Red Light District (Ch. 46) (Patreon)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

Red Light District

Chapter 46

It was the day of the Third Task, but Harry was far away from the chaos and fanfare at Hogwarts. He crouched in the overgrown cemetery outside Little Hangleton with a Disillusionment Charm hiding him from sight. He knelt behind a lopsided headstone, watching the whole scene unfold.

The graveyard was a scattering of grimy headstones, covered in a thick layer of algae. The weeds grew untrimmed around every grave, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves. 

Harry eyed the far end of the graveyard, where Wormtail was struggling to hover a heavy pewter cauldron over a circle of freshly turned dirt. Wormtail was thinner and more ragged than memory suggested. His bald crown gleamed with sweat as he mouthed silent curses and steadied the cauldron with his wand. From time to time, he glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting an Auror to pop out from behind a tombstone. Harry smirked and watched him work, knowing enough not to underestimate the little rat.

Wormtail disappeared for a short while, and when he returned, he carried Voldemort’s new body like a grotesque infant, cradled in the crook of his arm. It barely looked human. It was a bundle of skin and bones with a monstrous, scowling face, wrapped tightly in a black shroud. The sight turned Harry’s stomach, but he forced himself to watch as Wormtail set the creature gently beside the cauldron, then bowed low in terrified reverence.

Even from a decent distance away, Harry could hear Voldemort’s faint, high-pitched voice. “Be quick, Wormtail. The hour draws near.” The words sounded hissy and pained, like being in that deformed little body was torturous, which Harry supposed it probably was. 

Wormtail nodded, then shuffled off to the edge of the graveyard where a shallow pit had been dug among the roots of a gnarled yew tree. He unpacked a battered wooden box. Harry recognized it as an old potions chest. From the box, Wormtail pulled out a wickedly sharp knife, which he stuffed into his robe pocket. He then pulled out a couple of potion vials. 

Harry felt his heart start to beat faster as the time neared. The rat checked the position of the cauldron, then scanned the perimeter for signs of witnesses. There were none to be seen. Harry was glad about that. If he was lucky, it would only be Voldemort and Wormtail out here for the time being.

A loud, metallic clang rang out as Wormtail fumbled with the cauldron lid. “Careful, you bumbling fool!” Voldemort hissed as he lay motionless on the cold grass. His bright red eyes were scowling as Wormtail lit the fire. “Forgive me, Master,” he apologized in his nasal voice. Wormtail then poured in the two vials, which made the potion inside start to bubble. All Harry could do was wait for the show to start. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a pale blue flash and a shape tumbled out of thin air, bounced off the ground, and landed with an undignified splat in the mud. Harry’s heart hammered at the sight. Neville was in his Hogwarts robes, clutching the Triwizard Cup. Neville rolled to his knees. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and Wormtail leveled his wand and hit him with a bright red Stunning Spell.

Neville dropped bonelessly to the ground in an unconscious heap. Wormtail wasted no time. He grabbed Neville’s wand before taking his arms and dragging him across the damp ground. He propped him up against the base of the largest monument in the graveyard. Wormtail flicked his wand and tied him to the monument.

“Here it is, master,” Wormtail said, holding the wand aloft.

“Excellent,” Voldemort said in a raspy voice. He shifted slightly at the base of the cauldron, but made no move to stand.

Wormtail went about his work with a frantic efficiency, prepping the cauldron by stirring the liquid inside. The mixture smoked and hissed as it changed colors from sickly yellow to murky green, then to an opalescent blue that glowed faintly. The air reeked with the smell of the foul potion.

Through it all, Harry stood perfectly still. He clenched his jaw as he watched Neville’s limp form sag against the stone pillar. He felt bad that he couldn’t just jump in and save Neville right away. This was a golden opportunity to really hurt Voldemort and his followers, and it would greatly help Neville in the future. 

Wormtail’s wand jabbed into Neville’s chest, and the boy jerked awake with a choked gasp. He stared around in confusion before finally realizing the predicament he was in. Suddenly, there was fear in his eyes as he struggled against the thick ropes digging into his wrists and chest. There was wet dirt stuck to his cheeks, and his lower lip trembled violently.

Voldemort’s rasping voice cut through the graveyard. “Welcome, Longbottom. You’re just in time for my grand rebirth.” The words were soft, but they seemed to crawl toward Neville like cold, dead fingers. The small shrouded figure at the cauldron barely moved, but the presence was overwhelming.

