Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…
Parts of JK Rowling's HP7, end scene between Harry and Voldemort; and HP4, graveyard scene.
Inspired by Mono Inc.'s "Potter's Field" (parts of the chorus used at the beginning and end)
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
… … … …
LAY DOWN IN POTTER'S FIELD
… … …
At Potter's Field is where you find me
Beneath the oak trees and the moon I nest
… … …
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he, too, yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:
A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand just as a jet of red light blasted from Harry's – they met in mid-air – and suddenly, Harry's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge was surging through it; his hand had seized up around it; he couldn't have released it if he'd wanted to – and a narrow beam of light was now connecting the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold – and Harry, following the beam with his astonished gaze, saw that Voldemort's long white fingers, too, were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating.
And then – nothing could have prepared Harry for this – he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light.
This couldn't be happening.
This shouldn't be happening!
They didn't have the same wand, no brother connection, no similarities, anymore – and yet, when Harry gazed down towards his hand, it wasn't Draco's wand he was holding, but his old one, his broken one.
Harry's eyes snapped up.
His gaze turning to his surroundings.
This wasn't Hogwarts.
Instead, they were gliding away from the tombstone of Voldemort's father and came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves. There were Death Eater's all around them and Voldemort was panicking as if the connection was happening for the first time.
Then, Harry could hear the phoenix song all around them.
Don't break the connection.
But where once Harry had been calm and had instinctively understood what to do, this time around, Harry was too stumped, too confused to react in time.
The beads of light connected to Harry's wand before he could recover from his shock of suddenly landing three years in the past.
His wand burst into flames.
The golden, dome-shaped web surrounding them collapsed and before Harry could react, before he could comprehend what had happened, Voldemort intoned another, cold-hearted 'Avada Kedavra' and hit Harry in the chest.
"So much for winning," Harry thought bitterly while he fell, white enveloping his vision and his senses fading to nothing before he even hit the floor. The last thing he heard was a faint caw – like a raven's – then everything was gone.
Harry wasn't too surprised that when he opened his eyes again, he was back at the oddly white and clean King's Cross he had visited once before.
"So, this is the end, I guess," Harry said to himself and looked towards the rails, expecting a waiting train at the nearest platform. Instead, he saw Cedric, sitting on one of the benches, kicking his feet, seemingly playing soccer with a black ball of… odd mist.
Harry frowned but stepped closer.
The moment he was about three feet away from the other boy, Cedric looked up at Harry.
"Ah, you're here then, Potter," he greeted Harry.
Harry frowned even more.
"Potter?" he repeated. "Didn't you call me Harry until now?"
Cedric crooked his head at Harry.
"I wasn't actually using your name," he corrected Harry. "I called you Potter – because that's what you are."
"I… don't understand," he admitted and Cedric frowned.
"You are aware that Voldemort brought you to a Potter's Field, aren't you?" he asked.
"A graveyard," he corrected the other boy.
Cedric shook his head.
"Graveyard… that's a muggle word, Harry," he said. "Wizards don't use it."
"Cemetery, burial ground – does it matter what I call it?" Harry countered.
"For wizards? Yes," Cedric replied. "We've always called it a Potter's Field. Those who are born in the magical world still do – even those who don't care about the purity of blood. Only muggle-born and muggle-raised don't."
"I still don't see how it matters what I call it," he said. "The dead are buried there – no matter what you call it."
"It matters," Cedric immediately objected. "Especially right now, with Voldemort too stupid to understand what he did right now."
"What he did?" he asked.
"He killed a Potter in a Potter's Field," Cedric said. "Worse. He killed a Potter in the possession of all three Hallows in a Potter's Field."
Harry scratched his head.
"I'm pretty sure I only have one of the three Hallows right now," he corrected. "And even if I had all three one time – I never had them all at the same time."
"You touched them," Cedric countered. "And you died. Not somewhere in the world, but on a Potter's Field – as a Potter."
"Sooo?" Harry asked, drawing out the word in confusion.
Cedric sighed, but it was another voice that answered.
"So, you are the new Lord," the voice said and Harry turned to look at a handsome, tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale man who looked nearly identical to Voldemort in his younger days.
"And you are?" he asked.
"I think you might know me as Tom Riddle," the man answered. "Tom Marvolo Riddle is my son."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"You're Voldemort's dad?" he asked in disbelief.
The other man grimaced again.
