"Wormtail, robe me." Voldemort said as he stepped from the cauldron, his bald head shiny in the moonlight.
"Of course, Master." Pettigrew sniveled, retrieving a black robe for Voldemort and helping him to put it on.
Harry was still tied to the grave stone, blinking to rid himself of blood loss induced lightheadedness. In spite of that, he was still snarling at the blurry form of Voldemort, unable to truly see because his glasses were... somewhere.
"Wormtail... Remove Harry Potter from the headstone and bring him to my feet." Voldemort whispered, peering at the snarling, bloody form of the young Boy Who Lived. Images and thoughts passed through his mind before he snagged one. And was mildly surprised at what it pointed out. Harry Potter eased his mind and slowed his insanity. How intriguing...
Wormtail dragged a struggling and shouting Harry by the bleeding arm over to Voldemort before shoving the teen down on the ground in front of his Master.
"Good. I will deal with Potter. You go levitate the Champion's cup onto the dead body of the competitor that came with the Potter boy." Voldemort said, shooing Pettigrew away with a command. The Rat went away quickly, hoping to hear the screams of his ex-friend's son.
"Harry Potter. Very muggle name. I heard you could speak Parseltongue, however. That's not a muggleborn trait." Voldemort idly said, immobilizing Harry with a flick of his wand. Harry glared up at him, his mouth set in a firm downward line.
"You're not here for me to gloat about my victory over you. You're not dead. I only gloat when my opponent is dead. Or I used to, apparently. No, you're here so I can trap you in a pretty golden cage and keep you. I don't have the proper sanity to think about why, but being near you helps my mentality immensely. Are you perhaps part Phoenix?" Voldemort talked, a small joke to his tone in his question as he started to tap his wand to his chin.
"Now, how to keep you forever... Ah, I know just the method. There's a dark transfiguration spell that shrinks and changes the target into a small, toddler like version of themselves. It's perfect because you'll be too small to escape. Maybe I'll even-" Voldemort continued to talk, pretending not to notice when Harry's eyes widened in fear at the mention of being too small to escape.
Harry internally shivered, as his body was still magically bound, when size for escape was mentioned. He remembers when Dudley used to gloat about being so much bigger than Harry when Harry Hunting first started. He remembered how small he always felt when Vernon would tower over him before beating him to the ground. How little he would feel when his Aunt Petunia belittled him for anything he did. How utterly massive everything was compared to him from his oldest memory of having to cook for the Dursleys. A memory from so long back that he can't tell if it was a memory or a dream.
"There's a reason I said golden cage, Potter. Can you guess why?" Voldemort asked, breaking Harry from his spiral and filling the teen with relief. Having a C-PTSD episode in front of your worst enemy would be horrifying.
"Well, since you can't talk and you're probably going to pass out from blood loss soon, I'm going to assume you can't guess why and tell you. I said golden cage because I'm going to make it so that nothing hurts you while you're with me. Nothing." Voldemort hissed his last word while firmly gripping Harry's chin, having crouched down while Harry was lost in memories. Harry blinked at Voldemort in confusion before he unwillingly succumbed to unconsciousness from blood loss. Voldemort only chuckled.