Neville whimpered, and he shook his head, not understanding or refusing to believe the impossible creature before him. Voldemort laughed in response, and his thin mouth stretched into a grotesque smile. “Yes, it’s true. Lord Voldemort has returned, though not in a form I prefer. But you’ll help me with that … won’t you, boy?”

Wormtail snickered in a high, nervous titter. He checked the potion, then plucked the tiny Voldemort from the ground and lifted him up with trembling arms. Voldemort’s hollow eyes never left Neville, and he chuckled quietly as Wormtail lowered him into the steaming cauldron. The potion hissed and spat, and the whole cauldron shook on its stand as soon as the creature touched the bubbling surface.

Wormtail staggered and nearly dropped the cauldron’s contents, but he caught himself, cursing under his breath. He wiped sweat from his brow, then hobbled over to a nearby grave. With a spell, he cleared the dirt away, revealing the white bones of Tom Riddle Senior in the shallow pit. He muttered the ritual words, “Bone of the father, unknowingly given.” His voice was hoarse and frightened as he fished the femur from the grave, snapping it from the rest of the skeleton with a sickening crack.

He hoisted the leg bone above the cauldron and let it drop. The bone plunged beneath the surface with a deep glunk, and the potion changed color instantly. A thick mist billowed out and spread over the ground, curling around the gravestones and spilling over Neville’s shoes. Even from across the graveyard, the stench was so foul it made Harry’s eyes water. It was the smell of rotting death. 

Wormtail hesitated, clutching his left wrist. It was shaking so badly he had to use his right hand to steady it. He turned to Neville, and his teeth chattered in outright dread at what was to come. “Flesh of the servant, willingly given,” he said, sounding horrified at what he was about to do.

He drew the long, wicked dagger from his pocket and pressed the blade into his own forearm just above the wrist. The cut was deep, and blood immediately welled up and ran in rivers down his hand. Wormtail’s eyes rolled back, and he screamed through clenched teeth. He placed his bleeding wrist over the edge of the cauldron, and with a deranged downward swipe of the blade, he hacked off his hand. The severed hand thudded into the potion with a hiss. He clamped his stump under his armpit and fell over onto his side, sobbing in agony.

Neville screamed at the sight, and he began thrashing so fiercely that his ropes started to burn his skin. “You’re mental … you’re both bloody mental!” he howled. Wormtail ignored him. Instead, he jammed the stump of his bloody arm into his robes and forced himself to stand, swaying as he faced Neville with wild, bloodshot eyes.

Wormtail stumbled over and placed the tip of the blade against Neville’s arm. “Blood of the enemy …,” Wormtail intoned. “... forcibly taken.” He slashed Neville’s forearm, and deep red blood spilled freely. Wormtail scooped some into a tiny glass vial, then staggered back to the cauldron and poured it in.

The liquid inside erupted into a shower of sparks and a rolling blue fog. It swirled around the cauldron, and it was so thick and cold that the grass beneath it froze solid. Lightning flickered in the blue mist, and the cauldron started to shake as the ritual built to a climax. Even from afar, Harry could feel the surge of raw Dark Magic.

Wormtail fell to his knees and cowered while holding onto his bloody stump. Neville was speechless, transfixed by the horror, and unable to look away as the cauldron’s contents began to shift and churn.

At first, there was only some light splashing. Then the blue liquid spun violently, then began to rise, forming a vague human outline. Limbs writhed from the mess, then twisted and snapped into shape. A skull formed at the top, and a screaming face writhed across the surface for a split second before fading into the blur. For a long, sickening moment, the body hung suspended over the cauldron before it collapsed, splattering liquid and blue fire in all directions.

When the smoke finally cleared, a figure stood in the center of the blue flames. Voldemort’s new body was tall and thin, but that was where the resemblance ended. His body was horribly deformed and misshapen. One arm bent backward at a grotesque angle, and his other hand ended in three long, fused fingers. His spine stuck out in jagged ridges, and the skin along his ribs was patched with scales. One eye socket was empty, and the other bulged and glowed red. The nose was gone entirely, replaced by a bony slit. The left side of his face sagged so badly that drool slithered down his chin. A huge, cancerous lump bulged at his hip, pulsing visibly under the translucent skin.

He stared at his new form in horror. Then he turned to Wormtail with a look of total shock and fury. “What … have … you … done?” he shrieked softly. His deformed lungs could barely keep him alive. He tried to take a step with his cleft feet, but the tumor at his hip dragged him sideways, and he nearly toppled over.

