red in places, in others it was a deathly shade of gray. Wormtail awkwardly lifted it into his arms, and turned back to the cauldron. Wormtail held out his arms, his handless one still dripping blood onto the ground, and let the thing fall into the cauldron with a splash that made me flinch away. ‘Let it drown,’ a voice said pleadingly in my head. ‘Let something go wrong. Please, let it have died.’ I glanced around, startled. Then, as the voice began to repeat its message, I recognized the voice. It was Harry’s. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, that wherever Harry was, he was not seeing this again. I heard a distinct slithering noise, and looked down. Fear constricted my heart as I saw the source: A gigantic snake was sliding through the grass at my feet, its scaly body rippling with the force its muscles were making to carry it to its destination. I drew my feet up, away from the beast as the fear pushed itself through me again. My arm still dripped blood. My body began to ache with the confinement; the ropes chafed my skin. I ignored all the pain and begged silently whoever was in charge for this to let it end; to let it be done with. I was not so lucky. The cauldron bubbled angrily, the surface stained white. The wind howled in my ear, sending my hair flying into my face to cut my vision into strips. Through my hair, I saw a hulking figure rise from the cauldron, wrapped in a membrane like thing, a sack of goo and other disgusting liquids clung to the figure’s ragged body. I closed my eyes as a wave of revulsion spread through me. The cauldron seemed to burst into fire, leaving a bright red imprint on my retinas. The membrane surrounding the thing dripped away, splashing onto the ground and making my stomach turn. The figure inside stretched its arms; it seemed to be glorying in its newfound existence. I shut my eyes and turned away, trying my best to prevent the vomit rising in my throat from spilling out over my lips. When I finally opened them, I discovered why people say that curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity nearly brought up the single muffin in my stomach as the last of the gelatinous goo dripped away from the figure, revealing the bare body of Lord Voldemort. “Wormtail,” his voice came out in a hiss from the newly formed lips, “robe me.” The whimpering rat crumpled at Voldemort’s feet, holding out the bundle of robes with his remaining hand. Voldemort took it, and draped it around himself, tying it off at the waist with a single rope. I was given a fleeting image of a monk dressed in similar robes before Voldemort spoke again. “My wand, Wormtail.” The quivering man drew his wand, and handed it over to Voldemort. The evil beast took it with a look of satisfaction and looked down at the man huddled at his feet. “Master, please, you promised,” Wormtail moaned from the ground. “Hold out your arm,” he said, almost lazily. “Oh, Master, thank you, thank you, Master,” Wormtail said, raising his stub of a right arm. “The other arm, Wormtail!” Wormtail’s body visibly sagged. He raised his left arm, and Voldemort gripped his wrist. From my place, I could see the white marks Voldemort’s fingers were making on Wormtail’s wrist. Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand into Wormtail’s forearm, and an image suddenly emblazoned itself onto the skin, that of a skull, with a snake curling out of its open jaws. Wormtail let out a gasp, and I had to guess that the image was burning him. “We shall see who will be brave enough to return, and who will be foolish enough to stay away.” Voldemort stepped past Wormtail, and his eyes locked onto mine. Cold red eyes, with barely slits for pupils. Snake eyes. “Ah, Harry,” he said, as a cold but broad grin spread across his face. “I had almost forgotten you were here.” I bit my lip and closed my eyes to suppress the panic spreading through me with each second. “You stand, Potter, upon the bones of my late father. A Muggle and a fool… much like your dear departed mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to save you as a child… I killed my father, and now look how useful he had proved himself in death.” Voldemort gave a cold laugh, and turned away from me. The giant snake I had seen earlier approached Voldemort, and coiled itself around one of Voldemort’s ankles. Voldemort raised a skeleton like finger and pointed into the distance. “You see that house up there, Potter? On the hillside? My father used to live in that house. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when he found out what she was… He didn’t like magic, my father… Voldemort began pacing up and down, continuing his rant. “So he left her, 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.” My heart constricted in my chest once more. I had known Voldemort and Tom were the same person. But there had always been a part of me that refused to believe that my Tom, who had been kind to me in the beginning, could have ever become this monster. Now, I had proof. “Listen to me, reliving family history,” Voldemort scoffed, “why, I am growing quite sentimental.” Voldemort looked around as suddenly, a series of pops and cracks split the air, and cloaked and masked wizards began walking slowly but steadily into the graveyard. “But look, Harry! My true family returns…” The masked wizards filled the area, surrounding me and Voldemort and Wormtail on all sides. I struggled harder against the ropes that bound me. Silently I begged once more for this to all be over. One of the Death Eaters approached Voldemort, slowly, even cautiously, and fell to his knees before him. “Master,” he murmured, and he kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes. I wrinkled my nose at this, but my expression changed to full disgust as the rest of the Death Eaters approached and did the very same thing. Slowly, they formed a circle around us. But there were gaps in the circle; empty places that Voldemort, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, seemed to think ought to be full. He glanced around one more time, as if expecting someone else to pop up out of the gravestones and kiss his robes. “Welcome, Death Eaters,” he finally said. “Thirteen years, thirteen long years it has been since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday… We are still united under the Dark Mark then! Or are we?” He threw back his head and sniffed the air. “I smell guilt amongst you. There is such stench of guilt in the air!” A shiver passed through the silent circle, though not one moved. Lord Voldemort sneered at them all. “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. A few glanced around at each other shiftily. No other movement was made except for Wormtail’s silent shudders upon the ground. “And I answer myself,” said Voldemort in a low, harsh voice. “They must have believe me gone, broken, defeated. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance and bewitchment.” “And I ask myself again, how could they not believe I would rise again? They, who know I have gone further than any mere mortal to guard myself against passing from this world, did not believe I would return to reclaim my place as the greatest wizard of all time? They, how have seen the proof of the immensity of my powers time and time again, doubted me?” The onlookers glanced around at each other once more. I took the distraction as an opportunity to work at the knots binding my arms. Voldemort halted his pacing directly in front of me, and I froze. “And then I ask myself once more,” Voldemort said, and although he was looking me right in the eye, he was speaking to the Death Eaters, “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?” The shiver passed through the circle once more, this time with it a harsh cold breeze floated through the graveyard, brushing my hair into my face once more and setting the leaves on the yew tree beside me fluttering. “It is a disappointment to me… I confess myself greatly disappointed…” One of the men in the circle suddenly flung himself to the ground at Voldemort’s feet. His body trembled and his voice shook as he spoke. “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all Master!” Voldemort let out a cold, cruel laugh. He raised the hand holding his wand, with that leer still set upon his cold, once handsome features. “Crucio!” The Death Eater upon the ground let out an ear-piercing shriek and writhed upon the ground where he knelt. I closed my eyes and turned my face away, trying to block out the screams of the Death Eater. Harry’s voice drifted into my ear once more, pleadingly. ‘Let the police come… anyone, anything. Please, make it stop.’ I turned my eyes up to the sky, as Harry whispered his words again. I shut my eyes and begged the person in charge to let it end. The screams stopped, and for a moment, I wondered if my prayer had worked. I looked around, to find the Death Eater lying upon the ground, with his face in the dirt and Voldemort standing over him, laughing still. “Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly, almost in a croon. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has already paid off some of his debt, have you not, Wormtail?” Voldemort looked down at the man still huddled upon the ground crying over his lost hand. “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 pitiably, “please, Master… please, you promised…” “Yet you helped me return to my body and my glory, Wormtail,” crooned Voldemort cruelly. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…” Voldemort raised his wand once more, gave it a flourish and a streak of silver light burst from the tip of his wand and flew through the air towards Wormtail. In mid air it fashioned itself into a perfect replica of a human hand and attached itself to Wormtail’s bleeding wrist. The man upon the ground immediately ceased his sobbing, and rose to his feet, staring at his new hand in bewitched awe. He flexed the shining fingers, a look of disbelief crossing his face, and turned to Voldemort. “My Lord,” he whispered in an awed voice, “it is beautiful, thank you, Master. Thank you…” “May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail.” “No, my Lord, never again.” Wormtail stumbled forward and fell to his knees before Voldemort. He kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes, then stood and withdrew to his place in the circle of Death Eaters. Voldemort now approached the one of the many gaps in the circle, the snake trailing behind him. “The Lestranges should stand here,” said Voldemort in a soft voice. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful to me; they refused to denounce me. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce our ways. When Azkaban is broken open, they will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.” Voldemort stepped away, walking through the inner side of the circle, until he reached the largest gap of all, and he stood there surveying it with his blank red eyes, as though he could see the people that should have filled the gap. “And here should stand six missing Death Eaters,” he said darkly. “Three perished in my service, one is too cowardly to return. He will pay for his insolence. One I fear has left us forever. He will of course be killed. One stands at Hogwarts, ever faithful to me. It is he who brought to us, Death Eaters, my friend here. Harry Potter.” I knew this was coming. Voldemort turned to me with a look of triumph upon his face. “Yes,” said Voldemort, his lipless mouth curling into a false grin, “Harry Potter. He has been so kind as to join my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor.” There was silence. Voldemort’s eyes were locked onto mine, and I could not help but let the panic in my chest grow into full-blown terror. His red eyes were nothing like they had once been, nothing like the deep brown that had charmed me so well. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward and the voice of Lucius Malfoy issued from beneath the mask. “Master,” he said, almost reverently. “We crave to know how you achieved this… this miracle. How have you returned to us, my Lord?” Voldemort’s gaze strayed from mine. He turned to Lucius, smirking. “Ah, yes. The story of my return. But what a story it is. And it begins, and ends, with my young friend here. You know, of course, that they have called this boy, this child, my downfall. You all know that on the night I lost my powers, I had traveled to Godric’s Hollow to kill this child. His mother died in an attempt to save him from my wrath- and unwittingly provided him with a protection, I admit, I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy.” Voldemort turned back to me, and raised one long white finger. My breath hitched in my throat as he brought it up to my face, hovering beside my cheek. “His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice… This is old magic. I should have remembered it; I was foolish to overlook it… but no matter, I can touch him now.” I felt the cold tip of the finger land on my skin, and its coldness spread through my skin unnaturally fast. Then, pain exploded in my head, just behind my forehead. Burning pain; I fought the scream that rose in my throat in response. Voldemort laughed softly in my ear, and withdrew his finger. My skin still felt like ice where he had touched it, but the pain in my head faded. Voldemort turned to his Death Eaters again, and his voice came from him once more, but I was not listening. I sagged against the ropes and the stone arms that once held me in but now held me up. I could not understand where that blinding pain had come from. Voldemort’s words rang through the graveyard, bringing a dull throbbing pain in the back of my mind. Voldemort turned back to me, and I struggled to stand, to support my weight as he approached me again. His wand touched my chest, and then he brought it up to tap my forehead. The cruel smirk curling his mouth struck fear farther into my heart. “Crucio!” A scream tore itself from my throat as pure unfiltered pain spread through me at an alarming rate, starting in my forehead where Voldemort’s wand touched me and pushing itself through my body. I now knew what spell Tom had used on me, as the white hot acid poured over me again. Voldemort laughed in triumph, and lifted his wand. The pain vanished, and I sagged again, panting and gasping. “Now untie him, Wormtail,” Voldemort said. “And give him back his wand.” |
| Reviews 105 |
Previous Next
|
