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April 10, 1993, 10:40 PM, Hog’s Head Inn, Hogsmeade

Adam Clarke

The lingering smell of smoke and charred wood hit me once again as we came back down to the bar of the Hog’s Head. The room was dim, shadows from the flickering lanterns dancing across the stone walls.

Aberforth was still holed up behind the bar, his rough features etched with pain. He greeted us with a grunt, more of a grim acknowledgment than a welcome, as we floated the unconscious captors into a corner.

Tonks immediately set to work, checking the hostages for any wounds. The young mother clutched her daughter close, trying to soothe the girl’s sobs, but the sound was like nails on a chalkboard to me.

It grated on my nerves, made it hard to think. I stepped away, putting some distance between myself and the crying child, and found myself standing near Aberforth.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, trying to drown my discomfort with work. 

He barely looked up, his eyes flickering with a mix of annoyance and something else I couldn’t quite place.

“I’m fine, boy.” He replied, gruff and to the point. He shifted slightly, wincing as he did, but made no move to accept any assistance. It was clear he preferred to nurse his wounds alone, and I wasn’t about to push him on it.

The tension in the room was palpable, the weight of what we’d just done pressing down on all of us. The rescue had been successful, but the fight outside wasn’t over. And here I was, standing in a room that reeked of despair, with a man too stubborn to admit he was in pain.

The distant sounds of clashing spells and cries of battle filtered through the thick stone walls, far stronger now than they had been just a few minutes before. It seemed like the tide of the fight was turning, but whether that was good or bad was anyone’s guess.

I barely had time to consider it before Akio and Hien approached me, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

“I’m of half a mind to meet them outside.” I suggested, though there was a note of uncertainty in my voice. “Or should we stay?”

“A sortie.” Hien commented lightly while I played castle defense scenarios in my mind.

Akio didn’t hesitate, his eyes lighting up with that fierce, honorable drive of his.

“We should absolutely join them.” He said, a sharp edge to his words. “The first one to strike often wins.”

“And the one who is patient reaps the rewards.” Hien frowned, crossing his arms. “We might just get in the way. Or worse, give the enemy an opportunity— if they see us, they could take us hostage, or escape by using us as shields.”

Aberforth, who had been listening with increasing irritation, finally let out a harsh bark of laughter.

“Fools, the both of you.” He growled, drawing the full attention of Akio and Hien, who bristled at the insult. 

Before they could respond, he continued. “Neither of you have any idea what’s going on outside. For all we know, the Ministry forces have been beaten down by the enemy. The answer’s obvious. Barricade the entrance, keep anyone from getting in or out. That is all that can be done in this situation. One must focus on their immediate surroundings before even thinking of engaging the wider whole.”

I glanced at the door, then back at my friends. Aberforth was right; the last thing we needed was to make the situation worse by running headlong into a fight we didn’t fully understand.

“I agree with the stubborn old goat.” I said, my voice steady despite the man’s snort. “We lock down this place, make sure no one gets past us. Besides, if we leave, who will protect these people? We’ll be more help here than out there. Right, Tonks?”

“Yep.” Tonks nodded as she set the old woman down in a chaise-longue she’d conjured up in a windowless corner. “Now, you just lie down like this, okay…?”

Akio didn’t look particularly thrilled about it, but he gave a short nod, understanding the logic. Hien looked relieved, though he tried not to show it. Together, we started moving furniture, shifting tables and chairs into place to both ensure our charges were as unnoticeable as possible and to fortify the entrance.

Halfway through our attempt to barricade the entrance, the front doors started to shake under the force of repeated blows, each impact more powerful than the last.

“What did I tell you!”

Cursing the old man’s name and drawing a laugh from him, we stepped away from the barricade, casting protective spells and reinforcing the shield we had hastily erected, but the relentless assault of our enemies was unyielding. Each crash against the door sent vibrations through the floor, and with every passing second, the strain began to wear us down.

Then, with a deafening roar, a coordinated barrage of Blasting Curses struck the doors. The wood splintered and shattered, and the metal hinges twisted and snapped, sending jagged shards of debris hurtling toward us.

