Harry groggily opened his eyes, and the first thing he felt was that he could not move. At the same time, he became aware of something else as well, just as quickly… something… something seemed to be stuffed into his mouth.
His eyes bulged. His brain completely ignored the rest of his situation because, when he tried to breathe around it, the taste… Merlin… it was so foul, damp, and completely wrong, flooding his mouth and nose so badly his eyes watered on the spot.
He could not gag, not even turn his head or spit it out, and was forced to endure as it choked off the air and the colorful vocabulary he very much wanted to unleash right now.
Two beads of tears slipped from the corners of his eyes… this… this was not in the script. He did not sign up for this. He wanted to scream, and his gaze darted up to the sky.
Unfortunately, the one he wanted to complain to was not there, only the eerie sky and complete darkness.
Endure. Endure. That was all he could do. Calm down first.
He shut his eyes, repeating it to himself, but it was not helping. He would rather be hit with a Cruciatus than deal with whatever disgusting thing was in his mouth.
Endure. Endure... Two more teardrops slipped from the corners of his eyes before they opened again, then finally darted downward to take in his situation.
Thick ropes bound his body tight, fastening him against the creepy, grim reaper-like statue beside the headstone. He tried to struggle, but it was useless.
Well, this much was expected, if only this disgusting thing… never mind.
Peter Pettigrew, right. He remembered seeing that fat face before he was forced into this situation, so he looked around, but there was no sign of anyone, except for the strange thing in front of him.
Some distance ahead, his wand lay abandoned on the ground. Not far from it stood a large, old black pot, its surface dull in the faint light. And beside it…
He blinked... is that a floating cart?
No, that's not important, because inside it, when he looked closer, there seemed to be a baby… no, babies can't be that ugly. It was a small humanoid creature, cradled in dark robes, and it was staring right at him.
Gulp. When his eyes met its slit, snake-like pupils, he couldn't help but swallow a dry mouthful. He didn't need to guess the identity of that thing. In fact, he had seen it, well, that face at least, on the back of Professor Quirrell's head during his first year.
"Harry… Potter… we meet… again…"
Voldemort's hoarse voice filled the eerie air, making the hair on Harry's body stand on end. It did not matter how much he had prepared, how many simulations he had run, in this moment, he was genuinely terrified.
He watched it drift closer, speaking to him in that soft yet inhuman voice, "You stand upon the remains of my late father… a Muggle fool… very much like your dear mother. And yet… they both had their uses, did they not?"
"Your mother… she chose to die for you… and now, we shall see how useful my father proves himself… in death."
Harry's expression grew furious hearing the piece of filth talk about his mother like that, and he had more than several things he wanted to spit back, but the gag in his mouth was not helping.
After saying all that, Harry then saw Voldemort turn around and float near the gigantic dark pot. Meanwhile, from a distance, he could see two people approaching. It was Peter Pettigrew and the person who had brought him here.
Each of them carried something in their arms, large wooden trays held carefully in front of them, piled with things Harry could not make sense of, shapes and objects that looked wrong even from a distance.
Once again, he was made to endure and watch. Peter Pettigrew and the other man kept pouring the things they had brought into the large black cauldron, chanting in a language he could not understand. Soon, he heard the sound of bubbling rising from within it. Even though there were no flames beneath, it sounded as though something thick inside was boiling.
Crunch…
Suddenly, he heard something rustling from below, and he slowly darted his eyes, before they bulged wide… it was a gigantic snake, slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied.
Gulp. He swallowed again, beads of sweat pouring down his forehead. The large snake glanced up at him as well, and he could swear it blinked, almost as if it knew something.
Whoosh!
His head turned again at the sound and saw Peter Pettigrew busying himself, crouching near the bottom of the cauldron as he lit it with flames. The giant snake slithered toward it as well, and for a second he thought it was going to take a dip inside, but then it suddenly turned its head and disappeared into the darkness.
From what he had been told by Professor Caesar, Voldemort would use him for his resurrection, his blood, apparently. There had not been many details given to him about it, but he was getting a bad feeling, watching the group of scum busy with their ritual… that cauldron looked far too big… would he be dropped in whole instead of just giving some of his blood?
