Lightning Strikes Twice (Harry Potter)(Time Travel)

A/N: Here's the new Chapter! Which also means the next four chapters are up on my Patreon for early access as well as the chance to vote on the direction of the story!

We arrive at Little Hangleton at long last.

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If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say for a second there it looked like Fleur was going to lunge forward and grab the Champion’s Cup at the same time as him. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Ultimately, the beautiful French Witch takes a step back, looking somewhat stricken as she bites her lower lip and lets Harry go.

That really was for the best, because Fleur did not factor into his plans for this evening even slightly. Frankly, her presence would have been more than a little disruptive. In the end, this time around as Harry grabs hold of the Champion’s Cup and is whisked halfway across the country instead of to the victor’s stage… it’s fortunately just him. No one else.

He appears in that dark, foggy graveyard in Little Hangleton with a grunt, allowing himself to fall to a knee as he holds the Cup aloft. Making a good show of being confused and disoriented, Harry waits for the inevitable. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Incarcerous!”

Peter Pettigrew’s squeaky, rat-like voice comes out of the darkness. The lack of a ‘spare’ this time around leaves the ratty wizard to act much more decisively without his Lord even having to give the order. Harry finds himself bound in thick black rope in short order, along with the same black cloth from before to muffle any would be cries for help.

Harry makes a few, just to make sure he’s selling the act even as his wand is taken from him. He would never allow himself to be disarmed under normal circumstances, but in this case… he knew Voldemort all too well. He could read the Dark Lord like a book. Even if Tom didn’t intend to kill Harry in a duel, he would want to keep Harry’s wand as a trophy after executing him.

Dragged over to the tombstone of Voldemort’s father, Tom Riddle Senior, Harry is lashed down tightly. Not a moment later, Voldemort’s voice echoes through the graveyard.

“Initiate the ritual.”

“Y-yes Master.”

Wormtail’s hesitance is as clear this time as it was last time. Of course, Harry knows this time around that Peter isn’t nervous or anxious or hesitant because of his repeated betrayal of Harry and his family. No, regardless of what the little rat might say, he’d long gotten over all of that. Instead, Peter Pettigrew’s hesitation came from a place of selfishness and a soul-deep fear of pain and loss.

The first part of the ritual begins easily enough. Fiery sparks fill the cauldron as Peter initiates things with the cheaper ingredients. But then he gets to the important parts.

“B-Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”

Tossing one of Tom Riddle Senior’s bones into the cauldron isn’t a particularly hard moral struggle for Peter, but then he HAD dug the man up with little compunction. As the cauldron turns a poisonous blue, however, that’s when Wormtail hesitates. Only for a moment though. He’s afraid of the pain, but he’s far more afraid of his master in spite of Voldemort’s current form.

“Flesh… of the servant, w-willingly sacrificed… you will revive your master.”

He still pauses for a dreadfully long time over the massive cauldron though, holding his hand aloft with the knife. Finally, he cuts and screams, the lopped off appendage dropping into the bubbling concoction below, turning it a burning red color.

For a moment, Wormtail’s pain overwhelms him, causing the ratty wizard to drop to his knees and curl around his stump for a beat before Voldemort’s clipped voice echoes out again.

“Continue, Wormtail.”

Slowly, unsteadily drawing to his feet, Peter comes over to Harry, bloodied knife in his remaining hand. He’s too busy sniveling and whimpering to really pay Harry much mind, even as he drags Harry’s arm over the cauldron and gashes it deeply with the knife.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will r-resurrect your foe!”

Harry’s blood makes the potion turn… an almost blinding yellow. Interesting. The first time around, it had been white. Imperceptibly, Harry tenses up in case Voldemort notices the discrepancy and realizes something is wrong. The magic of all those witches and the pair of wizards that Harry has taken for himself roils beneath the surface, ready and waiting for things to go tits up.

But…

“Throw me in, Wormtail. Now.”

Voldemort’s orders make it clear he has no idea. To be fair, this WOULD be the first time that Tom had to perform this particular ritual and craft this particular regeneration potion. How unfortunate that whatever ancient text he’d found containing this particularly old piece of dark magic hadn’t been completely crystal clear on everything.