Instinct kicked in, and we all ducked to the floor as the deadly fragments flew overhead, embedding themselves in the walls behind us with a sickening thud.

For a moment, the only sound was the ringing in my ears and the heavy breathing of those around me, but there was no time to dwell on it. We were exposed now, vulnerable, and the enemy would be on us in seconds.

“Don’t let a single one pass!” I roared, my voice cutting through the chaos as I scrambled to my feet, wand at the ready. There was no room for fear or hesitation. We had to hold the line, no matter the cost. 

Akio and Hien were right beside me, their wands raised and faces set in grim determination.

They came at us like a wave, surging through the ruined doorway, but we were ready. The narrow entrance became a deadly choke point, forcing them to confront us one by one or in small groups, and that was our advantage. The first attacker barely had time to raise his wand before Akio struck, his voice clear and sharp. 

“Kazekiri!” 

The Wind Curse hit the man square in the chest, slicing him top to bottom and sending him flying back into his comrades, knocking several of them off their feet. But there was no time to relish the small victory. Another figure immediately filled the gap, her wand flashing as she sent a flurry of Stunners our way.

“Protego!” I shouted, and a shimmering shield sprang up before us, deflecting the incoming spells with a burst of sparks. I flicked my wand again, and the shield spun around the woman to stop itself at the exit, blocking it off. The attacker’s eyes widened as she realized the move’s secondary effect— she had no cover.

Before she could react, Hien was already on the offensive.

“Uma!” With a swift, fluid motion, he conjured a spectral horse, which rushed at the woman and tackled her into the barrier with a sickening snap, dissipating immediately after.

“Keep it up!” Tonks shouted, and with a wave of her wand, she transfigured the fallen debris at my feet into a writhing mass of thorny vines. The vines surged forward, twisting and curling as they sought out the legs of the nearest enemies outside of the barrier, tripping them up and binding them in place.

Akio, ever the warrior, took full advantage of their momentary disarray. He moved like a duelist born, every motion calculated, every spell precise. 

“Setsu!” He called, slashing his wand through the air just as I moved my barrier for him. The Severing Charm— what else could it be judging by its distinct color— sliced through the wand of an enemy, and the fingers of others, drawing loud cries of pain.

Our advantage didn’t last long, as they dispelled the vines, getting up to fight us once again. Seeing this, I moved the barrier back to the entrance, wincing as I felt the beating it took reverberate through my body.

It wouldn’t be long before they broke through…

More wizards tried to force their way through the Shield, but Aberforth, despite his injuries, was far from out of the fight. His voice was a low growl as he cast. 

“Drop it, boy!” He said, and I dropped the Shield just in time for him to cry out. “Incendio!” 

A roaring jet of white flames erupted from his wand, filling the doorway with a searing wall of fire. The attackers screamed and recoiled, their advance halted by the sheer heat of the blaze. But Aberforth wasn’t done. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a mighty gust of wind that whipped the flames into a spiraling inferno, driving the enemies back.

“Glacius!” One of the attackers cried, desperate to break through. The curse smashed into the fire wall, but it was not nearly strong enough to stop it.

“Together!” Our foes cried, and many shouts of “Glacius!” followed, quickly whittling down Aberforth’s fire curse.

“If they want to play that game…” I said, standing by Aberforth. “We can, too! Incendio Tria!“

Bright flames burst forth from my wand, joining with Aberforth’s.

“Not bad.” He grunted out. “Had a little practice?”

“Made Gubraithian Fire!” I let out an involuntary, nearly hysterical laugh as I felt my spell collide against the wall of cold on the other side.

“I’d ask if you were a Dumbledore, but…” Aberforth grunted. “Time for that later. Give it your all, boy!”

“You got it!”

A moment later, Hien and Akio were about to join me when Tonks stopped them.

“The sides!” Tonks, her hair flashing vivid red in the heat of battle, caught sight of a group attempting to break through the side window. With a determined gleam in her eye, she pointed her wand at the ceiling above their entry point.

“Defodio!” She called, carving out a chunk of stone from the ceiling. The heavy slab came crashing down, killing the fools in an instant.