His expression grew more and more terrified the more his brain processed what he was seeing. He had been told to act scared, but it seemed he did not have to try for it. He was genuinely terrified.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat up very fast. The surface began not only to bubble but to spit fiery sparks, as though it were on fire, and the steam thickened, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending to it.
The other person had not stopped his actions either, chanting in that strange language, and by now he must have dropped more than a dozen items into it.
"Hurry!"
Once again, Harry heard that high, cold voice, after which Wormtail bowed his rat-like face toward the floating cradle. "It is ready, my Master."
"Now…" said the cold voice again.
Then, before Harry's horrified eyes, Wormtail pulled open the black robes of the creature inside that floating cradle-like thing, revealing what lay within, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled by the wad of disgusting material stuffed in his mouth.
Merlin… it was ugly. Slimy, and blind, but worse, far worse. The small creature had the shape of a crouched human child, except Harry had never seen anything less like a child.
It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw reddish-black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face… never had he seen a baby's face like that, or any face for that matter, flat and snake-like, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms and wrapped them around Peter's neck, and Peter lifted it. Harry expected a look of revulsion on Peter's face, but in the pale firelight, as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron, there was only a look of worship.
Truly disgusting.
However, forget that. What he saw next made his skin crawl. He saw Peter then lowered the creature into the cauldron and dropped it, actually dropped it into the boiling, disgusting liquid. There was only a hiss before it vanished beneath the surface, Harry even heard something hit the bottom with a soft thud.
What kind of Merlin-forsaken, dark and disgusting ritual would require something to be boiled alive? He, for sure, did not want to be part of it.
He was already somewhat regretting signing up to participate, but unfortunately, he was already in far too deep, and now it did not seem he had much of a choice. Hopefully, he would not have to take a dip inside as well.
"Bone of the father, unwillingly given, you will renew your son!"
His eyes darted to Wormtail again. The fat man's voice was shaking as he chanted the eerie phrases, he looked frightened out of his wits.
He saw the rat then raise his wand and aim toward him…
Wait… he wanted to shout, but could only wail against the gag, his eyes bulging before he shut them without thinking.
However, he did not feel the impact of any magic hit him, only the sharp sound of a crack, and he slowly opened his eyes again.
Below him, he saw the surface of the grave beneath his feet crack. He was horrified, for a second he expected a bony hand to burst out of it.
Well, it was a bone, but it did not burst out. It floated up slowly, trailing a fine trickle of dust at Wormtail's command, and under his guidance, it dropped into the cauldron.
The silvery surface of the liquid inside it then broke and hissed, sending sparks in all directions before turning a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
"Flesh... of the servant... w-willingly given... you will... revive... your master."
Wormtail began to whimper again, speaking those eerie phrases, then pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak.
His face was full of unwillingness, even breaking into sobs. He then stretched his right hand out in front of him, the hand with the missing finger, directly above the large cauldron, before gripping the dagger tightly in his left hand…
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened, and he shut his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, cutting through him as though he had been stabbed with the dagger as well.
He heard the slicing sound, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, something had been dropped into the cauldron.
Harry opened his eyes again and saw the thick liquid had turned a burning red, the glow of it reflecting in his pupils.
Wormtail, meanwhile, was crouching down, gasping and moaning in agony. To the fat pig's credit, that must have taken a lot of guts. One of the rat's arms, halfway from the elbow, was now missing clean, and blood kept gushing like a fountain.
That scene… it was gruesome, disgusting, and terrifying all at once, and Harry didn't have it in him to keep looking. His eyes then darted to the other man, and he saw he had been standing still, only watching without a change in expression. Did he have to cut off an arm too? he wondered, when suddenly he felt an anguished breath on his face and saw that Wormtail was right in front of him now…
Harry's eyes widened. One… the rat's breath stank. Two, the tip of the dagger that had just cut off Wormtail's own arm was now pointed right at his eyeballs.
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