Hogwarts was holding its breath.
Everyone walked around with an extra bounce in their step, swiveling their heads slightly, on the lookout for something or anything fresh and new. Voices conversed with a little more volume; a little extra excitement. Clearly, something was coming, everyone knew that, they just couldn't tell precisely what it would be.
Harry observed this carefully as he hovered on his Firebolt. He was outside the castle, close enough to the ground for his feet to almost touch the grass. As one of the first warm days of the dawning spring, plenty of students had come outside to enjoy themselves. It almost looked like they were exploring the grounds for the first time, so many of them were looking for things that might be out of place.
In short, everyone knew the third task of the tournament was soon to be upon them. Less than a week stood between the spectators and the climax. Still, Harry didn't recall this much fervor from his past lives. Had his antics really enhanced the spectacle this much?
"Is there something interesting?"
Not far away, Sue Li had been reclining on her back, napping in the sun with a book laid across her eyes. She sat up, the book tumbling into her lap as she gave Harry a quizzical look.
"I wasn't expecting the tournament to garner this much excitement," Harry said.
Sue looked at him flatly.
"They want to see how it goes wrong," she explained.
"Wrong?"
This time, she sighed out loud.
"The first task was attacked by a half-blood supremacy terrorist, leading to a public duel with the headmaster and the crowning of a new national hero. The second task turned into an orgy. Fleur Delacour put on a performance right in front of the crowd, and I've heard private whispers that most couples got lucky that night after watching something so arousing. Seeing her go even got me wet. I can hardly imagine what the effect was like on boys."
"Lots of blood, all flowing down," Harry added helpfully.
"The point is," Sue said, "that every time the tournament rolls around, something exceptional happens. That's what they're desperate to see. Luckily for them, I can't imagine the last task will be an exception. What are you planning?"
"Planning?" Harry said.
"Don't play coy."
"Coy? Who's that? I haven't heard of her."
"You're impossible."
"No," he said. "I'm Harry."
"Are you out here to bother the locals?" asked a different girl's voice.
Harry looked down the hill, spotting Daphne Greengrass coming toward them. The Slytherin was as pretty as ever, especially these days, when she smiled more easily and freely than she ever had before.
She and Sue shared a look as they both sized each other up.
"He's awful, isn't he?" Daphne began in a conversational turn.
"The worst," Sue agreed, smiling. "How do you know him?"
"He married me."
"As in… You're now his wife?"
"Yes, along with my sister and mother. Though, really, we're the ones who got him involved first."
"He mostly butted into my business," Sue said. "Although I couldn't be more grateful for it happening. Everything that's come after has been… testing. Though in a fun way."
"An apt way to put it," Daphne said.
She approached, sat down in the grass, and offered Sue a smile. "I think I'd like to hear more of the stories you have to tell."
"Nothing incriminating now," Harry warned Sue.
"That's going to be difficult," she told him.
"I'm quite sure that I watched you detonate an unkillable race of quasi-demons alongside Britain's foremost prison," Daphne said to Harry. "I doubt there's anything more incriminating that I could hear."
To her shock, Sue laughed.
"You underestimate the stories I have," Sue said.
Harry looked between the two, wondering if he ought to let this continue, before deciding that they looked to be having fun. There was no reason to stop them.
Besides, the stories that Sue had to tell were ones only Daphne could believe, or someone who had been similarly subjected to his charming brand of insanity.
Kicking off the ground, Harry hovered in the air, announcing, "I'm off to check something."
Both girls looked at him, Daphne nodding and Sue giving him a wave.
When he left, Sue was describing in detail exactly how a Nian had conveniently arrived all the way in Britain in time to be captured for the Triwizard tournament. Daphne was leaning in, listening closely. Harry smiled as he accelerated his broom.
He streaked through the sky, traveling over the Forbidden Forest right above top of the trees. He veered in the direction of Hogsmeade, then went past it, traveling into the small but rugged mountains that lay not far beyond the town. There, he began to trace a familiar route, until he found the entrance to a rocky cave.