Akio and Hien checked the other side, seeing some attempt to sneak and took a step forward, his expression fierce as he unleashed a volley of spells from the window.

“Koori!” He called, turning the floor beneath the enemies into a slick, iced over surface. The attackers lost their footing, slipping and sliding uncontrollably as they struggled to maintain their balance.

With them vulnerable, Hien capitalized on the chaos, conjuring wolves to harry them. Some managed to get lucky, biting deep into ankles, wrists, and even necks, and their foes ran off, regrouping with the main force at the doorway.

Despite the overwhelming odds, we held our ground, our combined strength and strategy keeping the attackers at bay. We fought as one, each spell flowing into the next, creating a relentless, impenetrable defense. The enemy was determined, but so were we. They might have had numbers, but we had the upper hand in skill and the terrain.

“Don’t let up!” I yelled, my voice raw but steady. “Give it everything!”

The next minute felt like an eternity, the relentless assault from our enemies showing no signs of letting up. I was starting to lose steam.

“Not much longer.” Aberforth said what I was thinking.

“Yes.”

“You were a fool to come here, boy.”

“Yes.”

“Are you just going to agree with me?”

“Yes!” I smirked and sent him a look before focusing on the wall of fire, immersing myself deeper and deeper into the element and bolstering the spell as well as I could.

“Funsai!” Hien yelled, blasting apart a chunk of the floor beneath a group of wizards advancing towards them. They stumbled, falling into the gaping hole that had suddenly appeared, and were quickly entangled by the thorny vines Tonks had conjured earlier, which tightened around them like the grip of a python.

“Locomotor Mortis!” Tonks cried, sending the Leg-Locker Curse into the midst of the attackers. Several of them collapsed, their legs bound tightly together, only to be immediately disarmed by a flick of her wrist and a series of well-placed Disarming Charms.

Akio, for his part, was resting his energy for the moment, though he kept his eye out for attackers.

“Conjunctivitis!” Tonks shouted, and the wizard exiting the pit howled in pain as the curse took hold, blinding him and causing him to drop his wand.

Aberforth, despite his injuries, remained a formidable force, but I knew that both of us weren’t going to last for much longer. We needed to take a different tack.

“Hear me out.” I said. “Extinguish your flame.”

“What?”

“Cast water, instead.” I said. “They have a wall of ice magic, right?”

A moment, and then a savage smirk. “Do it.”

“Akio—”

“I’m ready.” He said, standing by us.

“Okay… Now!” I said and we dropped our fire spells, the wall of cold entering the main chamber.

“Aguamenti!” Aberforth cast, sending a powerful jet of water to fly through the wall of cold. We followed through with our own spells.

The choke point became a death trap for those trying to force their way through, shards of ice tearing half of them apart before the second half erected barriers of their own. Tonks and Hien joined in in the aftermath, casting curses left and right. 

“Impedimenta!” Tonks cast, freezing an enemy in place as he tried to rush us.

“Incarcerous!” The conjured ropes wrapped around him, pulling him to the ground before he could even react. And yet, despite this, more and more enemies arrived.

“There’s no end to them!” Tonks cried out as we began to banish furniture out the door, having run out of power to do much else. A wave of magic overwhelmed us, sending us all crashing into the floor of the bar. Still, we got back up, Tonks creating a barrier of furniture in a last ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable.

This was it, I thought when suddenly the chaos was pierced by a new voice— boisterous, confident, and all too familiar.

“Never fear, the hero has arrived!” Gilderoy Lockhart’s voice rang out, clear and obnoxious as ever, cutting through the noise of battle.

Screams followed in his wake, and then…

Silence.

A few moments later, there he was, striding through the ruined doorway as if he owned the place, his blonde hair perfectly coiffed, his robes pristine despite the carnage. A squad of enforcers flanked him, their expressions grim and focused, but there was something unsettling about the way they followed him— almost with a fanatic zeal.

“How fortunate for all of you that I decided to relieve you!” Lockhart continued, a bright, toothy grin plastered on his face. Even as he spoke, his wand was a blur, sending out a spell towards the window. 

“Stupefy!” He called out cheerfully, sending a red bolt of light into the chest of a particularly aggressive wizard aiming a wand at the mother and daughter. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even realized what hit him. “Oh, what a bore. That one hardly put up a fight!”

