Chapter 98 - 98. Graveyard (1/2)

Ryan felt his feet slam into the ground; Dove behind the nearest tombstone and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head and looked around watching as Harry struggled to his feet looking around confused and dazed. Ryan saw the cauldron in the distance with Pettigrew walking towards Harry. Ryan slipped a shadow near it to wait for the proper time he did the same with pettigrew. He hated traitors.

Harry saw pettigrew And then, before Harry's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.

Pettigrew in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.

TOM RIDDLE

Ryan watched all this happen from the side. he watched as pettigrew did the ritual for babymort and threw him into the cauldron watched as a naked voldemort with a mini penis rose from it. maybe that's why he's so angry and never took advantage of Bella he'd be laughed out of leadership I'd be mad too with a mini penis. To Ryans shock the snake nagini was here Ryan did a quick dash and grab with his shadow and sucked it into the kingdom wrapping it in chains in a cell.

Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

”My Lord. . . ” he choked, ”my Lord. . . you promised. . . you did promise. . . ”

”Hold out your arm,” said Voldemort lazily.

”Oh Master. . . thank you, Master. . . ”

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

”The other arm, Wormtail. ”

”Master, please. . . please. . . ”

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow and pressed his wand against the dark mark. At this point Ryan had shadows everywhere hidden he only had a little over 10 and 1 was in voldemorts shadow so he hoped he had got a lot of death eaters last time.

”How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. ”And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

”You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly. ”A Muggle and a fool. . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child. . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death. . . . ”

Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked (ah villain Monologues.... wait I do those too? Ryan thought inwardly) The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward. . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes.

”Master. . . Master. . . ” he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

”Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. ”Thirteen years. . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.

”I smell guilt,” he said. ”There is a stench or guilt upon the air.

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare to step back from him.

”I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact – such prompt appearances! and I ask myself. . . why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.

”And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, ”they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment . . . .

”And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

”And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another. . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

”It is a disappointment to me. . . I confess myself disappointed. . . . ”

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

”Master!” he shrieked, ”Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”