When Harry arrived, he saw that he had gotten his timing spot-on. A scraggly dog was hiking out of the treeline, making for the same cave that Harry had spotted. Sliding off of his broom, Harry landed not far away, bending his knees to dull the sound of his body striking the ground. His cloak enveloped him, called upon as effortlessly as his wands could be.
The dog turned its head toward the sound but saw nothing. He watched as the hound sniffed the air. A silent spell masked Harry's scent. Deciding that it must be nothing, the dog completed its walk.
Right on the threshold of the cave, the animal stopped and quite furtively cast its gaze about. It was a distinctly calculated and human gesture. A moment later, the dog morphed, becoming a slightly haggard yet handsome man.
Harry took a moment to admire his godfather alive and (relatively) well. He'd gotten used to seeing plenty of the man in his last life. He was, after all, hardly going to let Bellatrix kill him again. All the same, Sirius had gone to the afterlife ahead of Harry by a good three decades. It had been quite a while since Harry actually laid eyes on him. For once, despite largely considering his third chance to be a curse, Harry felt a spark of warmth in his heart.
Wherever Sirius had been hiding overseas, it allowed him to take better care of himself than Harry remembered from his time as an outlaw. His hair had been cut recently and his beard was only slightly overgrown. His robes were fairly neat as well. Good, good. That would smoothen this process.
Sirius dug at his pocket, bringing out a letter, crumpled from repeated readings. Harry recognized it as one of his own. Sirius read the words a handful more times, glanced up at the cave, and spoke to himself. "This has to be the place. Can't be that many caves sitting around, can there? No, it's got to be this one…"
He marched into the cave, and — still hidden beneath his cloak — Harry followed.
Sirius kept walking. By the way he occasionally jerked his chin, Harry could tell he was surprised by the depth of the natural feature. Still, he kept going, until he quite abruptly stopped dead, eyes going wider than saucers. From deeper within the cave, a woman's singing could be heard.
"Shit!" Sirius cursed.
He turned and tried to run but Harry wasn't having that. Sirius found himself running straight into a wall of conjured foam and bouncing off. The way he'd come in was entirely blocked off.
"What the fu—" Sirius said.
He stopped talking as his voice reached the cave's first occupant, halting the singing. Sirius spun around and staggered up to his feet, pulling his wand out.
There was light from deeper in the cave. In fact, when looking closely, you could see that the end of the cave looked like a real room. There were rugs covering every inch of the uncouth muddy ground, chairs and a bed were present, tables supported glittering candles, and the melted wax had been enchanted, lending the whole cave the alluring scent of pine nuts.
Finally, there was a large wooden washbin full of hot steaming water. It was occupied by a woman, who leaned against the edge when she heard Sirius. She rested her elbows on the rim of the tub, making no attempt to hide her breasts, letting the huge dark-tipped mounds face Sirius. Her dark hair and eyes glittered. She looked fantastic and she was well aware of it. Shame could be kept by uglier women.
"Sirius Black," she said.
"And you're… You're…" Sirius hesitated. "Sorry, I'm distracted."
The woman laughed. "Sofia Zabini. Italy's loveliest flower."
"I've got a nickname too," Sirius said, running at the mouth and staring at her tits. "It's, uh… It's Padfoot. Not all that flashy. But it's been with me through a lot."
"Well, Padfoot, are you aware that you are a wanted man?"
Sirius lifted his eyes to meet Sofia's. He might've been a horny bastard, but he wasn't stupid. His grip on his wand got tighter. "It would've been hard to miss the way my life's been going. I'm falsely accused, though. Not that my word goes for much these days. Is there a reason you're in my cave?"
"Your cave?" Sofia asked.