Akio looked like he wanted to vomit, but even he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of Lockhart’s spells. The enforcers moved back outside with military precision, their wands blazing with a mixture of Stunning Spells, Shield Charms, and well-aimed Curses. The attackers outside, already on the back foot, were quickly overwhelmed by this new, fresh wave of force.

“Don’t worry, my dear allies!” Lockhart continued, somehow managing to sound both condescending and cheerful at the same time as he moved towards the selfsame window the aggressive wizard had come from. “I’ll make sure to save some glory for you as well!” 

“Bombarda!” He shouted with dramatic flair, and the spell struck a group of enemies trying to flank us, sending them sprawling. “My, my, they’re practically lining up for me!”

Tonks rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck, but still she joined in, sending another Stunner into the fray.

Lockhart, oblivious to the exasperation of those around him, continued his quips. “Oh, how dreadful! I haven’t broken a sweat yet! Someone should tell these Dark wizards to put up more of a challenge. It’s only fair!”

As he spoke, the enforcers moved in response to his actions, subduing any who were unfortunate enough to withstand his onslaught. Between their combined efforts and our own, the tide of battle shifted decisively in our favor.

Aberforth muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “bloody peacock”, but there was a grudging respect in his tone.

As the last of the attackers were either subdued or forced into retreat, I found myself standing amidst the chaos, catching my breath. The battle had been fierce, and we had come close to being overwhelmed more than once. But we had held the line, and with Lockhart and his enforcers here, the immediate threat had been neutralized.

Lockhart, of course, was already basking in the aftermath, striking a pose as if he were about to have his portrait painted. “Ah, another victory for the great Gilderoy Lockhart! Don’t worry, everyone, I’ll be sure to sign autographs once the dust settles.”

I exchanged a look with Akio and Hien, both of whom looked as exasperated as I felt. But despite everything, we had made it through. The battle at the Hog’s Head might be over, but the war was far from won. And somehow, I had a feeling that dealing with Lockhart might be almost as challenging as facing our enemies.

Tonks quickly approached Lockhart, her face still set in a mixture of irritation and relief.

“The rescue operation was successful.” She reported, her tone professional despite the chaotic scene around us. “We freed the hostages and secured the area, but we’ve had our hands full with the enemy trying to breach the doors.”

Lockhart, as expected, nodded with an air of self-satisfaction.

“Splendid! Just as I’d anticipated. A well-coordinated effort by all of us, wouldn’t you say?” His smile was as bright as ever, as if he truly believed this had all gone according to his grand design.

He turned toward Aberforth, his demeanor shifting into something resembling sincerity. “My good man, I do apologize, but we must commandeer your fine establishment as our temporary base of operations. It is a necessity, you understand.”

Aberforth, leaning heavily on the bar, gave him a look that could wither a plant. “You’re a pompous ass, Lockhart. But as long as you’re helpin’ people and not just prancing about for your next book, you can stay here as long as you like.”

Lockhart, unfazed, simply flashed another charming smile. “Your generosity is noted, good sir! In fact, I was thinking— this place would make an excellent relocation spot for those fleeing the fighting. We could offer them refuge here until the situation is under control. And rest assured, you will be compensated for your troubles. If the Ministry doesn’t handle it, well, Gilderoy Lockhart always keeps his promises!”

Aberforth shrugged, clearly too tired to argue further. “Do what you need to do. Just keep the damn place in one piece.”

With Aberforth’s reluctant agreement, Lockhart began issuing orders to his enforcers, directing them to spread the word that the Hog’s Head would serve as a sanctuary for those caught in the crossfire. It wasn’t long before the first of the refugees began to arrive, and despite the grumbling, Aberforth allowed them to take shelter, his focus shifting to ensuring everyone had what they needed.

The Hog’s Head was a storm of chaos. People stumbled through the entrance, eyes wide with fear, some clutching bleeding wounds, others just desperate to find a safe corner to hide in. The noise was a constant hum— voices raised in panic, the shuffling of feet, the occasional crash as someone knocked over a chair in their haste. It was overwhelming, but I couldn’t let it get to me. There was work to be done.