Wormtail trembled while crawling desperately away from his master. “I … I followed the instructions. The ritual was perfect! You are alive, my Lord … you are alive!” He pressed his forehead to the dirt and sobbed. “Spare me, I beg you!”

Voldemort’s eyes moved to Neville, and his face twisted even worse. “You!” he spat. “You are the cause of this, aren’t you? You and your filthy blood … your cursed magic!” He raised his claw hand, and it shook violently as he pointed at Neville. “Give me my wand, rat!” Voldemort called out, and Wormtail quickly shoved his wand into his deformed hand. 

He tried to cast, but no spell came. The fingers didn’t close right, and the wand slipped from his new hand and clattered to the ground. Voldemort howled in pain and frustration, then seized Wormtail around the throat, ignoring the blood pouring from Wormtail’s stump. The rat’s face was very pale from the blood loss. The Dark Lord’s hand was bony, cold, and strong despite its deformity. Wormtail made a gurgling sound as Voldemort shook him like a rag doll.

“Fix me!” Voldemort screamed, and spittle flew into Wormtail’s face. “You pathetic wretch, fix me or die!”

Wormtail struggled to breathe. “I … I don’t know how, master … please!”

Voldemort screamed in rage and then coughed violently. He spat out a dark glob of something very nasty onto the frosty grass. “Your arm,” he wheezed. Wormtail thanked him profusely and held out his stump, thinking his master would fix his missing hand. Instead, Voldemort pressed his gnarled finger to the Dark Mark, calling his followers. “I need Severus,” he coughed again. 

During this whole thing, Harry saw an opportunity. He jabbed his wand and silently summoned Voldemort’s yew wand to him. It flew from the ground while the two idiots were distracted, and it landed right in Harry’s palm. Harry stuffed the wand into his bag for safekeeping. 

After a few minutes of waiting, there was a series of pops and cracks, and dozens of black-cloaked Death Eaters apparated into the graveyard. They materialized in ragged clusters with their wands aloft, searching for any sign of a trap. Yet even their hardened discipline couldn’t prepare them for the sight of their master.

Voldemort stood hunched in the dying blue fire, a vision of grotesque horror. The Death Eaters collectively recoiled, and some clutched their chests. Others masked their faces behind their arms. McNair made a strangled sound and nearly dropped his wand. The Dark Lord’s new form twisted and quivered, and its limbs jerked with muscle spasms. A foamy, dark fluid dripped from the corners of his mouth and splattered onto the ground.

Nagini slithered into view. Her massive body circled around the cauldron’s base. Her tongue flickered in and out as if tasting the fear, and her eyes reflected the blue light with an unnatural, glassy shine.

Voldemort let out a sickly, wet cough, then tried to address his followers. “Where is Severus!” he shrieked. His voice came out as a sickly croak. His single eye rolled wildly as it scanned the crowd, daring them to comment on his grotesque body. The Death Eaters were frozen in place. They shifted awkwardly, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Severus!” he barked again, but Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Harry had been waiting for this moment. He already had his hand in the bag, and his fingers closed around his potions. The Death Eaters’ attention stayed glued to their master. They were too stunned by the grotesque scene to notice anything else. The moment was perfect.

Harry pulled out a thin crystal vial and hurled it with all his strength into the heart of the crowd. The glass shattered at the feet of a large brute, and instantly, a toxic green vapor hissed out, expanding in a heavy, oily cloud. Screams burst from the Death Eaters as the mist enveloped them. The caustic fog chewed through cloth, then flesh, then bones. Some tried to apparate away, but the potion’s vapor traveled with them, searing lungs and eyes with every breath. The first wave of followers collapsed to the ground, vomiting and clawing at their faces.

“Ambush!” one Death Eater howled, but it was already too late. Harry flung a second vial. The mist sizzled on contact, burrowing deep into their skin. The men and women who took the brunt of it dropped to their knees, shrieking and slapping at themselves, only to draw away strips of their own flesh.

Voldemort saw the attack and screamed orders, only to double over in a coughing fit. Wormtail was no help. He had passed out from blood loss. The Death Eaters were in utter chaos as several more vials burst among them. 

