Chapter Text
"Greyback," James laughs in delight, shutting the door of the sitting room behind him. "Fancy seeing you here. Excuse me, Voldemort, would you mind if we caught up?"
Greyback is in formal outer robes, tailored exquisitely and subtly blank of family crests, but he wears it like the muggleborn in Hogwarts do. Underneath it all, he's covered in scars and scuffed, light on his feet in the way Remus is as the moon waxes ever larger in the darkening sky. It's not a full moon tonight, but it'll be close enough to give the man an edge.
Greyback sneers at James. "I'll have plenty of time for you after. Run along."
James smirks, sharp and derisive because that's the one who turned Remus and James has been leaning into his dark side a bit too much recently to brush this off. "Oh, I know what you do with little boys. Won't ever fight someone your size, huh?" His smirk widens to a grin that's all teeth. "Wow, imagine being a werewolf and still acting like such a cowardly bitch."
Greyback surges forward in rage and then gets sent skidding straight back, barely able to stay on his feet when Voldemort's magic floods out to fill the quiet sitting room.
James scoffs. "Aw, that's cute, my werewolf thinks he's the alpha too."
"James," Voldemort says firmly. "Do you need something?"
"You can give me Greyback so I can rip out his fucking teeth," James declares. He's going to make Remus a necklace.
"You may do that after I've finished speaking with him," Voldemort allows. "Go and find Tom or Harry, I don't want you alone right now."
James opens his mouth.
"Now, James," Voldemort hisses and his magic comes to bare down on James too.
James' inhale stutters as a weight comes to rest on his chest. Doesn't stop him from opening his mouth though. "If you let him get away, I'm going to be very upset," he mutters petulantly and slinks out of the room.
"I give you my word, if you go to Tom right now," Voldemort says and it feels like an order.
James nods and just before he closes the door, Greyback is dropped onto the floor gasping from where he had been held in stasis simply because Voldemort's magic did not allow him to move.
James stands in the empty corridor and frowns. He glances back at the sitting room door, unsure. Voldemort doesn't really do serious. Doesn't really do anything that isn't vague or mild emotions, usually some mix of apathy or amusement. Harry says it's because Voldemort locked it all away in trinkets, and one day all he'll have is anger.
Maybe he should go and find Tom or Harry.
James circles back around to the 'kids room' hallway just in time to see Tom's garnet-embroidered robes billow around the corner. "Tom!"
James grabs a quiche from the plate on the side table as he runs after Tom. The other teenager isn't in sight when he turns the corner so James pulls out a wand, but the tracking spell comes back odd. James tries three more but even the strongest comes back pointing in the exact opposite direction.
James bites his bottom lip and does a few basic diagnostic spells on the manor too. Anti-apparation and anti-portkey. Physical shields are up.
Okay, but did Voldemort do that or did someone else?
"Fine, we'll do this the hard way," James mutters and tosses the snack into his mouth before making a little cut on the back of his forearm where nothing important is, to get blood to draw with. Moony is slightly magic resistant so they've had tracking problems before and losing him in the already magic-dense forest sucks. A little Dark magic goes a long way in helping deal with a Dark creature – or a Tom.
Tom is two left turns and a right further down, talking with a man in the middle of a sunroom filled with chaise lounges and indoor plants green enough to be magically cared for, the inside lit up and the glow seeping out into the darkness of a sunset.
Tom is also surrounded by six other witches and wizards who have their wands pointed at him, but the teenager stands like they're bowing to him instead.
"-rather simple," Tom is saying, with only a careless glance back towards James. "When you first approached me, I was merciful to you, Noah. I told you, either bow to me or perish. I thought we had an understanding."
"I did not realise you spoke for Voldemort," the man says dismissively, grey streaks at his temples and head high. His accent is the right blend for a French Canadian.
"I am Voldemort," Tom hisses.
"Take this message to your father, and it's best you don't play games, boy," the other Dark Lord states. He gestures out to the people holding Tom at wand point. "Our deal was long ago and times change. This is my…amendment."
"Taking my creatures and coming here to my territory, is not an amendment," Tom grits out, eyes narrowing. "That is a request for assisted suicide. And I, Noah, am merciful enough to grant it."
"Very well," Noah murmurs and his eyes flick over to James. "Kill both of them."
"You are the fucking worst!" Harry snaps at Voldemort as they fight back-to-back against what is apparently an army of hyped-up werewolves, some actual followers of a bloody Canadian Dark Lord, along with a few imperio'd bystanders.
"I had no idea this was happening," Voldemort snaps back, looping a one-way shield around both of them. "This is entirely Tom. I said; I have Europe, you go have fun with the colonies."
"You can't call them colonies anymore," Harry complains, throwing out rapid-fire disarming charms. "Why would you not have warned me as soon as you got a hint-?"
