Chosen One: The Last Horcrux [H.G/You]

«Chapter XXXVII»

Other than the dark lord himself that had been revived from the dead stood before them, it was your agonising scream that awoke goosebumps across Harry's skin. Loud and thin, reverberating in the eerie wind that reminded him of his first encounter with a dementor. He watched the faint outline of your muscle on your exposed skin contract, nails scraping the ground creating jagged lines on soil; your body spasming violently that your wrist tugged on your restraints, stopping you at coiling over from what seemed to be an unbearable pain.

When your lids shot wide Harry's exhales an abrupt gasp, instead of seeing the color of you eyes he saw an incandescent of dark green that turned even the dark corners around you to light. Then all of a sudden, as though nothing had happened, your eyes flutter shut. Your chest heave of heavy pants of breathing and body exudes cold sweat that when it touches the ground dirt smears across skin. Harry blinked, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him when he sees light emerald wisp dancing out of your chest before dissipating in the air.

Voldemort looks away after as if he already expected it to happen, not even a slight amount of interest can be found on his face other than curiosity of his new life. He began examining his body, his fingers were long and thin around his large palm like spiders while he caress his chest. He held up his hand and flex his fingers, expression rapt and exultant. He slip one of those unnaturally long-fingered hand inside his pocket, drawing out a wand. He caressed it, gentle too, then raised it before pointing at Pettigrew who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground.

The servant was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone nearby an unmoving body, falling at the foot of it, crumpling and crying. Voldemort turned his red, slit pupils to Harry with a high, cold mirthless laugh.

His voice yanked you back to consciousness, heavy eyelids flits open, energy drained from the events. There he was -your father- in the flesh, his appearance more sinister as he would be in the near future. You tried to move a muscle, but your body felt too tired to even lift itself. A rustle reached your ears, your sight switched to Pettigrew, a part of his robe that he uses to cover the stump of his arm glistened with blood.

"My lord..." He chokes. "My lord...you promised.. you did promise."

"Hold out your arm." said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh Master...thank you Master..." He extends the bleeding stump.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Pettigrew's left arm, forcing the sleeve of the servants robe up to his elbows. On his skin, something like a vivid red tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding out its mouth- an imagine that appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup; the Dark Mark. Voldemort scrutinizes it closely, ignoring Wormtail's weeping.

"It is back," He voices softly. "They will all. have noticed it...and now we shall see...now we shall know..."

Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand on Pettigrew's brand. The dark sky rumbled after, suddenly the air was full of swishing robes than landing between pews morphing to Wizards shrouded in cloaks from head to toe, all hooded and masked.

"Welcome my friends," muttered Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years it's been, and yet here you stand before me as though it were yesterday." He turns to each one of them, his teeth baring. "I confess myself..disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

"Crabbe!" His hand shoots to unmask the already said boy. "Macnair! Goyle!" Each name announced their mask dispersed under Voldemort's hovering hand while they fall on their knees.

"And even you," He glides across to the last figure, his tone lowering to a whisper. "Lucius." His palm drift across the condensing mask followed by Lucius falling like the rest.