“Over here.” I called out, directing a small group of terrified wizards towards an empty spot by the back wall. “Stay low and keep quiet. We’ll be fine as long as we stick together.”

A woman holding a small child passed by, and I felt a pang of recognition. Amy. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t expected to see her here, of all places. The reporter looked shaken but was doing her best to stay composed, for the child’s sake if nothing else.

“Amy!” I caught up to her, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you alright?”

She looked at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and fear.

“Adam? I… I didn’t know if we’d make it. It’s—” She glanced down at the child, clearly trying to keep her words calm. “It’s been bad out there.”

“Who…”

“I don’t know.” She said, shaking her head as she held him close. “He can’t talk yet… Beyond calling for his parents.”

“We’re safe here.” I reassured her, though I wasn’t sure how much of it was for her benefit and how much was for mine. “Stick close. We’ve got the place secured for now.”

She nodded, clutching the child closer. I wanted to stay with her, to make sure she was okay, but there were too many people, too many things that needed doing. I gave her a final nod before turning back to the throng of refugees.

Lockhart’s voice rang out above the din, his tone as infuriatingly cheerful as ever. “Ladies and gentlemen, I must commend you all for your bravery in making it here! Fear not, for as long as Gilderoy Lockhart is around, you are in the safest of hands!”

I almost rolled my eyes, but stopped myself. As much as his grandstanding grated on me, I couldn’t deny its effect. The people around us seemed to focus on his words, drawing some comfort from the levity in his tone. It kept them from slipping into despair, and I had to grudgingly accept that, in this moment, Lockhart was far more help than he was hindrance.

We kept the relocation efforts going, guiding people to safety, ensuring that the injured were tended to as best as possible. I found myself moving on autopilot, barking orders, helping where I could, and keeping a wary eye on the doors.

We had secured the entrance as much as possible, but the thought of more enemies breaking through gnawed at the back of my mind.

At some point, I noticed Aberforth speaking in low tones with Tonks, his eyes glancing around the room as if measuring the strength of the walls and the resolve of the people within them. He looked back at Lockhart with something akin to resignation and just a touch of annoyance. I couldn’t blame him. This was his space, his domain, and now it was overrun with people, all of them relying on him— on us— for protection.

Despite the tension, the time passed on, and slowly, the chaos began to settle. More and more people found places to sit or huddle, the noise lowering to a nervous murmur.

Lockhart, ever the showman, continued his rounds, offering smiles and words of encouragement, playing his part to perfection.

More officers and enforcers arrived, and the people began to sigh in relief as friends and family began to reunite, including the young boy in Amy’s care.

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you…” “My boy!” “Mama! Papa!”

I smiled slightly. At least one good thing came out of this nightmare.

The good feeling did not last long.

~Adam!~ Absol’s voice pierced through the haze of the crowded inn, a sharp, pained cry echoing in my mind. I stopped in my tracks, my heart lurching as I tried to make sense of the sudden intrusion.

Absol? Absol, what’s happening? I thought.

An image was hastily sent through our bond, distorted— wizards in tattered green cloaks, Castelobruxo’s traveling uniform. Behind them floated cages, filled with writhing, frightened creatures. Mooncalves, Acromantula, Centaur calves, eggs of varying species and even Thestrals, all trapped and struggling.

I realized that Absol was among their number.

A wave of emotions crashed over me— fear, pain, and an overwhelming sense of despair. Absol was terrified, and the intensity of it nearly brought me to my knees. I couldn’t let this happen again. Not after the first time. The attempt on her life had been bad enough; the memory of it still haunted me.

“Adam?” Amy’s voice registered from my left, but I didn’t think.

Anger took hold, and I moved.

My feet carried me toward the door, my mind laser-focused on one thing: getting to Absol and stopping whatever nightmare was unfolding. But as I reached the threshold, a figure blocked my path.

Sirius. His familiar presence should have been comforting, but I barely registered it.

Flanked by a woman whose face didn’t immediately click in my mind, he looked at me with concern, trying to make sense of my frantic demeanor. “Adam! Amy!”

