Harry twirled his wand lazily between his fingers as he advanced, Fleur stepping close behind him, silent but radiating tension like a drawn bow.
On the ground, the small, grotesque form that had been cradled by Pettigrew was struggling, tiny limbs flailing helplessly against the fabric wrapped around it.
"Tom," Harry repeated, his voice light, almost teasing. "I thought you'd at least put on a better show for us. A very poor first impression, if I'm honest."
A ragged hiss escaped the creature's mouth. Its tiny face contorted with rage, needle-like teeth bared. "P-Potter," it managed at last, words grating and barely comprehensible. "You… dare?"
Harry arched an eyebrow, unruffled. "I daresay I do, Tom."
The creature writhed harder, managing to loosen the robes around its misshapen body. "I am Lord Voldemort," it spat, though its voice cracked pathetically on the name. "Mock me now, but I will rise again. I always rise."
"Harry…" Fleur murmured, wand steady at her side. "What do we do with it?"
Harry tilted his head, studying the thing that was Voldemort—or what remained of him. There was no grandeur here. No towering menace. Just a shrivelled, half-formed monster clinging to life through some obscene magic.
"We give him what he wants," Harry said simply, his green eyes flashing with cruel amusement.
'What?' Fleur established a mind link, her confusion rippling through their connection. 'You want to help him?'
'In a manner of speaking,' Harry replied silently, his smile widening as he raised his wand. 'Well, we won't be giving him a body. But creating another Horcrux?'
They didn't talk about what they'd do once they found Voldemort. Fleur assumed killing him again would be the only option available…
Harry let out a low, mirthless chuckle, wand now pointed at the writhing shape on the floor. The twisted, miniature Voldemort glared up at him, red eyes burning with hatred—and perhaps, beneath that, a flicker of unease. In that tiny body, the Dark Lord's power was feeble—no threat at all.
"Help me, Pettigrew!" Voldemort snarled, voice pitched high and desperate. "Do not cower like a worm. I have not fallen so far that I need to endure this insolence."
Fleur's gaze flicked towards Pettigrew, who crouched nearby, trembling. She raised her wand warningly, but waited for Harry's cue.
Harry gave a short laugh, addressing Voldemort again. "But you did. Pettigrew can't save you now, Tom. Neither can any of your followers. You're here, alone, and at my mercy."
Voldemort tried to shift, to lunge, but all he managed was an awkward twitch of his small, twisted limbs. "You think this is mercy? You think me powerless?" A hacking laugh, raw and caustic, rattled in his throat. "You fool… You have no idea what forces you tamper with. I have delved deeper into the Dark Arts than any other wizard. You cannot hope to—"
A burst of magic started concentrating in front of Voldemort but Harry swept his wand in a tight arc, a spark of dark energy dancing from the tip, and stopped him. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm tampering with," he said softly, cutting Voldemort off.
"More than you could guess. You always did fear death, didn't you? Clinging to life by shredding your soul bit by bit." He let out a derisive snort. "Tell me, Tom—does it taste as bitter now that you're the one whimpering on the ground?"
Voldemort's red eyes flared. "I do not fear death. I transcend it!"
"Right," Harry said, unimpressed. "Consider this, then: I'm about to store what remains of you in something small, something I can keep close. You'll be trapped, powerless. And when I destroy your other Horcruxes, this final scrap of your soul will wait, day after day, until I decide how to finish you. Imagine it, Tom… stripped of your minions, your immortality—just a silent piece of you, caged at my whim."
For the briefest instant, true fear flickered in Voldemort's scarlet gaze. Then he spat, "You don't know what you are talking about."
"I wish that was true," Harry said quietly.
Pettigrew let out a strangled whimper. Instinctively, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the trembling man. He knew Fleur would handle it.
Fleur's lip curled in disgust as a wave of dark power pulsed through the clearing, stirring her silver hair and making her skin prickle. She turned sharply, wand aimed at Pettigrew, who crouched pitifully on the grass. With neither preamble nor hesitation, she muttered a transfiguration incantation.
A flicker of light engulfed Pettigrew's form. One moment, he was a snivelling man. The next, he was gone—replaced by a tiny, pitch-black pebble glinting in the moonlight. Fleur summoned it and pushed it into her pocket without ceremony.
Meanwhile, Harry turned back to Voldemort, wand hovering mere inches from the half-formed creature's face. Voldemort snarled something unintelligible, but there was a tremor in his voice.
"You always thought you were unique," Harry said softly, "a Lord of the Dark Arts who'd cheat death forever. The truth is, you're predictable. I know these rituals better than you think."
He began chanting incantations not often spoken aloud—words older than Hogwarts, older than any magic taught within its walls. A sinister shimmer coalesced at the tip of his wand, threads of shadowy energy twisting in the half-light.
Voldemort let out a ragged scream. "You cannot do this to me… I am the greatest wizard—"
But his words broke off in a choking cry as a surge of power lashed out, and his shrivelled body contorted. The main essence of his soul tore itself free of the weakened flesh. The body went limp.
Harry held firm, directing that writhing, ethereal shape into a single, unassuming pebble at his feet. It glowed ominously for a moment, then dulled.
Fleur breathed out a shaky sigh as the tension in the clearing abruptly eased. The monstrous presence that had lurked behind Voldemort's eyes vanished, and an oppressive hush descended.
With careful deliberation, Harry stooped to pick up the pebble, examining it with a detached curiosity before tucking it into a small pouch at his belt.
"Harry…" Fleur's voice was unsteady, but resolute. "Is it… done?"
Harry allowed himself a tired smile. "Yes..."
They both looked down at the spot where Voldemort had lain, now empty of life or sound.
"The only thing left," Harry said, straightening, "is to find the last shards of his soul and finish this." His voice held quiet determination. "Then he'll have nowhere to hide."
Fleur tried to manage a small nod. "So… nothing can go wrong, right?"
Harry let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Right."
.
.
.
Discord Link... [https://discord.com/invite/NJ3WV9RVgR] -> I'll be online today for a few hours.
Patreon Link: [https://www.patreon.com/Mr_0ne] or do a Google search of 'Patreon Fake Violinist'
Chapter 106: Back
Chapter 107: Cooking
...
Chapter 114: Order 'Fawkes the Traitor'