Harry watches, outwardly horrified but inwardly satisfied as Wormtail pulls away from him and reaches down for the cloaked lump that is Voldemort’s homunculus. Lifting the child-sized monstrosity up into the air with a hand and a stump isn’t easy, but Wormtail eventually manages it and after a few shaky steps, is able to lop Voldemort into the cauldron.

Harry watches on as yellow steam explodes upwards out of the cauldron. He watches as the dark outline of a man slowly rises too. Tall and skeletal thin, the Dark Lord Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, is resurrected back to his body in full.

“Robe.”

His voice is a lot stronger now. Far less… reedy. Wormtail hurries to garb his naked master, handing Voldemort a thick black robe that the Dark Lord languidly wraps around himself, clearly not in much of a hurry.

Stepping out of the cauldron, Voldemort’s eyes seek him out and they match gazes for the first time in this timeline… at least for this Harry anyways. Again, Harry internally tenses up just in case Voldemort sees through the careful façade of pain, horror, and terror that he’s currently putting on. But no, once again the Dark Lord seems to think he has everything well in hand if that smile that spreads across his face is any indication.

Turning away from Harry, Voldemort looks back to Wormtail.

“Wand.”

By this point, Peter has collapsed to his knees. But he doesn’t hesitate to pull Voldemort’s wand out of a jacket pocket with shaky fingers, holding it out to the Dark Lord.

“O-Of course Master. Ah, about my-!”

Before the ratty wizard can ask for a new hand, Voldemort cuts him off.

“Arm.”

Eyes lighting up in excitement, Wormtail lifts his bleeding stump up, only for the Dark Lord to sneer at him.

“Your other arm, Wormtail.”

Harry probably shouldn’t take as much petty pleasure in watching Peter’s face fall as he does, especially when he knows the bastard is due for a new hand in a short while longer anyways, but it’s still funny to see the man who got his parents killed look so damn dejected as he offers up his functioning arm to Voldemort.

Swiftly cutting away the clothing in the way, the Dark Lord reveals Wormtail’s Dark Mark in short order and with a particularly vicious jab of his wand into the center, he activates both it and every other Dark Mark in the world. It’s a nasty piece of business, that bit of magic. Basically soul binding, though Harry supposes he doesn’t have much room to talk on that front.

Almost immediately, Death Eaters start to arrive… but they still trickle in slowly over time. Time enough for Voldemort to turn to Harry and regale him once more with a sob story about his shitty childhood and his worthless parents. Tom Senior the muggle and Merope Riddle, the weak witch.

Harry… admittedly tunes him out. Oh sure, he’s still listening to make sure he doesn’t miss any cues or tip Voldemort off that something is wrong, but far more of his focus is on watching the Death Eaters arrive one by one. With how much magic he has now, even in their masks and cloaks Harry is able to identify each and every one of them. He has a list and he’s checking it twice, but when he’s done here tonight, they’re going to wish he was fucking Santa Claus.

One name after another is dashed off his mental checklist as Death Eater after Death Eater arrives in the graveyard until the place is chock full of them. Finally, Voldemort’s little story comes to an end… and he seems to have deemed it enough time as well as he turns and regards his Death Eaters with a wicked grin, sweeping his gaze over them all.

“My… it would seem some have not answered the call. I’m not surprised that the likes of Karkaroff would flee in the face of my revival, but Lucius? And yet… his darling wife still answers the call.”

One of the Death Eaters, female, steps forward and bows her head lowly. Narcissa Malfoy does not remove her mask or hood, but Voldemort clearly knows who everyone here is, just like Harry does. However, he does not realize that Harry has usurped control over Narcissa’s Dark Mark from him. That’s good. That means everything is proceeding according to plan still.

“Lucius… has been stripped of his magic, my Lord.”@@novelbin@@

For the first time, Voldemort pauses, his eyes narrowing in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

There’s some rustling amidst the other Death Eaters at that, even as Narcissa plays her role perfectly.

“I… h-he woke up one day as little more than a s-squib, claiming to all who would listen that you had come and taken his magic. Did you not… in order to reach this state?”

Again, Voldemort is forced to pause. Harry can practically see the wheels turning in the Dark Lord’s head. Did he lie and claim credit in order to instill greater fear in his subordinates? Or did he tell the truth and let them all know there was a threat to them outside of just his wrath? Harry can’t help but be curious which way the Dark Lord will fall…

“I did not. Lucius’ magicless state is no doing of mine. An enemy sought to undermine me… and your loyalty to me by masquerading as your Lord.”