"Unfortunately," he agreed and Harry couldn't help but look the other man over.
He definitely looked like Voldemort's dad – even if the hazy memory Harry had of the memory, he had seen of the man had shown him about eight to ten years younger and a bit more arrogant.
"Shouldn't you have gone… onward, years ago?" Harry finally decided to ask.
The older man shrugged.
"I did," he said. "But with a Potter back in charge of the Potter's Fields, I petitioned to be allowed to return and offer my service."
Then the man waved it off as if returning from death was nothing unusual to talk about.
"Since my son decided to disturb my resting place, my request was granted. So here I am, offering my service to you, young Potterer."
Harry blinked and then turned back to Cedric.
"Potterer?" he asked.
The other boy shrugged.
"I know that you Potter's have this whole 'our family name descended from Linfred of Stinchcombe, called the Potterer' thing going… I also know that your family didn't make the so called Sacred Twenty-Eight because your surname sounds muggle and therefore must be because you have tainted blood… but since I've been here, waiting, I learned differently," he said.
"Since you've been here?" he asked. "Shouldn't that time only amount in minutes?"
Cedric shot him a look as if Harry was an idiot.
"Three years, Harry," he corrected. "Three years and about ten minutes after you returned to the past."
"Oh," he said. "So… you know?"
"Yes," Cedric agreed and kicked the black mist-ball some more. "Of course, I do. I bet Mr. Riddle does as well."
"Tom," the other man corrected. "And yes, I do. I watched the whole dreadful affair – just one more reason why I asked to be brought back here to offer my service."
"So… if you two saw all that, tell me, how did I end up in the past?" he asked.
Riddle and Cedric exchanged a look before Cedric shrugged.
"You're the current Potter," he said. "As far as I understood it, people like you can't be explained, therefore it's impossible to say how you managed to end up in the past. I guess it's because people like you are drawn to places like the one you died on twice now and the fact that your last duel with Voldemort wasn't in a place you felt safe in might have played a role – but what do I know? I don't understand people like you, after all."
Harry's eyebrow twitched.
"People like me?" he asked.
Riddle was the one who answered that.
"Every Potter who died on a Potter's Field always returned to the living. Ask your grandfather. He did the same in the war with Grindelwald as far as I was told," Riddle said, sounding half-disbelieving, half-amused. "Or yourself, considering that Cedric and I saw you die in an old Potter's Field in the future as well."
At that, Harry's eyes widened.
The clearing in the forest had been an old, forgotten graveyard?!
Then, another thing of Riddle's speech got Harry's attention.
"Wait!" He exclaimed. "Are you telling me that if a Potter – one of my family – dies in a graveyard, we're basically resurrecting?!"
Again, Riddle and Cedric exchanged a look before Cedric shrugged.
"Sure," he said. "There's even a saying in the magical world about it: doing something stupid is often called 'killing a Potter in their kingdom.' Have you never heard this before?"
"Kingdom," Harry repeated in disbelief. Oh, he had heard it, but he had dismissed it as another weird saying of the magical world, nothing more. They had quite a lot, after all.
Tom Riddle snorted.
"Why else would a wizard call a graveyard 'Potter's Field'?" he said. "It's your kingdom – the one place you have absolute power."
"As the Master of Death, death is your domain – and as a Potter that makes you the Potterer of Potter's Field. Every dead in this Potter's Field is yours to call upon. Every dead here has the choice to follow and serve you," Cedric said. "I'm here to offer my service – just like Tom is here to do the same."
Harry had to admit that his head was hurting from all the explanation he was getting.
He had always thought that his last name was just that, a last name.
Even in a hundred years, Harry would have never connected his last name to the word 'potter's field' – and he was sure that even the most traditional wizards didn't connect Harry's family with the wizards' name for graveyard or their proverb anymore.
"That's… that's insane," he finally concluded. "I mean… it can't be true! You said it yourself, Cedric: The Potter's name came from that Linfried guy… and the whole story with the Peverells and the Deathly Hallows – it doesn't fit!"
"I actually never talked with Linfred or the Peverells," he said, "so I can't tell you how that whole thing came to be."
"Well," Riddle added. "I talked with Hardwin. As far as I know, his son was the first Potter to reunite the Hallows – and his son was the great-grandson of Ignotus Peverell, one of the brothers. The boy did it on accident, I think, but he died with them all being in his possession. I think the whole 'Potter' title came from him even after he gave up the ring to his cousin, Cadmus Peverell's great-grandchild."
