The Magician
On this card, is a boy, almost a man, a silver jacket worn on his back as he stands prepared to face his destiny, in one hand he holds a gleaming red spear, and in the other, he holds a willow wand aloft.
Behind the boy stands a great beast with the same amber eyes as the boys. It stands with its maw wide open as broken chains hang off its form.
Above them both, hanging upside down is a castle of crystal and shadow with thorns wrapped around as a roaring lion can be seen standing in front of the boy protectively.
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Little Hangleton Graveyard
"Come out, Harry Potter," Voldemort says, his scarlet eyes sweeping across the Graveyard looking for any movement, any sign that the boy would try to run, "Come out, and die," he says with a grin. The anticipation for what is to come builds in his chest, the boy, in his mind, was beaten. He had no wand and only one functioning arm, it was over, but in the end, he would be merciful to the boy and give him a quick death.
"Come out, Harry Potter and I will be merciful and make it quick, though it may hurt," Voldemort says with a smirk, "But I would not know, for I will never die,"
As his impatience grows and the thought of destroying the monument to himself that the boy hid behind to flush him out crosses his mind, Harry finally steps out from behind the statue but something gives Voldemort pause, everything about the boy was wrong to his eyes. Harry Potter was walking without the spasms the cruciatus curse imparted on those it was used on, the next thing was the arm he had rendered useless, it was now bandaged tightly in conjured bandages and wrapped tightly against his chest, held out of the way. The next, and most off-putting thing, was his eyes, they were no longer the green Voldemort looked into to see the boy's fear and shock after destroying his wand, no, they were now a bright burning amber that almost made a chill of fear run down Voldemort's back, though he would never admit it himself, thinking himself above such mortal things as fear.
But still, Voldemort smiles brightly at the boy, "Now there's a brave Gryffindor," he says as he watches the boy's eyes flick back and force over the graveyard, his followers, and himself, with something churning in the boy's eyes, "Come, Harry Potter, come and face the god-"
"You're not a god," Harry says flatly, glaring at the monster before him, causing Voldemort's face to fall into a sneer.
"I'd tell you to watch your tongue about blaspheming-" Voldemort begins to say, only to be cut off by Harry again.
"You're just an up-jumped mortal high on his own power, nothing but prey, but sadly Dark Lords aren't in season right now, so I think I'll be going home," Harry says with finality as he bends his knees and keeps his one good arm behind his back, Voldemort scowls at the insolent mortal, he had had enough of this. His bone-white wand snaps to the boy before him and before he could get the first two syllables of the killing curse past his lips, he watches the boy's lips move in a whisper right before the ground explodes in a shower of dust and fine dirt.
"Pulvis," Harry whispers, giving the willow wand he had hidden behind his back a slight twist just as the Matron of the House of Lions did during his first lesson with her, sending dust and dirt out in a cloud, covering a large section of the small graveyard to cover his movement.
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Book Three: The Heir and The Champions
FanfictionIn which, we follow the Heir of the Hunt into his fourth year, where he is drawn into a tournament he didn't enter, argues with his friends, finds love, returns to a land teeming with death, and embraces the destiny he sees reflected in Fathomless B...