Ah, so that was how he was going to play it. Voldemort’s eyes sweep over the assembled Death Eaters.

“Perhaps that is why you have all shown so little loyalty over the years. Only a scant few of you saw fit to seek out your Lord and extend your aid. Wormtail.”

Peter stumbles forward and Harry watches as the ratty wizard is given a silver hand for a second time. It’s of no matter, in the end. All of this… at this point, it’s all merely theater. Voldemort clearly thinks so too, even if he’s blinded to just who the main lead of this little production really is. Finally he turns to Harry and smirks.

“Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. My so-called… vanquisher.”

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort tears away Harry’s bindings and gag. None too gently of course, the magic results in Harry being yanked off of the tombstone and thrown harshly to the ground. A moment later and his wand clatters to the earth in front of him as well.

“Pick it up, Harry. Pick it up… and let’s have a duel, the two of us. Let us see how much power you truly have, O’ Conqueror of Dark Lords.”

Pretending to steel himself and find his resolve, Harry grabs up his wand and shakily forces himself to his feet. Cradling his ‘hurt’ arm close to his chest, he grimaces as he lifts his wand up. Voldemort, of course, takes the opportunity to smack him around a bit more under the guise of showing him a ‘proper dueling stance’. But finally… the Dark Lord is ready to get this show on the road.

“First, we bow.”

They bow.

“And then… we duel.”

The following few minutes are spent humiliating Harry with a few ‘harmless’ spell that would have left him with broken ribs if he wasn’t reinforcing his insides with magic. Voldemort fails to notice this though, as Harry looks more and more beat up and bloodied outwardly. Meanwhile, Harry is waiting for the right moment… until finally, it arrives.

The genial look on the Dark Lord’s snake like face drops to be replaced by the raw fury, rage, and hatred that Voldemort obviously feels over his decade and a half of incorporeal impotence at Harry’s supposed hands. With a sneer, he stabs his wand in Harry’s direction and intones his favorite spell.

“Avada Kedavra!”

It’s what Harry had been waiting for. Without missing a beat, he whips his own wand up and casts back… and he can tell he shocks Voldemort to his core when the exact same words fly from his lips as well.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The Dark Lord’s eyes widen in disbelief, even as the poisonous green light of both Killing Curses fills the graveyard… and then refuses to dissipate. Because of course, their wands share a core and that means Priori Incantatem is in effect. The two spells collide with one another in the middle of the space between the two of them.

However, unlike every other time Harry experienced Priori Incantatem alongside Tom, he has no intention of turning this one into a tug of war… even if it’s one he would have obviously won easily. But killing Tom Riddle here tonight was never the plan. No, that would be much, much too easy. Too simple. Too… good for the Dark Lord.

Instead of letting the Priori Incantatem effect play out as it normally would, Harry immediately reaches out with his magic and grabs ahold of it. Magic is, at its core, malleable. It wants to be used. It wants to be controlled, in a way. And Harry has become very good at controlling… even forging magic to his own ends.

Even as he sees Voldemort realize something is wrong, Harry feels the wards go up around the graveyard and smiles wickedly as the Death Eaters all begin to figure out that something has gone horribly wrong as well. In that moment, all of their emergency portkeys have suddenly been disabled by the anti-portkey ward that was just cast, and apparation has also been shut down by the anti-apparation ward that went up alongside it.

The two wards were not cast by Harry himself, but they might as well have been. In fact, even as he’s reshaping the Priori Incantatem Effect between himself and Voldemort, he happily feeds some excess magic down the connection between him… and Bella.

In the back of the graveyard, Bella comes like a vengeance, disabling Death Eater after Death Eater before they can even react. When they finally do start to turn and muster up a defense, shock at exactly who is attacking them combined with Narcissa’s betrayal from behind means even more readily fall to the Black Sisters’ wands.

Letting the façade of a determined but in over his head ‘hero’ fade away, Harry meets Voldemort’s red eyes with his own glittering emeralds and smiles wickedly, letting the Dark Lord know once and for all just how fucked he truly is.

[ ] Switch to Narcissa's POV - 9%