Nagini reared up, scanning for the source of the trouble. She must have tasted Harry on the wind, because she surged forward while her massive jaws unhinged with a rattling hiss. Harry readied another vial. He lobbed it at Nagini’s snout, and the glass burst against her scales. A cloud of gas enveloped her, and for a split second, Nagini seemed unaffected. Then she thrashed wildly, smacking her head against a headstone. She writhed in agony as the gas bleached her scales white as bone, and her mouth foamed. The snake screeched, then went limp. Seeing his horcrux drop dead, Voldemort cried out, “No!”

Harry saw the Dark Lord’s eye twitching in wild panic as he scoured the ground for his missing wand. The Death Eaters were dropping or stumbling around, blinded by the caustic vapors and too injured to mount any kind of defense.

Wormtail was curled in a fetal ball, clutching his bleeding stump and not moving. Neville was still bound to the pillar. His face was ghost-white with shock, and his eyes squeezed shut to block out the carnage. Harry risked a glance at the monument and quickly calculated his move. He needed to get Neville out before things got out of hand. Harry invisibly scurried over to the pillar, which wasn’t far from where Voldemort was hunched over, coughing and searching. 

He lined up his wand with the bony ridge of Voldemort’s exposed spine and fired a silent, powerful Depulso. The Banishing Charm caught the Dark Lord square in the back, launching him off his clubbed and cleft feet and straight into the boiling green fog that hissed through the crowd. Voldemort’s shriek was music to his ears. The force of the impact toppled several Death Eaters, who tumbled over one another in their mad scramble to escape the toxic mist. For a split second, Harry saw Voldemort’s body convulse and arch in agony, but the Dark Lord was quick to react. He apparated away, leaving his Death Eaters to suffer alone. 

Harry quickly went over to Neville. The ropes binding his wrists were very tight, and his hands had turned purple. Harry vanished the ropes, leaving angry red welts on his skin. Neville dropped onto his hands and knees. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the Triwizard Cup from its resting place. The cup sailed through the air and landed in Neville’s lap with a heavy thud, nearly cracking his ribs. Neville gasped, clutching the cup to his chest. Then, he vanished as the Portkey took him back to Hogwarts. 

Harry looked over the carnage. Most of the Death Eaters were dead or dying. A few smart ones had apparated away in the beginning, but they would still suffer the effects of Harry’s special potion. Voldemort was gone, and Nagini was dead. All in all, Harry felt it was a job well done. He went over to Peter’s unconscious body. His face was deathly pale, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was still alive. He had lost a lot of blood. Harry pulled Neville’s wand from Wormtail’s pocket and slipped it into his bag. Looking down at him, Harry almost felt pity for the rat, but that didn’t stop him from launching a Severing Charm right into his neck. The body jerked, but there was no gasp, gurgle, or movement of any kind. Harry supposed that he had already died. Either way, he was gone now. Harry clutched his bag tighter and apparated away. 

Red Light District

Harry slipped out of the Whomping Willow, made himself visible, and went over to the Quidditch pitch. He was hit by a wall of noise and confusion. Shouts echoed from all directions, and the Quidditch pitch was swarmed with Ministry officials. Everywhere he looked, there were witches and wizards running in all directions, flashing badges and barking orders. 

He kept his head down and walked through the crowd like he had always been there, but nobody seemed to notice him. A constant explosion of howlers rang out as messages were sent back and forth from the Ministry. Harry thought he heard Hermione’s voice, and he turned, searching the perimeter. He spotted her by the hedge wall. She was standing by herself in a small clearing with her arms crossed under her chest, scanning the crowd for someone. 

She saw him almost immediately. Her face flashed with relief and then with annoyance, and she sprinted through the mass of people to get to him. She threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. “Where were you?” she demanded. “I thought you were going to sit with me.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said into her hair, trying to calm her down. “I was late, and I got here just as the Third Task was starting. I couldn’t see you, so I just had to take a seat in the back row,” he lied as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

Hermione seemed to relax a little. “Can you believe what happened? There was a fire inside, and then some sort of explosion. Everyone’s running around like it’s the end of the world.” She pulled him out of sight and lowered her voice. “They’re saying something happened to Fleur. The only thing anyone knows for sure is that Neville made it to the center, but then nobody saw what happened after that. But Fleur … she hasn’t come out. Madam Pomfrey took her to the medical tent, but they won’t let anyone in. She might be …” Hermione stopped herself. It was too unthinkable to go on. Harry could see the tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes.

“Don’t worry. Fleur’s tough. She was more than capable of handling herself in there,” he assured her. 

