|Chapter 4|

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|1995|
Harry trembled against the harsh, unforgiving stone statue. His body ached and he could feel exhaustion and dizziness creeping in from the blood loss and adrenaline crash, yet none of that mattered now. He needed to run, needed to get out of here before Wormtail could finish whatever he was doing. Harry glared at the rat best he could, but his anger was slowly melting to grief and hopelessness the longer he remained tied to the grave.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the fallen figure in yellow lying motionless on the ground. Harry blinked back the sudden tears and wave of grief at the sight. Cedric was dead—murdered by the disgusting rat that had taken him hostage—but the fault lay on Harry's shoulders and Harry's alone. If Harry hadn't insisted on bringing Cedric with him then Cedric wouldn't have been killed in his place. Cedric was a good person, kind and gentle and honest, he didn't deserve this fate.

If Harry made it out of this mess alive he would do everything he could to honor Cedric's memory and atone for what he did.

Harry's attention was brought back to Wormtail as the rat let out a bloodcurdling scream before his hand fell into the bubbling cauldron. Harry's stomach rolled with nausea and he forced himself to swallow back the bile rising in the back of his throat. As Wormtail whimpered, blood leaking profusely from his stump, he lifted a cloth-covered bundle and tossed it into the cauldron.

Harry watched with horror as the cauldron boiled red for a moment before something began to move inside the liquid. His eyes were wide with horror as a person climbed out of the black cauldron. The person was male—as was made obvious by his nudity before Harry looked away—tall and muscular. His skin was fair but the green steam radiating off the water gave his skin a sickly glow. His body was surprisingly sculpted and toned, his dark brown hair looking far too put-together for a person who just crawled out of a boiling cauldron. Altogether, the man was incredibly handsome. If Harry didn't know the strange man had just emerged from a cauldron, he would've thought him to be some kind of model with his adonis like features. But even still, there was something about this man that put Harry on edge, an age-old instinct telling him to run far away, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

It wasn't until the man opened his eyes, his blood-red eyes, did Harry understand just how dangerous the man in front of him was.

Harry watched as the man was robed by a whimpering Wormtail, favoring his left arm stump, and stood tall. The man exuded a very commanding presence, and the overwhelming magical aura made Harry want to hunch in on himself until he disappeared from view. Why was the signature so familiar? Harry could swear he'd felt this magic before...

While Harry was pondering over who the mysterious man could be, Voldemort was standing in front of his worthless servant, debating on the merits of killing the blubbering fool. Pettigrew was whining at his bare feet, his bleeding stump raised towards Voldemort's wand arm.

"Master, please," he whimpered, tears rolling down his fat cheeks. Voldemort sneered in disgust as the rat-like man continued to push his bleeding arm towards him. "Master... Master."

"My wand, Wormtail." Voldemort said curtly, his words bordering on a hiss. Behind him, the Potter boy stiffened, but Voldemort would deal with the pest in a moment.

"Oh, Master! Thank you, Master, thank you!" Wormtail cried, using his good hand to reach into his robes and pull out a familiar wand.

Voldemort fought back a scoff at the hideous display of weakness in front of him. How pitiful. He waved his wand, fashioning a metal hand to replace the one Wormtail had lost. Despite the man's obvious flaws, Lord Voldemort was a merciful Lord, and he always favored loyalty. Wormtail wept when the metal hand attached to his stump, a mild pain reliever following shortly thereafter. "I am a merciful Lord," Voldemort cooed, a dangerous smirk resting on his face. "Never forget that."

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