Homecoming

The fire under it flared, lighting up the entire graveyard. A large explosion came from the liquid inside. It sprayed the weapon wielding man in the back, causing him even more pain, and making him turn.

"No! This is not possible! Master!?" the still unknown man cried as he rushed to save the potion, dropping the knife as he went. He put his good hand in front of his face to ward off the sparks and the flying liquid. Not that it did any good, his robes now sported holes where the fluid landed. And his face was covered with red marks.

A high-pitched scream came from the bubbling mixture, and then it stopped. Harry hoped that whatever had been in there died.

When all the hissing died down, the now scarred man peeked over the lip of the pot. "Master, tell me what to do," he begged, vainly trying to see in the black murk that used to be a well-made green potion. He was sure nothing could save it now.

A small head broke the surface and gasped for air. "Fool, tip over the cauldron," came the gargled voice from that black doll-sized head.

So, the injured man, used his good hand, put his back into it, and tilted it over. He then hurriedly stepped back, not wanting to get the acid like goo on him.

Black muck poured out, making the ground billow with steam as the dirt form into boiling mud. It came to the ritual blade and melted the metal, leaving nothing for Harry to gather. Which was a shame, he was sure Bones would want it, if only to find out who this man was.

After the potion was finally spilled, out came the most disgusting thing Harry had ever seen. It was small, naked, and its pink skin was now covered in puss-draining sores. There were also large red spots that looked like it had, well, taken a bath in acid. The skin pulled back tight, like it had been shrunken, and now was taunt against the bones and muscles of the toddler like body. It was a very ugly thing to look at. You could tell it was in pain, by the grimace on its unpleasant face, but it seemed to be holding it in. Probably so it wouldn't look weak.

The hooded man quickly ran forward and snatched the baby-sized thing out of the steaming sludge. He scurried back and peered down on his master. Seeing it still covered in goo, he cast an Aguamenti from his wand and washed the thing off. Slowly the sludge cleared, and the creature now looked like a scabbed, deformed human toddler with a gruesomely distorted face.

Harry kinda liked it better when it was covered in muck.

"Cover me, you fool," the tiny being demanded in a tinny voice as it tried and failed to glare at its servant.

"Yes, Master," came the weak reply. Still carrying the creepy thing, the hooded man wandered to where a cloak laid folded on the ground. Awkwardly he wrapped the… creature up. When he was sure it was covered, he turned to face Harry.

"Harry Potter," said the raspy voice of the baby-like thing. "Look at what you have done. Mark my word, boy, you will pay for this. I will come back, and nothing you do will stop me, foolish child. You may have won this round, but I will win in the end. I am immortal, you are not. Thus, making me far more patient than you ever will be."

"Right..." drawled Harry, still tied to the headstone, yet completely relaxed, as if he weren't facing one of the most feared wizards of the age. "Who are you then?" he asked, quirking his head to the side.

"Ah yes, I had heard rumor that you have amnesia. Very well then, I am Lord Voldemort," the thing said as importantly as something that was being carried could, which to tell the truth wasn't very. The tinny voice, the small body, and the fact that it was covered in boils and huge red spots, made it appear like an ill child playing dress up.

"Right," came another drawl. "Are you sure? You're much smaller than I thought you'd be," Harry asked, kindly, squinting his eyes to see if he could see the all-powerful Voldemort. When he couldn't, he just shook his head, and smirked. "Sorry, I just don't see it," he added cheerfully.

"Stop your cheek, boy. I will make sure you suffer for that. No matter how much time passes, I will win," it said, and then turned its head and looked at the still hooded man. "Wormtail," it stated, making Harry's head snap to the other man as he recognized the name, "stand still while I get Nagini. Once she is secure we are leaving." Then it started making hissing noises, which Harry knew was parseltongue, but for some reason he couldn't understand it. That was something he was definitely going to have to research.

"Yes, Master," came the weak reply. What little skin that was peeking out of the robes of the short man was bone-pale. He was swaying in place, like a drunk, barely holding on to his master.

Harry could tell by the blood on the sleeve of his robes that the man was bleeding, though as not much as the teen thought he should be. He must have used a hot knife to cut his hand off. Still there was blood, making the boy tied to the headstone think that this Wormtail was losing too much of it.

'Good, let the bastard die,' the tied-up teen thought. 'I hope he slowly bleeds to death, while his 'Master' can do nothing. That would just the right punishment for him. If he does miraculously recover, well then I'll think of something else.'

The dark-haired young man felt a small smirk play across his face at that thought. He knew, from what he heard, that his old self would have felt bad knowing that this man could bleed to death, but this new him just wanted to watch the man slowly fade away. From what he had been told it was this man, and that thing he was carrying, who made him an orphan. No, he had not pity for either one.

"Hey, you guys aren't leaving, are ya?" Harry asked, like the two were simply going home from a party. "I mean, you're not going to leave me tied up in a graveyard, are ya?"

"I am sure someone will be looking for you shortly. Though, the thought of you starving to death gives me great pleasure. I do hate to cut our visit short, but as you can see I have matters to attend. Next time we meet, Harry Potter, I will have my vengeance," the small homunculus stated as fact. Then once more called his snake.

"Right, like I'm going to just stand by and wait for you to kill me. Tell you what, next time we meet, let's do tea. I'm sure there are many things you can tell me. Of course, you'd have to hide your face. There's no way I could stomach looking at you and eating," the teen said casually. "And hey, if he survives you can bring your minion as well. I would love to talk to him."

While he teased the greatest Dark Lord of the times, he was thinking about just ending this now, but with the horcruxes out there it would be a waste of energy. Not to mention it would show his hand. He had been very lucky that neither… man had seen him do any magic. One was in the cauldron, while the other had been facing him. Harry looked at the minion and saw that that man wasn't going to be a problem soon, so there was no sense in him giving up the game yet.

Suddenly a bush rustled, and a large snake came from the woods. It slithered around Harry's dome and quickly went to the two standing in the middle of the graveyard. It was as if it knew that there was something deadlier than it, and it wanted to leave now. It rapidly wrapped itself around the dying man. When it got up to his chest, Wormtail said, "Sanctuary," and they were gone.

Harry huffed. Now, Wormtail might die where he couldn't watch. Bummer. Still it was a pleasant thought, his demise.

Looking at the ropes, he used his mind to unravel the knots, and in a few short seconds they fell to the ground. He jumped off the headstone, and poofed back to the Shrieking Shack, making a very worried group of people startle.

They all drew their wands but made happy noises when they saw who it was. He was hit with two females who were both talking a mile a minute. The men were clapping him of the back. He gave everyone a reassuring smile and just basked in the love.

Harry never saw the shadow that watched from the trees that surrounded the graveyard.

That was okay though, he was home.

.....

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