Harry Potter with Technology System

The spell continued, but it wasn’t clean. The magic twisted, unstable. Dudley, oblivious as ever, just stood there with a self-satisfied grin, convinced he’d done something grand.

Harry resisted the urge to scoff. So this was what they been up to? Running to Voldemort, begging for magic like a couple of desperate fools? He would’ve laughed if it weren’t so pathetic.

The cauldron’s surface suddenly turned glassy, smooth and motionless for half a second—then exploded upward in a violent surge. A column of smoke shot into the sky, and from within, a figure slowly rose.

Voldemort.

His body was restored, tall and skeletal, his pale skin stretched thin over sharp features. Red eyes gleamed through the mist, and long, clawed fingers flexed at his sides as he took his first breath in his new form. He stood there, silent for a moment, taking in his surroundings.

Wormtail, still panting, dropped to his knees. “My Lord… it worked! You have returned!”

The Dark Lord’s fingers twitched, eyes narrowing. The spell had worked. He was whole. But something was missing. A certainty he had expected—gone, replaced by something foreign. A mistake. Somewhere, somehow… a mistake had been made.

Voldemort didn’t respond right away. His gaze swept over the graveyard, lingering on Rookwood, then Wormtail, then Dudley and Vernon—before finally landing on the Polyjuiced double.

There was a pause. Then his eyes narrowed.

Harry watched, amused, as realization began to set in.

Something was wrong.

The ritual had worked. Voldemort was standing there, fully resurrected, but the magic still felt… off. The air hadn’t settled. The tension still hung thick, as if the spell itself wasn’t entirely convinced of its own success.

Rookwood took a cautious step forward. “My Lord?”

Voldemort ignored him, raising his own hand. He clenched his fingers into a fist, then released them, testing his own magic. The air rippled with dark energy, but it was… different.

Voldemort’s gaze snapped to the Polyjuiced double, his expression darkening. He extended a pale hand toward Wormtail, who scrambled to hand over the wand he had retrieved from Godric’s Hollow all those years ago. Voldemort rolled it between his fingers before flicking his wrist, sending a sharp pulse of magic through the air. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Then, he turned to the second wand—the one Rookwood had taken from the double. His fingers barely brushed it before he frowned. A quick motion, and with a sharp crack, the wand snapped in two.

“It’s a fake,” Voldemort said, letting the broken pieces fall to the ground. His eyes flickered back to the bound figure, narrowing in suspicion. “And so is he.”

The graveyard was silent for a moment, except for the bubbling of the cauldron. Rookwood’s wand twitched slightly, his eyes darting between the double and Voldemort, catching onto what had just happened.

Voldemort’s gaze shifted, locking onto a seemingly empty space a few feet away. His lips curled. “You truly thought you could trick me?”

The Polyjuiced double inhaled sharply, but Harry—hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, pressed against a tombstone—remained still.

Harry wasn’t surprised. “So, Voldemort can sense my presence. Or rather, he can sense cloak's. Same as Dumbledore.” He had suspected it before, but now it was confirmed.

Nigel, sounding truly regretful, spoke up. “Sorry, Harry. This is another one of those secrets. Like the Horcrux thing. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I can’t say more.”

Harry didn't mind. When he first got the Invisibility Cloak, even system couldn’t identify it. Later, Nigel explained that it was tied to one of the three entities of creation. At the time, Harry had no idea what that meant, but once he mastered Astral Form, he recognized the same energy in Dumbledore. And now, standing here in the graveyard, he could sense it again—faint, but present—coming from Voldemort. It was weaker than Dumbledore’s, not as defined, but it was there.

It made sense. Back in his first year, when he’d snuck past Fluffy and into the final chamber, Quirrelmort had been able to find him under the cloak. It hadn’t been sight, not in the usual way. More like… awareness. Voldemort had known he was there even when he should have been invisible.

And now, here they were again. Different setting, same problem. Voldemort might not be able to see him outright, but he could feel something. The cloak, its presence, or whatever magic was tied to it—Voldemort was aware.