Harry opened his mouth to object when Riddle added something else that made him actually stop and think about it.
"Did you really think you were the first to reunite the Hallows?" Riddle asked. "If you were – why is there a legend that reuniting them changes one into the Master of Death otherwise? The fairy tale about the brothers itself doesn't say so. Only legends do – and legends are founded in a grain of truth, after all. A Potter taking possession of the Hallows and turning into the Lord of the Dead – that sounds like the grain you are looking for, doesn't it?"
Harry felt a headache coming at that thought alone.
"A Potter? But why a Potter?" he asked confused.
"Because you are the only legitimate heirs of Peverell," Riddle countered. "My son might have Peverell blood – blood of the elder brother – but unlike your family, the girl Cadmus fathered was out of wedlock and not acknowledged by her father. Her family might have been gifted the ring thanks to Hardwin Potter's son, but it doesn't change the fact, that their weren't legitimate and therefore not bound to inherit anything."
Harry thought that over while the ache in his head spread.
"But… wasn't she still blood?" he asked confused.
"Sure," he agreed.
"But magic follows the designated heirs," Cedric added. "If she wasn't acknowledged as an issue nor as the heir, the designated heir – in this case Ignotus would have gotten everything when his brother died – and after Ignotus it would have gone to his son and so on. So, if she wasn't acknowledged as an issue, even if she might have been magical, she wouldn't have inherited anything."
That… sounded like something people from hundreds of years ago might have lived through, Harry had to admit with a pounding head.
"Oh," he said slowly. "So… I'm the Peverell heir?"
"Yes," Cedric agreed. "Not that it's known in the magical world. With the Deathly Hallows in your possession, you're also the Master of Death – and since you died, you are the Potterer of Potter's Field."
"So… I wouldn't have been the Potterer if I hadn't died?" Harry assured himself. "If I had gotten away right now, I would have–?"
"You already sacrificed your life in the future on a Potter's Field," Cedric corrected. "You came to this King's Cross-version here before, didn't you?"
"Yeees," he said slowly. "But Dumbledore never said–"
"That man was a fool," Riddle interrupted Harry with a sneer and when Harry blinked and looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. "He was so enraptured by his own games that he didn't even bother to talk to any of the other dead who were following the spectacle."
Harry's eyes widened at that.
"Wait! There were more people watching the war?!" he asked, not sure if he felt horrified or mortified.
"Of course," Cedric said. "A lot of those who died were unwilling to really go on until the whole conflict was resolved. And most of them were quite unhappy with how it was resolved in the end."
Harry pressed his lips together at that.
"Not your fault, Potter," Riddle interrupted Harry's depressing thoughts before they could form. "You were left with basically no instructions or help. You did your best – it's on other's shoulders that it wasn't good enough for a lot of the dead."
Harry opened his mouth to object but was interrupted by Cedric before he could.
"The dead know that," Cedric assured him. "I can't remember anybody being upset with you. Unhappy about the circumstances, sure, but definitely not upset with you."
"Not that it matters anymore," Tom added. "We can change the game plan this time around, after all."
Harry blinked at that.
"Er… have you forgotten?" he tentatively pointed out. "I was hit with a killing curse."
Cedric and Riddle both waved it off.
"Not permanent," they assured Harry as if they were talking about the weather. "No way that would have killed you – especially on a Potter's Field."
Which just brought back Harry's headache tenfold.
"But even if I return," Harry pointed out and rubbed his temples. "I'm still just one person against the whole magical world."
"No," he said. "I offered you my services – and Tom did the same. You wouldn't be alone."
Harry just rolled his eyes, regretting it when his headache sparked.
"You're dead," he pointed out nevertheless. "You died about half an hour ago, Cedric – and Mr. Riddle's been dead since World War Two!"
Riddle looked as if he wanted to protest, but Cedric was faster.
"You're the Potterer," he said. "You rule the dead. Us being dead isn't an obstacle as long as you accept our services. We can help you – and unlike others, we can't die trying. If you let us, we can stay by your side, shoulder on shoulder until it's over. We're already dead, after all."
Harry actually shuddered at that explanation.
"I'm… not interested in Inferi or–"
"We're not going to end up as Inferi," Cedric corrected him immediately, a bit amused.