Hermione sniffed, nodded, then wiped her eyes. “McGonagall went in to see, but she came out looking pale. I tried to get Madam Pomfrey to let me in, but she’s got the place locked down tighter than Azkaban.” Hermione frowned. “But you … You’re good at getting women to do things they’re not supposed to. You can talk to her.”

Harry snorted, put an arm around Hermione’s shoulder, and steered her toward the tent, dodging a pair of Aurors who were running past with their wands drawn. He felt strangely detached after causing so much devastation back at the graveyard. Still, Hermione’s warm, soft body made him feel a lot better. 

The medical tent was a white canvas pavilion with a Ministry crest tacked to the front. Its entrance was guarded by a tall, gaunt wizard who looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Hermione started to protest, but the wizard cut her off. “Medical personnel only,” he said, planting himself in their path.

Harry stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I’m Harry Potter. My girlfriend is the French Champion … Fleur Delacour. I’d really like to see if she’s okay,” Harry told him, as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a handful of galleons and stuffed them into the man’s hand. Seeing all this gold, his eyes went wide with greed. 

The guard then composed himself, cleared his throat again, and said, “Make it quick, you two … and if anyone asks, you snuck in … got it?”

“Got it!” Hermione said happily as she dragged Harry into the tent. 

Madam Pomfrey met them at the tent’s center aisle. Harry swore he could see the veins throbbing at her temples. She stood over a cot with her arms folded, but her eyes softened a little when she spotted Hermione. “Five minutes,” she said briskly. “I’ll not have anyone aggravating my patients, especially with what’s happened tonight.” She cast a quick glance at Harry, and then left them alone. 

They hurried past her, weaving between beds. Fleur lay propped up against a mound of pillows. Her lips trembled as she tried to sit up for them, but she could barely manage more than a wince. Harry’s gut twisted at the sight of her. She was paler than usual, and her eyes were shadowed with deep blue bruises that didn’t exist an hour ago. Hermione rushed to her side and cupped her hand between both of hers.

“Fleur, what happened?” Hermione whispered. Her voice was filled with worry.

“I was almost to the center of the maze,” she rasped, each word shredded by pain. “Then Krum appeared. ‘e was completely blank-faced.” She shuddered at the thought. “ ‘e ‘it me with a Cruciatus Curse. I thought my bones were on fire. I only remember screaming, and then I blacked out.”

Hermione let go of her hand and pressed both palms to her mouth, horrified. “But … you’re okay now? Madam Pomfrey says you’ll be alright?”

Fleur nodded, shakily. “I will be fine, but she says that it will take me a few days to fully recover. I should be able to leave in a short while, though.”

Krum was snoring fitfully in a bed across the aisle. A thick leather restraint bound his upper body to the mattress, and a Ministry Auror stood sentry at the foot of the bed. 

Fleur followed Harry’s eyes and said, “Madam Pomfrey thinks Krum was under the Imperius Curse. She said ‘is body ‘as traces of Dark Magic.”

Harry knelt beside Fleur’s bed and took her hand in his. Her fingers were icy. He bent and kissed her knuckles, and she managed a grateful smile.

“How do you feel now?” he asked, caressing her arm.

“Sore. ‘umiliated. Stupid.” Fleur admitted. “I should ‘ave known better. They told us not to trust anyone in the maze. I did not think Krum would …”

“He wouldn’t have, if he were himself,” Hermione said. “I hope they catch whoever did this and ….”

As Hermione ranted, Harry thought about the two wands in his bag. He planned to anonymously send them to Dumbledore as soon as possible, but as Fleur began caressing his arm, Harry decided to postpone it. 

“When you get out of here, I’ll give you a nice, long massage. Would you like that?” he asked. Fleur smiled prettily and nodded. 

“Oui, mon amour,” she said, pulling him down for a sweet kiss.

“Alright … Enough of that. Let the poor girl get some rest,” Madam Pomfrey said as she shooed them away. “She’ll be discharged in a few hours, and you can see her then.”

Harry and Hermione were forced out of the tent, while Hermione ranted about the injustice of it all. Harry chuckled and pulled her into his side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she smiled and leaned into him. Besides Fleur getting hurt, the day had been a rousing success. 

“Do you want to sneak into Hogsmeade with me and get some of Fleur’s favorite chocolates to surprise her?” Harry asked. Hermione brightened, nodded, and kissed him on the cheek. He held her hand and led her away from the shouting and commotion.