I stared at him in pure incomprehension, wondering why he hadn’t stepped out of the way.

“… Adam?” He grabbed me by the shoulder before turning his gaze towards Amy. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.” She said, trying to nudge me. “He just got up and moved towards the door.”

“Adam, talk to me. What’s going on?” He asked, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

My mind finally caught up with me, but I didn’t have time to explain. I couldn’t let myself get distracted, not now. Shrugging off his hands, I pushed past him, grabbing his hand with a desperation that I couldn’t hide.

“Come with me. Right now.” I demanded, my voice sharp and urgent.

Sirius hesitated, his brow furrowing as he tried to grasp the situation. “Adam, wait—”

“I don’t have time!” I shouted, my voice breaking with the rage I was feeling. I yanked on his hand, pulling him forward. “Absol needs help! They’re taking creatures, Sirius! Castelobruxo wizards— cages— I have to stop them!”

The intensity in my voice must have finally cut through to him, because his resistance faltered. He exchanged a quick glance with the woman beside him, then nodded, his expression hardening with resolve.

“Alright.” He said, his tone firm now. “Let’s go.”

With Sirius by my side, I pushed forward, determination coursing through me. I couldn’t let Absol down. Not this time. We had to stop them— whatever it took.

oooo

Same Time, Unknown Location

Lord Voldemort

Lord Voldemort emerged from the shadows, his borrowed form moving with purpose as he approached the ancient cemetery.

Before him lay a solemn expanse of weathered gravestones, their inscriptions faded by time and the harsh northern elements. Moss and ivy clung to crumbling monuments, nature’s slow reclamation of man’s feeble attempts at immortality.

A cold satisfaction coursed through him as he surveyed the scene. This desolate place, this facade of death, concealed the true power that lay beneath— the Burial Site of Valgraven. His red eyes gleamed with anticipation; soon, he would shed this weak vessel and reclaim his rightful form and power.

Voldemort’s gaze swept across the overgrown grounds, noting the tilted headstones and the rusted iron gates that creaked in the chill wind. The cemetery was silent save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird. It was a fitting prelude to the ritual he was about to perform.

He paused before a particularly ancient grave marker, its surface so worn that the name was no longer legible. His lipless mouth curved into a cruel smile. Memorials, remembrance, such mortal concerns would soon be beneath him.

With a flourish of his wand, Voldemort dispelled the concealment Charms guarding the entrance to the catacombs. A section of earth before him shimmered and parted, revealing a set of rough-hewn stone steps descending into darkness. He could feel the thrum of magic emanating from below, calling to him, promising power beyond measure.

It was a place he’d found in his travels as a youth, one which he’d kept secret from all others. In terms of strategic value, it wasn’t worth much. The magic within it was potent, to be sure, but its value lay not in destruction, but creation.

Still, creation is what he needed the most, at this moment.

Taking one last look at the world above, the Dark Lord began his descent. The entrance sealed itself behind him, and Voldemort was swallowed by the shadows.

His eyes adjusted almost immediately, so used to the dark he had become in his time as a wandering spirit.

As Voldemort descended into the catacombs, the air grew thick with the whispers of restless spirits. His footsteps echoed off the narrow stone corridors, each step taking him deeper into the heart of a place steeped in forgotten history.

Valgraven’s Catacombs, Voldemort mused, were far more than mere burial chambers. They were a nexus of magical power, born from a battle that had shaped the very foundations of magical Britain. Centuries ago, when Roman wizards had sought to subjugate the native magical tribes, it was here that the decisive battle was fought. The tribal chieftain, mortally wounded but unbowed, had made his last stand in these very caves.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the legend. The dying chieftain had been visited by a spirit— some said Death itself— who offered him eternal life in exchange for guarding the catacombs forever. The bargain struck, the chieftain’s power had seeped into the very stones, creating a wellspring of magic that had endured for centuries.

He reached the heart of the catacombs: the Tomb of the Fallen Chieftain, himself. The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows. Ancient runes covered the walls, pulsing faintly in response to his presence. At the center stood the chieftain’s sarcophagus, an imposing structure of black stone that seemed to absorb the meager light.