"Or zombies," Riddle added in amusement.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Voldemort's father.
"You know about zombies?" he asked amused.
Tom Riddle shrugged.
"I had some very interesting discussions with a muggleborn or two," he said innocently. "As a former Royal Army Medical Corps Major and normal-born, it was just prudent to know about medical finds over the last fifty years since I died and everything else happening in the none-magical world and while zombies aren't proven to exist, they still came up… once or twice."
"Ah, oh, okay," Harry said and decided that he wouldn't question the whole thing further. "But – that doesn't change the fact that if I bring you back, you'll either be ghost and might feel uncomfortable in the living world… or you'd be something I'd resurrect and–"
"Nothing of that thought," Riddle countered. "We'd be your servants – as alive and real as you are."
"We wouldn't be truly living anymore," he explained. "But we wouldn't be dead as well. But then, since you are the Potterer and not just the Master of the Deathly Hallows, that's true for you as well. You'll be alive, but not as alive as everybody else because unlike them, you can't die…"
"Well, you could," Riddle corrected Cedric. "But only if you give up your powers deliberately – and as long as you don't have an heir… that won't be happening. The cloak needs a master, without a child, there wouldn't be one, so you wouldn't be able to die."
Harry wondered if his head would explode soon.
That whole thing… seemed to be too much.
He couldn't think anymore. He needed a break, but somehow, he was sure that he wouldn't get one for now.
Cedric seemed to see his troubles, because he smiled at him hesitatingly.
"How about you go and accept our services for now – and we'll talk about everything else later, when you had time to process?"
That… sounded like a prudent advice.
"Alright," he agreed. "How do I–?"
"Just answer with our full names and a full sentence when we ask," Riddle said. "That should be enough for now."
Harry nodded slowly.
"My Lord Potter," he said, addressing Harry in a way Harry had never been addressed before. "Do you, Henry James Potter, accept my, Cedric Robyn William Diggory's service until a time you won't need me anymore or I ask to be released from my vow?"
Harry felt dizzy at the formality, but nevertheless, he answered.
"Yes," he stuttered. "Yes, I, H...Henry James Potter, accept your, Cedric Robyn William Diggory's service until I won't need you anymore or you ask me to be released from your vow."
The moment he said that – stumbling a bit over calling himself 'Henry' – golden chains made of light suddenly erupted from his body and connected him with Cedric.
Before Harry could think about it further, Riddle spoke up as well.
"My Lord Potter," he addressed, suddenly sounding a lot more posh than he had before. "Do you, Lord Henry James Potter, the Potterer of the Potter's Fields, agreed to take me, Major Thomas Sigebert Michael Edward Riddle, Medical Doctor of the Royal Army Medical Corps and Heir of Riddle Manor and its surrounding property, on as a loyal servant until a time you won't find use for me anymore or I request to be released from my vow?"
Harry gulped, but forced himself to reply anyway.
"I, Henry James Potter, agree to take you, Major Thomas Sigebert Michael Edward Riddle, on as a loyal servant until a time I won't find use for you anymore or you request to be released from your vow."
The next moment the same golden chains that connected Harry to Cedric also connected him to Riddle.
For a moment, both men glowed golden, then the golden chains went up in white flames, spreading slowly but surely through the whole train station.
Riddle and Cedric on the other hand seemed to solidify and it was only then that Harry noticed that both of them had looked hazy before.
The black mist-ball that Cedric had been kicking instead was suddenly encompassed by the flames.
It screamed, a high pitched, angry sound, before bursting into flames itself.
Harry stared at it, watching it burn to ash with wide eyes while the rails and everything else seemed to slowly catch fire as well.
"The Horcrux in your scar?" Cedric asked cheerfully. "Yep. Made a good ball while we talked. Was nice to get a hand… or a foot on the one who ordered to kill me, even if it was only for about ten minutes or so."
Cedric had used the horcrux as a football?!
He guessed he couldn't begrudge Cedric a little revenge, after all… but… a football?!
Harry opened his mouth – maybe to ask more questions, maybe to reprimand – it didn't matter, because before he could say what he wanted to say, light, white, hot and burning fire, suddenly surrounded him.
It felt as if he was burning to ashes.
It felt like resurrection.
Then phoenix song filled the air and Harry opened his eyes.
He found himself lying face-down on the grass.
He ears picked up the high laughter of Voldemort to his right and the faint cawing of crows in the otherwise eerily silent graveyard.