"Well, I was told it was empty. So I came to move in. You seem to have moved in first." Sirius gazed at the assembled furniture. "You did it a lot better than I would've managed. Not sure why you'd bother, though. People don't generally move into caves unless the Aurors are out for them."
Sofia giggled and stood up, shedding water off the shoulders of her dark body. An untamed jungle covered her crotch. Sofia remained unabashed as she stepped out of the tub, obtaining a towel from a nearby table, flashing Sirius with her expansive ass in the process.
"The Aurors only come after those who leave evidence behind. I never do," Sofia said.
"Or, people who don't commit crimes."
"Like you?" Sofia asked. "False accusations, I believe you said."
Sirius winced. "Point."
Sofia wrapped the towel around herself, the range spanning from her nipples to just below her crotch, only narrowly passing each threshold.
"You are a Black," Sofia said.
"A bad one, my mother always used to say."
"But now the only one. Is that correct?"
"Pretty close," Sirius admitted.
"You are the heir?"
"Last I checked," Sirius said.
Sofia smirked. She walked forward, touching Sirius's face, pushing the boundary so hard that Harry saw his godfather was tempted to spell her away from him. However, he chose not to, and Sofia stroked his overgrown facial hair.
"You poor man," she said. "I know a great many very good lawyers. Shall I introduce them to you? If you are as innocent as you claim, they will be eager. It will be profitable business for them."
"You still haven't mentioned how you ended up in a cave."
"A letter told me I could find treasure here," Sofia said. "As it turns out, it was correct. With my help, it will be all too easy for you to walk in the sun again, Lord Black."
"And the price for your help?"
Sofia leaned in, pressing herself to his body, mashing her tits up against his chest. It was no accident that her towel slipped, falling back to the floor.
"Entertain me in the dark until then," Sofia whispered.
The situation was extremely strange. It reeked of a setup, placing Sirius on edge.
But this was a man who had been famed for his loving of ladies. It had been years since he enjoyed good company, and Sofia Zabini was as good as good company got.
Harry watched with a smile as Sofia dragged Sirius to the bed. By the time he turned around, clothes were flying off in every direction. When Harry got to the mouth of the cave (dispelling his makeshift barrier along the way) he could already hear the screams starting.
Sofia, who generally plied her trade on older or unsightly purebloods of great wealth, was going to be speaking with a hoarse voice tomorrow. Sirius Black might've been out of the game for a long time, but he had been a professional player back in the day and his tricks were itching to get put back into practice.
He'd have to check up on them, of course, to make sure that Sofia didn't try anything in line with the second part of her reputation— the killing of those she drew into her web.
But she was a predictable creature. Until Sirius had his name cleared, killing him off would do her no good. It was a worry for a time down the line, in other words. Feminine squeals and squeaking bed springs escaped the cave as Harry took one more moment to listen in, shaking his head and smiling.
"You deserve it, you old dog," he said.
"You speak as if you didn't arrange it all."
Death melted out of his shadow. The entity cocked its head at Harry, back to looking like a copy of him. Death hadn't used to make appearances without being called for, but it was getting more and more outgoing ever since it encountered the wonders of human reproductive methods. It's like they say— pussy changes people. Even eldritch embodiments of primordial facets of life.
Well, the timing was good anyway. Harry was going to need a bit of help for this.
"Are you ready?" Harry asked.
"I have no concept of elements like readiness, time, or preparations. I simply am," Death said.
"But you're excited about this. I know you are."
A smile split Death's face. It was uncanny for Harry, because the expression wasn't a natural one for a human, and Death used his face to display it. Instead of a normal smile, Death's lips curled all the way back, uncovering every single one of the teeth in its mouth.
"Let us do our duty," Death said.
"It's your duty," Harry said. "I'm doing this purely for pleasure. And best believe, I am going to enjoy every second of it."
Death leaned in, still smiling uncannily, and whispered directly into his ear. "So am I."
It giggled, more high pitched than Voldemort, and Harry shivered. All the same, he Apparated away, leaving behind the Cave of Love™ and bringing his servant with him.