Voldemort approached the sarcophagus, his gaze lingering on the sword that lay atop it— a weapon said to be cursed with the wrath of the chieftain himself. He knew the legends well; disturbing this tomb would awaken the spirits of all the warriors buried in these catacombs, turning the place into a death trap for any intruder.

But he was Lord Voldemort. He feared no curse, no spirit. This power would be his to command.

With practiced efficiency, he began to prepare the ritual site. He placed the vial of Elixir of Life at the foot of the sarcophagus, its scarlet contents gleaming in the dim light. Beside it, he laid down a bowl.

He took a step back and stood before the sarcophagus; the vessel he’d been occupying until now— the fool, Marco— had served its purpose and would now be unmade.

As he worked, Voldemort could feel the magic of the place responding to his preparations. The runes on the walls glowed brighter, and a low hum filled the air. The ancient channels of magical energy beneath the catacombs stirred to life.

Everything was in readiness. Voldemort raised his wand and began to chant, his words echoing through the catacombs as he called upon magics older than most could even fathom.

As Voldemort’s chant reverberated through the chamber, he began the ritual in earnest. His voice, a sibilant hiss, alternated between Latin, old Norse, and Saxon, invoking powers both ancient and terrible.

“Corpus meum sanare, ut vires redeant.
Blóð ok bein, endurnýja mér.”

Withdrawing a knife from his robes, Voldemort cut off his hand, the curse of the blade searing the wound shut and deadening his nerves at the same time. He felt no pain even as he placed the hand at the sarcophagus’ feet, smearing them with his vessel’s life’s blood.

“Healdan þū wæstm, gemynd þines rices.
Reviviscat carnem, et membra mea reficiantur.
Lif ok lífskraftr, í mǫrk heilags friðar.
Gewītan ealle earm, and genesen ic stande.
In nomine vitae, sit corpus meum fortis.”

With a wave of his wand, he floated the bowl above his head and upended it. Down sprinkled a fine, shimmering powder around the remnants of the vessel— the powdered scales of a basilisk, a rare and potent ingredient he had long ago harvested from the beast in the Chamber of Secrets and kept in storage for times like this. The scales glittered ominously in the dim light, their magical properties amplifying the dark energies swirling in the chamber.

Next, he added a vial of Acromantula venom, its viscous contents hissing as they made contact with the basilisk scales and his skin. The combination of these powerful substances, both tied death and transformation, would serve as a catalyst for the unmaking of Marco’s form.

From a small, ornate box, Voldemort extracted a withered hand— a Hand of Glory of his own making, dipped in the blood of a hundred victims. He laid down on his back and placed the hand atop his chest, its desiccated fingers splayed out like a macabre star.

A tool to extinguish the candle of his vessel’s life and use it for his own purposes.

All was ready.

“I grasp the Endless.” He hissed in Parseltongue, and threw wide the gates of the ritual.

Power surged forth from the sarcophagus, washing over Marco’s body with a mindless hate. Flesh began to dissolve, bone to crumble, as the dark magic took hold. The process was gruesome, the air filling with an acrid smell as Marco’s essence was slowly eroded by the deathly entity. And yet, as it attempted to absorb this offering, it was unable to.

All had gone into the Elixir of Life itself.

The runes on the walls pulsed with an eerie, sickly light in response to the surging magic. The ley lines beneath the catacombs thrummed with power, feeding into the ritual like tributaries into a roiling river of darkness.

Voldemort’s red eyes gleamed with triumph for a single moment as his spirit was ejected from Marco’s form. The Elixir of Life began to bubble and churn, taking on a deep, golden-red hue as it absorbed the essence of the sacrificed body.

Even without a body, the Dark Lord’s chanting grew louder, more insistent as he ignored the sudden weakness. He could not stop, not anymore. The very air seemed to warp around his essence, heavy with magic and the whispers of the dead. In this moment, suspended between life and death, Lord Voldemort was rewriting the very laws of nature.

As the last of Marco’s physical form dissolved into the Elixir, a shockwave of magical energy burst forth from the ritual site. The runes flared blindingly bright for a moment before dimming to a steady, ominous glow. The first phase of the ritual was complete.