"Let's prepare him and send him back," Voldemort ordered in that moment. "Let the magical world see what happened to their saviour."
Something heavy was on Harry's right hand and Harry couldn't help but turn his eyes towards the hand which was lying nearly next to his face in the grass.
A ring adorned with a black stone sat on his right ring finger.
The Resurrection Stone.
Beneath his right hand, the Elder Wand was lying in the grass and from the way Harry's robe glittered in the sun, he was quite sure that he was actually wearing the Invisibility Cloak as well.
It felt heavy on his shoulders.
Before he could think about it, some Death Eater's stepped up towards him at Voldemort's command.
Harry knew that he should panic.
He wasn't dead and they would notice – but the only thing he could think about was that the whole world seemed to be spinning backwards.
The way his senses reacted was different than what he had been used to for the last seventeen years of his life.
They felt odd.
Everything felt odd.
Harry could feel every step of the Death Eaters walking towards him, as if the whole graveyard… Potter's Field… was an extension of his body.
He didn't even have to count how many Death Eaters were gathered, he instinctively knew.
He didn't even have to see to know where they stood!
His whole senses seemed to be stretched over the graveyard… Potter's Field.
He could pinpoint every life, every grave and every dead person. The living were like burning flames in the back of his mind, the dead were like embers in the earth and the graves were like piles of ashes all around him.
It felt like too much.
It felt as if it wasn't enough.
Then the two Death Eater's on their way to him came back to his mind. They had nearly reached him and Harry wiped those thoughts from his mind and decided to think about them later.
Instead, he closed his hand around his wand, preparing himself to fight for his life once more.
It wasn't meant to be.
The moment his hand closed around his wand, something changed.
The embers ignited.
It felt as if hundreds of souls woke up all around him.
"Call me," they said. "Call me and I will obey you, Potterer."
"Use me," they begged. "Let me be of service, Potter, let me be your servant, tonight."
And no matter how much Harry wanted to say 'no', something deep inside him didn't let him reject their offers.
"Yes," he said, his voice loud and yet unheard by the living. "I call you, serve me, obey me, fight for me, tonight."
The Death Eater's reached him and one of them bent down to check up on him.
They never had the chance.
A rotten hand exhumed itself and grabbed that one by their wrist before they could react.
The Death Eater didn't even have time to do more than scream before the second hand reached out and squeezed their throat shut.
The second Death Eater raised his wand to help his comrade but another pair of hands reached for his cloak and ripped him backwards. He fell, just for a skeleton to jump on his upper body and reach for his throat as well.
Harry jumped to his feet.
There were screams all around him.
Death Eaters were throwing spells left right and center while the dead where rising.
"Not bad for a first time," a dry voice commented and Harry turned.
A man had stepped up next to him.
Like Harry, he was watching the chaos.
Harry didn't even have to ask who he was. He had recognized him the first time he met him without introduction, he wouldn't need one now, not when the man still looked like he had minutes before at King's Cross.
"Mr. Riddle," he greeted the man.
"It's Tom, Potter," Riddle corrected Harry immediately. "I'm your servant, there is no reason to call me by my last name."
Harry opened his mouth to correct the other man as well, when Riddle continued, seemingly knowing what Harry wanted to say.
"And I'm not calling you by your first name, Potterer," he said. "I'm your servant – I will call you by your title, so it's either 'Potter' and 'Potterer' or 'Your Highness' and 'My Lord', choose."
"Not 'Your Highness'," he said.
"Potter it is," he agreed.
Harry looked around the chaos some more.
"It would be best if they didn't kill," he said.
"They're your people," he said. "They might listen if you tell them – or they might kill them anyway because they threatened and tried to kill you, their lord – who knows?"
"I need them alive," he said, but no words heard by the living left his mouth.
"They harmed you, Potter," the dead replied. "Vengeance is ours to take for you."
"I want them to be brought to justice," Harry countered.
"This is Potter's Field," the dead objected. "Justice is your word. Justice is your hand. Justice is at your discretion. They entered your realm and by your rule they will be given justice – and justice speaks against them after an attack on our Lord."
Riddle next to Harry snickered.
"They are right," he agreed. "Handing those people over to the mortal government won't satisfy your subjects when they know those people were part of the reason why you died in the first place."
Harry pressed his lips together.