"Harry, can you just use anything except for expelliarmus?" Voldemort cuts in, frustrated. "I know you dropped out of Hogwarts but honestly, it seems like the only person you'll really fight against is me."
"Oh, I fucking wonder why!"
"It's just a shame to see someone as powerful as my equal-"
"Shove it up your-!"
"-waste his magical talents on an expelliarmus. It's embarrassing, Harry. You're embarrassing me right now."
If Harry wasn't so worried about his dad, he would turn around and start throwing spells at Voldemort instead.
"Fucking Canadians!" James cries, fighting back-to-back with Tom in a half-shattered sunroom. He's panic-transfiguring people into fish and forming barricades of two-way mirrors in solid steel to hide behind, or else he's throwing out glass shards.
There's also a Grim ripping his way through a woman's throat right now and listen, James transfigured it out of the ground and enchanted it, and now he has no control, that's just Padfoot taken over.
"I told you to leave!" Tom hisses at James, but focuses all of his energy on the Dark Lord who has eighty years, and all that entails, over Tom. The man is an excellent dueller, wastes no movements, doesn't bother with James who's clearly the distraction.
Tom is, quite terrifyingly, still winning.
It's a slow slog though, mainly because Tom is also helping James take care of the minions – who keep coming in. Someone finally takes out the Grim, who shatters to black glass. James' replying spell is a vicious spiral in orange that rips the man's arm off like teeth got into it. James just gets very attached to his transfigured animals, especially when they look like Padfoot.
"Really sorry if he attacks you, Tom," James says with a wince and then starts forming a great, hulking beast out of the marble floor in stops and starts between continuously pulling up more shields to defend them both.
Tom snarls. "That better not be a werewolf behind me right now."
"It's fine," James casually but the problem with his frantic enchantments is that it goes off unconscious thought and works autonomously so James doesn't have to either keep controlling it or spend like ten minutes giving it basic commands.
But it comes out like the real Moony, so absolutely does not listen to James – only Prongs.
"Down!" James screams and tackles Tom behind a barrier.
A massive werewolf launches himself over the two teenagers with a thunderous roar, slamming straight into the Dark Lord. Moony takes two curses that rip open his empty chest and the werewolf snaps down on the Dark Lord's wand arm, cracking it into pieces.
"Oh Merlin, don't tell Harry," James whispers. "I'm such a bad role model. Fuck, I've actually killed people. Oh, what am I doing?"
Tom shoves him off and rolls up, snapping around a whip of crackling electricity that arcs off the mirror barricades, slamming into minions and throwing them back, their bodies seizing with the amount of energy running through them. Tom hurls spells after them, doesn't pause to check if they're dead or alive. If he can just get rid of them while James is distracting the main fighter, he can take down that sorry excuse for a Dark Lord.
Moony is marble so isn't affected by the electricity but he is blasted apart by the Dark Lord who heaves back to his feet, gripping the wand of a dead follower because his is splintered, one arm gone and claw marks down his bleeding chest.
"Moony!" James cries in horror.
Tom whirls around but James' wand is already being knocked out of his hand by a red curse that makes sharp pain race up James' arm like a thousand needles cutting into him all at once. The Dark Lord's next curse is aimed at a still turning Tom's back, because despite what is soon to be fatal injuries if they aren't healed, the man knows Tom is the real threat.
Tom is bringing up a marble shield out of the floor, too slow to block anything because he'd been halfway through another curse. He can't dodge, the spell is already close enough to cast a glow over his face. There's fear in Tom's eyes.
James doesn't have a wand and fuck but his arm hurts, and that's okay because Tom will heal him later. James catches the spell, in his bare hand. Just pure quidditch-trained hand-eye coordination; snatches it right out of the air faster than he can blink.
The green glow spills out of James' fingers a brief moment before they close around the curse.
Oh.
Oh shit, it was green.
James crumples to the floor.
The next three of the Dark Lord's curses are already hurtling through the air. They stop, hang mid-air with a streaking tail still crackling. It all stops. Tom makes it stop.
The thing about Potters, about that beast they keep under the floorboards like a pet, is that when they sacrifice themselves -when they offer up magic and soul to protect someone- that beast comes alive. It turns a heavy head and locks onto the target, and it pours three millennia of stored magic into that person.
Tom's breath catches in his chest and it feels like his heart is going to smash through his rib cage. The ground cracks at his feet just from how much magic is inside him. It is a physical presence that makes his hair float, tugs at his robes – unravels the edges of the material just from being too close.
Tom could make stars.
He could raise the oceans, sink continents. If he willed it, he could turn back time itself, reach into other dimensions. Tear apart the fabric of reality and watch it crash into each other like waves against the cliffs.
Tom could be immortal. Truly immortal. He could absorb Voldemort even and he would win, despite being just a sliver of the man's soul.
Voldemort? Does he feel this power? Does it bleed into him?