Harry exhaled through his nose. The Polyjuiced double was doing his part well, keeping his face carefully blank despite the attention now focused on him. Wormtail, still clutching his bleeding stump, glanced nervously between Voldemort and Rookwood. Dudley looked vaguely confused, like he wasn’t sure if he should be proud of himself or worried. Vernon, ever the idiot, just looked smug.

Voldemort stepped forward, his skeletal fingers curling slightly. "You thought to deceive me," he mused, his voice smooth but edged with something sharp. His red eyes lingered on the double before flicking to the space where Harry stood hidden. "A clever trick. But not clever enough."

Voldemort grabbed Wormtail’s arm and pressed his wand to the Dark Mark, expecting his loyal Death Eaters to arrive. He stood still for a few seconds, waiting. Nothing happened. His red eyes flickered, his fingers tightening around his wand. The silence stretched.

Rookwood shifted uncomfortably. Dudley glanced around, clearly confused. Even Wormtail, still clutching his bleeding stump, risked a glance at his arm, as if hoping the mark would suddenly start burning.

Voldemort’s expression darkened. “Cowards!” he spat, voice sharp. His fingers flexed, then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent Wormtail stumbling back. His patience had run out.

He turned his attention back to the empty space where he had sensed Harry, raising his wand. “No matter. You will not leave here alive—”

The words barely left his mouth before he realized something was off. The double was gone. So was the Cup.

Voldemort’s red eyes flickered across the graveyard. His expression didn’t change, but the tension in his shoulders told enough. He had miscalculated.

Harry, miles away, landed with a thud inside Hogwarts’ boundaries, standing just outside the maze’s entrance. The cool night air hit him, the sounds of distant cheers and the shifting hedges around the Quidditch Pitch filtering through the quiet. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders.

That had been too close.

A voice echoed in his mind. "Harry, this was ridiculously dangerous."

He didn’t respond.

Nigel continued anyway. "I admit, your plan was brilliant. But you cannot expect everything to work out as you wish. Lucky for you, Voldemort, as he is now, isn’t complete. The ritual was botched. I can see it—he cannot cast spells as easily as when he was at his peak. That’s why he was delaying."

Harry considered that. It made sense. The resurrection had worked, but not perfectly. The instability in the magic, the hesitation before casting—it lined up. It wasn’t enough to make Voldemort weak, but it meant he wasn’t at full strength.

Good.

Harry glanced around. The stands were still full, the task still ongoing, though he could see Fleur’s wand sparks lighting up somewhere within the maze. He had returned without anyone noticing. That was all he needed.

"One more thing," Nigel said after a pause. "Dudley and Vernon. I can guess your thoughts, but…"

Harry snorted. "They can rot for all I care."

Nigel didn’t press further.

Harry sent the double back into Potter Haven. He had no intention of letting that Death Eater out again. The man knew too much, and while Harry wasn’t going to kill him, he also wasn’t stupid enough to release someone who could expose his plans. The fool had served his purpose—he could rot in the forest.

Tucking the Invisibility Cloak away, Harry turned his attention to the Triwizard Cup in his hand. The weight of it was meaningless compared to what it represented. Voldemort was back. The world needed to know.

He checked the magical recording he’d taken—Rookwood, Wormtail, and Voldemort standing together in the graveyard. It didn’t capture the ritual itself, nor the double’s presence, nor Voldemort’s words about him being a fake. Just enough to prove the Dark Lord’s return.

With that settled, he turned and started walking toward the exit of the maze. The thick hedges shifted slightly as he moved, the air still humming with residual magic from the task’s enchantments. He ignored it. There was nothing left in this maze that could pose a real challenge to him.

--

The connection between the Deathly Hallows isn’t new, and it is not my original idea either. I am not even sure if it is canon or fanon, but in the books, Dumbledore can always sense Harry, even when he is under the Invisibility Cloak. I hinted at this all the way back in first year. When Harry appeared at the Mirror of Erised, Quirrelmort sensed him despite the Cloak. That was intentional. Later, Harry hid the Cloak and used the Invisibility Ring instead, to sell the idea that it was the Ring that made him invisible, not the Cloak. That wasn’t just misdirection but was a strategy. Because by then, he already suspected Voldemort could sense him somehow.