"I'm quite sure that the Ministry won't be happy if I sit by and let them be killed," he countered.
It was Cedric's voice who answered.
"And what could they do?" he countered. "They have no jurisdiction here. It's a Potter's Field. By law and magic, it's not part of the magical world. It belongs to the Potterer – and that's you."
"But aren't I part of the magical world and therefore subject to the Ministry and its laws?" he countered.
"Only insofar that you're a foreign diplomat," he said. "The moment you took up your title you were basically freed from their laws. You're subjected to your own laws now – and those laws are governed by death."
"Your domain, now," Cedric agreed and nodded towards the dead fighting the living. "The dead are the ones you rule and while you can't force them, most of them will offer their service to you without you even having to ask."
Harry frowned and then looked at Cedric.
"You and Tom don't look dead to me," he countered.
"But we are," he said. "We've sworn ourselves to you. We are your servants until you let us go. Your emissaries, your right-hand-men, your voices – whatever you need from us, we will give you. We're not alive. We can't die. Yet, until you release us from your service, we're not dead as well. Until then, for all intent and purpose, we will continue 'living'."
Harry grimaced and Cedric reached for him and squeezed his shoulder.
"It was our choice, Potter," he said. "We both knew what we offered – and we offered to stay by your side – so don't worry, we won't regret."
For a moment, Harry wanted to object, then he decided that arguing with Cedric could happen later and he turned back towards the fight between Death Eaters and the dead.
A lot of the Death Eaters had tried to burn the dead, but that had only the effect that the dead in question were now enveloped in flames instead of just bones. Unlike Inferi, the dead Harry commanded didn't seem to be harmed by fire.
Harry could also see that more and more Death Eaters had been thrown to earth and were dying.
He pressed his lips together.
"I need at least Pettigrew alive and in custody before he turns into his rat form and scurries away," he told the dead, while watching some of the Death Eaters Apparating away. "He carries knowledge of an injustice done by the Ministry that needs correction. And I need as many Death Eaters marked openly as you can manage. It's not important that they die. It's important to ensure that people know they've been a part of tonight. Justice can come in time – as long as I know who needs to be brought to justice."
"The Potterer's wish we obey," the dead answered and it felt as if Harry's memory of Pettigrew… leaked over to the dead. Harry grimaced at the feeling and he grimaced even more when more than one Death Eater was marked by a rusty blade shattering the mask and disfiguring their faces.
Even more Death Eaters – those who were still capable of it and had the opportunity – apparated away.
When Harry looked around, he noticed that Voldemort had already fled.
He also noticed that more than one Death Eater was lying lifeless on the ground.
Cedric next to him on the other hand looked a lot less disturbed than Harry felt.
"You're not upset by their deaths?" Harry asked his fellow champion.
"You will soon find out that for us dead, death is a lot less disturbing than for the living. You will get used to it, Potter," he said. "Death loses its fear after you died – so killing is a lot more natural for us than for the living."
Harry guessed that in a twisted way, it made sense.
He nodded to show that he understood.
It was then that the last of the Death Eaters managed to escape, his mask shattered and his face bloodied.
Harry surveyed the chaos left behind from the fight.
The dead on the other hand turned to him to look at him.
Two of them stepped forward and threw an unconscious Peter Pettigrew to Harry's feet. They seemed to feel proud of their accomplishment.
"Thank you," Harry said with a voice unheard by the living and felt the acknowledging his gratefulness. "You helped me a lot, tonight."
"You're the Potterer," the dead answered. "You're our Lord. We will obey if you need us."
For a moment that actually made Harry smile, then his attention was drawn to the graveyard… Potter's Field… as a whole.
It felt different.
It took a moment to place the feeling, but in the end, Harry could actually comprehend the difference he felt.
The carnage left behind felt like an open wound.
Harry wanted it closed.
For a moment he tried to find spells that accomplished that – the next moment, without a spell necessary, every evidence of the battle started to fade, leaving behind undisturbed earth.
The dead on the other hand seemed to take it as their cue to leave.
Harry watched them return to their graves, contend to wait until their graves were sealed shut again.
The moment the graveyard… Potter's Field... was back to its original glory, the feeling of the souls vanished, leaving Harry with the knowledge that only three other people were ensouled in his realm – and wasn't that an odd way to describe a graveyard?!
Nevertheless, it was true.
The only people 'alive' were Harry, Cedric, Riddle and an unconscious and slightly roughed-up Peter Pettigrew.