Tom pushes and the room fractures. It cracks in neat, precise lines, slowly expands like an explosion rippled through the entire manor – if it weren't so controlled. The upper floors float off, the rooms further in shattering into smaller and smaller pieces the more it gets away from Tom. Even the wards, they break apart, still working but separated, kept in stasis by his sheer willpower.
The entire mansion unfurls into Tom's view, as does furniture or people unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place. Voldemort and Harry stand on separate blocks only a few large rooms down. They, too, are frozen, spells hanging mid-air.
Time hasn't stopped, Tom has simply stopped everything else.
"What is this, Harry?" Tom whispers and his voice echoes, loud enough to be screaming.
The closest person still alive starts bleeding from the ears. It's the joke of a Dark Lord. Tom unravels him like tugging at a loose string on clothes. Easy, somewhat satisfying but mostly out of boredom. To see what would happen.
Tom realises Harry can't answer so he opens a little space, or rather he stops filling it with his immense presence.
Harry drops to the ground wheezing, staggers back up and leaps from his block, down to Voldemort's where the man has fallen to a knee, keeps moving to the next. "James? James, are you… Dad? Dad, are you hurt?"
Tom is watching Voldemort. It seems whatever James did can differentiate between fractured souls.
"What is this?" Voldemort demands. He lurches back up. "Harry, what's happening? Why does Tom think you would know?"
"It's Potter Family something, I don't - Dad!" Harry cries, running over and falling to his knees beside James's body. He shakes him, gently. Tries a few spells. Harry half looks up at Tom but can't quite tear his eyes away from James. "Tom, what's wrong with him? What spell is it?"
No one answers him.
Harry puts his head down over James' chest, the smooth material of his robes. "He's not breathing. I – he's not. Tom. I can't hear his…"
Tom is looking down at them and it feels like reading a book, like everything is so distant, not quite pictured the way it should be.
Harry sits up still half hunched over and tries to gather James up into his arms. "Voldemort? Can you – what, what is it? Bone of the…of the father? Blood of the enemy." Harry fixes James' crooked glasses. "You like dad, he's useful to you. Voldemort." Harry's inhale is stuttered. "Please. Please just…"
Voldemort slowly makes his way down through the fractured platforms. "Necromancy takes preparation. If I had time while he was still alive, maybe. To bring him back now, when his soul is gone, he would still be empty."
"We can use the resurrection stone," Harry whispers into James' hair. His hands are shaking. "The elder wand. He already has the cloak. I think that brought me here, they could do something."
Voldemort comes to a stop near them but he's looking at Tom.
Tom can feel it fading already. In this…numb, overflowing state, that makes no difference to him. He does not feel anger or despair or disappointment – there is no room inside him for it. There's no strain yet but holding the majority of Great Britain at a standstill will take its toll when the power fades further. Might just tear him apart.
What does Tom want in the minute he has left? Ruler of the world when it won't even be a challenge? Reabsorb Voldemort when Tom is already his own person? Immortality when he's already immortal? Good looks, riches, fame when he already has them in spades?
"I know where the philosopher's stone is," Harry says quietly. "Voldemort?"
And Voldemort, he's still human enough to sigh. "Harry, it doesn't work like that."
"Can you try though?"
What's the point of all this power, when it fills Tom's head and suddenly everything else looks so meaningless? What a bored god he would make.
"Move aside," Tom states and kneels beside James because it would be such a pity to not use this for something at least. Better this than…call a phoenix to him or some such.
"Do you know how to do it?" Harry asks, whisper soft as he lays James back down gently.
"Not at all," Tom admits. But he can make stars. Raise oceans, sink continents, et cetera.
Reviving one annoying little boy is a bit disappointing, really.
Good to know Tom can feel emotions again though.
Light condenses down into a shimmering ball just hovering over James' slightly parted lips. For a blink, the ball appears to have stubby little antlers before it all vanishes into James when he sucks it in with a heaving gasp.
"Green," James chokes out, half coming up and then flopping back down. He clutches Harry to him when the older teenager falls over James' chest to listen to his hammering heartbeat. James flails around the other hand and grabs Tom's robes. "Motherfucker tried to Avada me! Did you push me out of the way? Oh shit, oh shit, that was terrifying – what the fuck is wrong with the manor?"
The power splutters out of Tom and the wards snap back first, crack against each other, explode in a blast wave of magic that lashes against the walls that just rocketed back together like a stretched rubber band. It's all rubble where Tom cut it apart so the entire mansion collapses on itself as the wards hurl it all inwards in a spray of bullets made from glass and splinters, slicing through the entire thing.
Tom throws up shields with his remaining, stuttering borrowed magic and that's only just enough time for Voldemort to reinforce it. Harry curls over James protectively as the entire hill the manor was on now drops several meters as the ward stone underneath implodes.
James is screaming hysterically the entire time with a death grip on Tom's robes and, fine, maybe Tom would have missed him.