The Triwizard Tournament wasn't the only thing drawing to its end.
O-O-O
Harry took a deep breath, relishing the afternoon breeze against his face. That was a luxury that wouldn't usually be available inside of a house, but that was the upside of said house having had one of its out walls blasted away.
Probably the only upside, but still, an upside.
He was in no mood to drag his feet. Harry turned to the middle of the room, looking past a ruined crib in the corner and focusing on one of the world's most eclectic piles.
First there was the humongous snake corpse, still spilling the contents of its skull from a recent headwound. Next to that was a brilliant cup; a beautiful ring gleaming with a black gem; and a diadem formed of beautiful metal, given the shape of a flying raven. All priceless treasures individually. Well, except for Nagini. That snake was a bitch from birth in Harry's book.
Collected together, they gave off a distinctive miasma. You could feel the evil wafting off of them— the presence of something within them.
Harry snapped his fingers. "Do it when you please."
Death was not far away, standing with a cocked head. It lifted its arms, a motion followed by the whole room dimming. Gradually, light returned, and with it a body formed above the mound of items.
Twisted and pale, like Harry remembered him, Voldemort was given new life. There was no ritual this time, not even a spell. It was simply the will of Death itself, shoving him out of limbo and into the land of the living.
Voldemort arrived naked and gasping. He looked disoriented, but turned quickly toward Harry, taking note of him. He hadn't noticed Death, who dissolved into a mess of shadows before he could.
"Where am I?" Even confused out of his mind, Voldemort still spoke like a lord. Always a demand, never a question…
"Don't you recognize it?" Harry asked.
Voldemort squinted at him, trying to decipher what was happening. How could the Boy Who Lived be here, and where was here? Slowly, the Dark Lord looked around the room. He recognized it quickly.
"The room where you should have died," Voldemort said.
"Where you should've died," Harry said. "It was your body that was destroyed. If not for foul tricks, you would've gone to the great beyond."
It was Harry's bedroom in Godric's Hollow. The room was still a wreck, with one wall torn out of existence by Voldemort's 'death' and scant piles of debris still present from that night, nineteen years in the past. Voldemort sneered.
"What tricks have you pulled? You? Gathering my Horcruxes? You are a welp. A weakling wet behind your ears, unfit to even wield a wand. Has Dumbledore helped you? Tell him to come out and face me!"
Voldemort staggered to his feet. He was looking around, agitated. His confusion was becoming fear the more that he studied his situation.
"This is the third time you've come back," Harry said.
Voldemort stiffened.
"First at Riddle Manor," Harry said. "A magical contract breach destroyed that body instantly. Quite amusing, if I don't say so myself. Second, you came back to life in Azkaban, right before you were destroyed again."
"You know who has been playing with me. That imposter, no doubt," Voldemort said. "Tell him to reveal himself! I will show him who the true Tom Riddle is!"
"The true Tom Riddle doesn't fucking matter," Harry said. "Or have you forgotten? Are you that deluded? You cast the identity aside to make a new one. You're Lord Voldemort now. That's all you've been for a long time. A sadistic, evil, and above all arrogant thing. You still consider everything that's happened to you to be mere tricks, don't you?"
Voldemort wanted to curse him, but possessed no wand, a realization that caused his fear and desperation to grow.
"This is another trap. Another chance to make a mockery of me. But I'll be back—"
Voldemort stopped, looking at the collection of Horcruxes in front of him. They weren't destroyed, but they had been assembled, without his knowledge. It was starting to settle in that this one… This one he might not come back from.
"You plan to kill me here," Voldemort said. "Helpless. Wandless. Because you are a coward—"
He was hit with a wand. Harry had thrown him one of his own. Voldemort snatched it from the air, quickly staring in befuddlement at what he was holding. He recognized the Hallow almost immediately.
"Am I still a coward?" Harry asked.
