reputation - (h.p.)

1.21 . a corpse of infinite wasted potential

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

harry.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

"KILL THE SPARE."

       "Avada Kedavra!"

       "NO!" Harry could do nothing, nothing at all except for watch as sickening green sparks flew from Peter Pettigrew's wand and twisted through the cold air until they hit their target square in the chest. Cedric Diggory didn't stand a chance — he was flipped to his back with a thud, eyes lifelessly staring into the night, wand still clutched uselessly in his fingers. Harry didn't even have time to feel the tears prick behind his eyes before a force was pushing him adamantally backwards, leaving him stumbling over his feet as he backed up to the large statue that marked the grave of Riddle. The stone figure, a grim reaper with ironic wings, lowered its scythe over the boy's chest and held him in place as he tried to get out.

       The strange bundle of robes in Wormtail's arm spoke in the same raspy whisper it used to sentence Cedric to death. "Do it. Now!"

       Wormtail followed obiently, turning to the cauldron coming to a simmer behind him. He raised the bundle high above his head before dropping it into the storm of brewing bubbles.

       "Bone of the father, unwillingly given," Wormtail directed his wand to the grave beneath Harry's feet, from which a singular bone rose to hover above the cauldron before the man dropped it in to join the bundle. "Flesh of the servent, willingly sacrificed." Wormtail's entire body shook as he pulled a dagger from his cloak and held it to his right wrist. In one clean swoop, his hand fell into the mix with a splash that made Harry feel like heaving. The boy closed his eyes at the sound of Pettigrew's screams echoing through the graveyard. It took him a minute to recover before Wormtail looked back at Harry with madness in his eyes. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken." The boy could do nothing but squirm as Wormtail raised the same blood-soaked dagger to Harry's own forearm and sliced open his skin, bringing a scream from his lips. Pettigrew scurried back to the cauldron to flick the crimson liquid from the dagger and into the concoction. "The Dark Lord shall rise again."

       The white froth turned a murky red at the addition of the blood and the bubbles rose to a boil. Let it drown, was all Harry could think through his pain and fear. Let it drown. Let it drown.

       But it didn't drown. Rather, the pot errupted into flames until it melted away entirely, leaving behind only a near-human creature that was slowly growing and forming. Harry closed his eyes, he couldn't watch. Only when the noise quieted and the graveyard felt still did he dare himself to look at the thing in front of him. Wearing robes constructed of the shadows that surrounded him, was a creature with skin so smooth and flat he looked almost snake-like. But Harry knew that Wormtail's spell had not gone awry. He didn't need to see his face or hear his voice to know that this was Voldemort standing with his back to him.

       He stood silently for what felt like an eternity of horrifying anticipation, before he finally stepped forward toward the quivering man in front of him. "My wand, Wormtail." The servant obeyed, pulling a wand from his cloak and extending it to his master in a bow. Voldemort took it, then said with no identifiable emotions, "Hold out your arm."

       Wormtail broke into a groveling smile, raising his right stump of a hand. "Master, thank you, Master—"

       "Your other arm, Wormtail."