Voldemort paused, savoring the moment. The most painful part was yet to come, but already he could feel the power before him. Soon, very soon, he would be whole again.

As the ritual reached its crescendo, a curious phenomenon occurred. The swirling essence that had once been Marco began to coalesce, forming a ghostly visage above the churning Elixir. For a brief, terrible moment, Marco’s consciousness flickered back into existence.

Voldemort’s eyes widened with malicious glee as he observed this unexpected development. He paused in his chanting, a cruel smile twisting his formless mouth.

Marco’s spectral face contorted in horror as awareness flooded back to him. His ethereal eyes darted around frantically, taking in the nightmarish scene— the ancient tomb, the pulsing runes, and the dark spirit of Lord Voldemort looming over him.

“Ah, Marco.” Voldemort’s cold, high voice cut through the chamber. “How kind of you to join us one last time. I do hope you’re enjoying the view.”

A whimper escaped Marco’s incorporeal form as the full realization of his fate dawned on him. He tried to speak, but no sound emerged from his ghostly visage.

“Yes, struggle all you like.” Voldemort taunted, relishing the man’s terror. “Your fear is… exquisite. A fitting final offering, wouldn’t you agree?”

With a lazy flick of his will, Voldemort intensified the ritual. Marco’s spectral form began to unravel, wisps of his essence being torn away and absorbed into the Elixir.

“Farewell, Marco.” Voldemort said, his voice dripping with mock solemnity. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten… by me, at least.”

As Marco’s silent, final scream echoed soundlessly through the chamber, Voldemort resumed his chanting with renewed vigor. The runes on the walls pulsed violently, responding to the surge of dark magic and raw emotion.

Marco’s essence, infused with his final moments of terror and despair, dissolved completely into the Elixir, which took on an even deeper golden hue, the red completely gone.

Voldemort’s laughter, cold and triumphant, mingled with the arcane words of the ritual. The spirits of the fallen mages stirred restlessly in their eternal slumber, disturbed by the dark proceedings.

As the last traces of Marco’s consciousness faded away, consumed by the ritual, Voldemort felt a surge of power course through him. The sacrifice was complete, the vessel unmade. Now, it was time to forge his new body from the ashes of the old.

His dark essence, a roiling mass of malevolent energy, hovered above the ritual site, observing with keen interest as the next phase began.

The Elixir of Life, now a gold so bright it was almost a blinding white, began to rise from its container. It hung in the air, defying gravity, before slowly starting to take shape. Voldemort watched in fascination as his new body began to form before his very eyes.

First came the skeleton, materializing out of the mist-like substance. Bones knit together, forming a tall, imposing frame. Then came sinew and muscle, wrapping around the bones in intricate layers. Voldemort observed with satisfaction as pale skin began to cover the form, smooth and unblemished.

The face took shape last, and Voldemort felt a thrill of triumph as he recognized his own features— not the snake-like visage he had worn in later years, but his original face, the one he remembered from the height of his first rise to power. Handsome, aristocratic, with high cheekbones and piercing eyes. Yet this body was free from the subtle signs of magical corruption that had begun to show back then. This was perfection.

As the last details fell into place— long, elegant fingers, and a full head of dark hair— Voldemort knew the moment had come. With a thought, he directed his essence towards the newly formed body.

The sensation was indescribable as he merged with his new form. Power coursed through every fiber of his being. He flexed his fingers, reveling in the feeling of raw strength and vitality. His magic, once constrained by lesser vessels, now burned bright and unrestrained within him.

Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, taking in the chamber with his renewed vision. Every detail was crisp, every sensation heightened. He drew a deep breath, feeling the cool air of the catacombs fill his lungs.

With a wave of his hand— wandless magic coming as easily as thought— he summoned the wand he’d been using to this point. It flew to his grasp, humming with barely contained power as it reunited with.

His new body formed its first expression of displeasure. The wand was far too different to him now, despite having won over its allegiance. Still, he shook his head, instead letting a cold, triumphant smile spread across his face. He was whole again, more powerful than ever before. The wizarding world would soon tremble at his return.

“And so I have conquered death, once again.”