"How could you have…" Voldemort trailed off. He looked up, wearing a smile full of malice. "Nevermind. You are certainly no coward, Harry Potter. You are the king of fools!"
Voldemort's cry of "Avada Kedavra!" echoed through the room, green bolt flying at Harry in the same room where one struck him in his cradle.
Harry had taken out his own wand. He wasn't wielding a copy of what Voldemort held. Instead, his classic phoenix feather wand was in his grasp.
He effortlessly conjured a mannequin in the path of Voldemort's curse. As it was blasted back, Harry stepped aside, letting it fly past. And then, he cut loose.
More than a dozen spells, cast silently for speed, burst from his wand. Voldemort found himself dressed in striped prisoner garb. A second later, he was spun around, bent over, his pants pulled down, and took a rectal stab from a full-sized carrot. No sooner had this finished than he was spun around, hit with charms granting him the makeup of a clown. A red afro was conjured on his head. A camera appeared in front of him, snapped a photo, printed it into his hands, then turned into a baseball bat, cracking his head so hard that it knocked off his wig and rubber nose.
As Voldemort stumbled back, his vision swimming, he roared. "Avada—"
For the first time in his life, he was far too slow. He was hit with a spell to make him dance. As his body reacted outside of his control, he started vomiting slugs, while bats swarmed out of his nose. Both were playground hexes Harry had seen used amongst Hogwarts students, but the Dark Lord was helpless to stop or cancel them. He was just too slow.
As quickly as it started, all the hexes ended, Voldemort's face was cleaned of leftover makeup, and his clothes were transfigured into more typical robes. He didn't try to curse Harry this time. He seemed to have frozen.
"I did things this way because it was fun," Harry said. "Elaborate plans and practical jokes were purely for my entertainment. Because if it came down to you, against me, it would be too easy."
The Elder Wand shot up. "Avada—"
Voldemort was thrown against the wall, pinned there, and lost his grip on the wand he'd been given. Harry still hadn't spoken a single incantation.
"The problem is, the way I've done things gave you ways out. I know how your brain works. If I allowed you a single excuse, you'd run from the truth. I couldn't have that— I need you to know in your last moment. You against me. You have the strongest wand, I have my ordinary one. There's no contract or ritual hanging over your head. You got fucked up, plain and simple."
"What are you?" Voldemort asked, fear apparent in his voice.
"At one point, I would've said something cheesy like your worst nightmare," Harry mused. "But that was a long time ago. I've outgrown you, Tom, to the point that defining who I am by my relationship with you is a waste of time. I'm Harry Potter. I'm the Master of Death, for better or for worse. And I know someone who really wants to meet you."
Death rose out of the shadows. Not Harry's this time, but the shadow of Voldemort himself. Death's freakish smile was back.
"Finally," Death said.
Its head started to twitch and its body spasmed. Death adopted a shape and voice that Harry had seen a long, long time ago, viewed in the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office during his very first life.
Death took the form of Tom Riddle Senior, looking with scorn at the being before him.
"How dare you use my name, monster?"
Death's face changed. It became a woman. Merope Gaunt.
"My… My baby! Come to me, baby! Mommy wants you here! Mommy will make you welcome! Look what they've done to you… But Mommy will fix you right up!"
"No. No!" Voldemort thrashed. "Stay away from me, foul spirit! I am Lord Voldemort! I will never die!"
"You should accept her pity," Harry said. "It's the only morsel you'll get."
He wasn't sure if Death was channeling real spirits, or just preying on Voldemort's deepest fears. It was a creepy show nonetheless, made even worse when — still wearing the face of Voldemort's mother — Death unhinged its jaw in the manner of a snake, beginning to swallow Tom Riddle whole.
The Dark Lord had time to scream as he was devoured. It was a long note, full of terror until it ended.
Death turned toward Harry, wearing Harry's face once again, and patted its stomach.
"Burp," Death said.
It spoke the word in the Queen's English.