Easy - The Girl who Lived Forever (Harry Potter's Sister)

Graveyard

No. Cedric. No.

The levitation spell dropped, and I fell to the ground with a gasp of pain. "Avada Kedavra!"

Cedric's body flew through the air, landing beside me. "No," I whimpered.

It was then that Harry noticed, his eyes flicking from Cedric to me. "Peyton!" he gasped, struggling to his feet. His scar was bleeding.

Pettigrew placed the maybe baby on the ground and dragged Harry away towards a marble headstone that read TOM RIDDLE. He conjured tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry struggled, and Pettigrew hit him. Harry gasped, glancing from Pettigrew's missing finger to the hood. "You!" he gasped, figuring him out.

Wormtail didn't say a word, drawing a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffing it roughly into Harry's mouth. Mutely, he turned from Harry and hurried away.

Harry's eyes shot to me, and I tried to hold his gaze, tried to struggle to my feet. The pile of blood leaking from my arm was growing wider, and I tried to keep awake. Tried to heal my wounds, but my wandless magic flickered weakly.

I must have drifted off, but I stirred at the sound of a howl of pain, and awoke to terror.

Wormtail's right arm was missing, reduced to a stump, and his left was being held by a man, if you could even call him that. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was as flat as a snake's, with slits for nostrils. His hands were like large, pale spiders, his long white fingers being the legs.

Voldemort.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. "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 snake-like 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, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was ... he didn't like
magic, my father ...

"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage ... but I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name ... Tom Riddle ..."

Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave. "Listen to me, reliving family history ..." he said quietly. "Why, I am growing quite sentimental ... But look, Harry! My true family returns ..."

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 forwards ... 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 towards 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, Cedric, me, 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, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.