Butterfly Effect ; H. Potter

47. voldemort's tale.

Voldemort looked away from Harry and Antheia and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands, and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. 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 them again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket, and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently, too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground, and thrown against the headstone where Harry and Antheia were tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry and Antheia, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the sump of his arm in them. "My Lord ..." he choked, "my Lord ... you promised ... you did promise ..."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh, master ... thank you, master ..."

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again. "The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master, please ... please ..."

Voldemort bent down, and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Antheia spotted something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth - the same image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: The Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.

"It is back," he 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.

The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl: Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's Mark, and Antheia saw that it had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

"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?"

He began to pace up and down before Harry, Antheia, and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry and Antheia again, a cruel smile twisting his snake-like face.

"You stand, Harry Potter and Antheia Lupin, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool ... very like both of your dear mothers. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mothers died to defend you as a child ... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proven 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? 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, 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 ..."