A flash of steel sliced through the air, and Harry Potter's vision was instantly washed red with blood.
"Ahhh!"
A groan tore from him before he could stop it.
The "Muggle" dressed as a gamekeeper had slashed a deep gash across his wrist.
Blood poured from the wound, hot and relentless.
"Damn it…"
Harry struggled uselessly. The pain, the blood, the helplessness, it dragged him straight back to what had happened more than two years ago.
Two years had passed. He was older now.
Yet somehow, his situation felt just as hopeless as before.
No. Worse.
"Master... if this continues, Potter may bleed to death," Severus Snape said suddenly from the side. "Though I'd be pleased to see him die, if he dies too soon, it may interfere with our plans. A dead man's blood may not be useful."
"Yes. You are right, Severus."
Voldemort nodded.
"AHHH!"
Harry screamed again, harsher this time.
Voldemort's hand had slammed down hard onto the open wound.
White-hot pain exploded through Harry's arm. For one terrifying instant, he thought he might actually die.
Crude as it was, the pressure did slow the bleeding.
His head spinning, Harry forced himself to focus. He tore his eyes away from the fake gamekeeper and looked around.
The Death Eater called Aiden had just arrived, panting heavily.
In his hands was an enormous stone cauldron filled with liquid.
"I'll leave it to you, Severus," Voldemort said with a smile.
To him, tormenting Harry and watching pain twist across his face clearly mattered more than preparing whatever was inside that cauldron.
Harry stared at Snape.
If hatred alone could kill, Snape would have died a thousand times already.
But Harry could do nothing.
He could only watch as Snape flicked and traced his wand beneath the cauldron, then added one strange ingredient after another.
Watch as Snape completed the potion.
Harry recognized it immediately.
It was the same brew Voldemort had used to regain a body more than two years ago.
Only this time, instead of Wormtail, the one brewing it was Snape.
Flames crackled beneath the cauldron.
A nauseating stench spread through the air.
Harry swallowed hard against the urge to vomit, while Voldemort inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the smell like perfume.
The liquid heated with unnatural speed.
Its surface began to boil violently. Sparks burst upward as if the potion itself were burning.
Steam thickened, swallowing the room inch by inch until even Snape's figure became blurred.
Or maybe Harry's vision was fading from blood loss.
"Hurry up!" Voldemort urged, unable to hide his excitement.
Harry had expected it to take longer.
But Snape finished far faster than he'd imagined. Snape's skill with potions was leagues beyond Wormtail's.
In what felt like a blink, the surface of the brew glittered with countless sparks, like diamonds scattered across black water.
"It is ready, Master," Snape said calmly.
"Excellent!"
Voldemort, still in the gamekeeper's disguise, raised the blade again.
This time Harry clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, refusing to scream.
The wound on his wrist had only just begun to close.
Now it was carved open again, wider than before.
Blood streamed out in sheets, spilling into the cauldron, as if every drop in his body was being drained away.
"Hahahahaha!"
Voldemort's laughter rang beside his ear.
"I must thank you, Potter..." he said, drunk on triumph. "Twice now. Twice my return has depended on your help. The first time, you gave me the blood of an enemy. This time, you have given me something even more precious... a soul."
He glanced at the violently boiling cauldron.
"One final ingredient remains... the flesh of my loyal servant."
His eyes shifted to the two Death Eaters beside him.
"Sectumsempra!"
Snape's wand snapped upward, fast as lightning.
He aimed not at Harry.
At the other Death Eater.
The poor man never had time to react.
The curse struck him instantly, and he collapsed into a widening pool of blood.
Snape strode forward, bent down, picked up several chunks of flesh from the floor, and dropped them into the cauldron.
"Now," he said, lifting his head to Voldemort, "I believe it is complete, my Lord."
"Good... very good... perfect... absolutely perfect!"
Green smoke curled up from the cauldron as Voldemort spoke, his voice trembling with near-hysterical delight.
Everything was ready.
Almost.
One last piece remained.
His own shattered soul.
Controlling the Muggle body he had stolen, Voldemort walked step by step toward the great cauldron.
He stared into the murky liquid.
Then, with a heavy splash, he jumped in.
...
Is it over?
Harry Potter felt only weakness.
Weakness, pain, and emptiness.
He understood exactly what was happening, yet all he wanted to do was sleep.
Too much blood lost.
The wound on his wrist was still bleeding.
This time, Voldemort was going to win.
Harry no longer had the strength to stop him.
All that remained was to wait for Voldemort to emerge from the cauldron with a restored body, and kill him.
His thoughts grew dim.
His eyelids sank lower and lower.
Just as darkness was about to take him, a cool sensation spread across his wrist.
Something had been poured over the wound.
Or some spell had been cast.
The torn flesh began to knit together.
Slowly, painfully slowly, strength returned to his body.
Harry gathered every shred of will he had left and forced his eyes open.
Then he saw something so shocking it nearly drove the sleep from him entirely.
Severus Snape was kneeling beside him, wand raised, healing the wound on his wrist.