"I guess… we should return to Hogwarts," he said while frowning. "From there, we should be able to send Pettigrew and the dead Death Eaters to the Ministry."
It wasn't an ideal solution, but…
"You could send me as your emissary to the Ministry as well," Riddle countered. "I'm your servant. If you send me, I will do your bidding."
"We don't need to stay both with you," Cedric agreed. "We prefer if one of us will be able to stay with you, but we don't need to do it both, Potter."
"I'm underage again," he countered. "And port-keys are illegal. I simply can't send one of you to the Ministry."
"You're in a Potter's Field," he countered. "This is your realm. The Ministry has no say in what you do or don't as long as you're in your realm – and barely a say when you are in theirs."
That actually stopped Harry's thought process.
Riddle's argument sounded… oddly logical.
"Huh," he said. "That's going to take some time to get used to."
Then he stooped down and picked up a chunk of earth. He frowned at it, before he used the Elder Wand to transfigure it into a silver chain with a silver pendant with an altered symbol of the Deathly Hallows engraved into it. It felt right to mark the pendant with Harry's own version of the Deathly Hallows' symbol.
That done, he changed the pendant into a port-key to the Ministry and handed it to Riddle.
"It should bring you to the Ministry and later back to me," Harry said, quite happy that he had actually learned the charm while fleeing from the Death Eaters all over the country in his seventh year. "Take the Death Eaters with you and don't let the Ministry's people walk all over you. I've no interest in a repeat from last time, if I can help it."
His thought turned to the Ministry sticking their heads into the ground after tonight.
No, he didn't want to have a repeat of that if he could help it.
"I will do my best, Potter," he agreed and took the pendant.
"That reminds me, Tom," he said and narrowed his eyes at Riddle. "Do you have magic? I mean, you were muggle when… well, when you were alive… which is odd to say since you are alive right now..."
"I don't command magic like you and Cedric do, Potter," he replied unbothered. "But I'm also not a muggle anymore. I'm dead. I'm not bothered by spells and while I can't do them, they mostly don't have an effect on me as well. You don't have to feel concerned for me – even if I might have to find a weapon if I should end up fighting… or I'll have to get physical… I know for sure that hitting works just as well on wizards as on muggles."
At that, he pointedly looked at the Death Eaters strewed about in the graveyard – Potter's Field!
Harry conceded his point but nevertheless looked around for a weapon.
It was odd. He had met Tom Riddle only minutes ago, yet he felt possessive of him in a way Harry had never even felt about his best friends.
So, it wasn't surprising that he wasn't keen on letting Riddle walk into the Ministry without any kind of weapon as protection – just in case.
It was then that he remembered the dagger Wormtail had carried and used in the ritual.
With a wave of his wand, Harry summoned the Death Eaters and Wormtail to his feet before he removed the dagger from the unconscious man with a sharp "Accio!".
The dagger flew to his empty left hand.
The moment Harry's finger touched the dagger, it changed.
The silvery blade turned into a silvery black.
Some of the blood still clinging to it vanished, the rest – Harry knew it was his own – embedded into the blade and changed the silvery shimmer into a silvery-red one.
The hilt held the engraving of the Deathly Hollows, encased in emeralds.
Harry looked at it and then nodded satisfied before handing it to Riddle.
"This will do for now," he decided and Riddle took it, not even blinking when Harry used a stick to change it into a black scabbard and handed it to him as well.
Only when Riddle had secured the scabbard with the dagger on his belt, Harry nodded and stepped back so that Riddle could touch the pile of Death Eaters next to him and vanish with them.
"Let's go back to Hogwarts," Harry said without a sound for the living. "There's a traitor to uncover and a Horcrux to destroy, after all."
"Of course, Potter," Cedric agreed and summoned the port-key.
They both caught it at the same time and were whisked away back to Hogwarts, but unlike the last time, Harry wasn't the only one alive – just like Cedric wasn't the only one dead while they returned.
Harry was sure that this time around, the magical world wouldn't keep him at bay so easily.
… … …
At Potter's Field is where I laid down
Amongst my predators and friends I rest
… … …
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
I'm blaming this idea on Batsutousai's "Gelosaþ in Écnesse"'s beginning and on Mono Inc.'s "Potter's Field". Don't mix them. They give you weird ideas… *sweatdrops* :D
'Till next time