When the third task started, Harry was the first to go into the maze. He just walked to the first intersection and sat down, after making sure there was no danger. Although he couldn't hear anything from outside, he was quite sure that the audience was confused. He didn't care.
Soon enough he was joined by Cedric and Viktor, both sitting on the ground with their wands at ready. They stood up again when Fleur arrived. It turned quite easy afterwards, as most of the obstacles were no match for four wands working together. Even the Acrumantula had no real chance against them, and the four arrived at the centre together. Harry was still unsure about one of the champions rushing to the trophy, claiming to be the only winner. He suspected the foreign champions the most, not knowing any of them too well,
He had nothing to worry about. None touched the trophy until they were all standing around it. Harry, as the unofficial leader, ordered, "On the count of three, we all touch it together. One… two… three!" and they all touched the trophy together. The high hedges seemed to move, creating a direct path, leading to the judges' table. The four walked together as the audience burst with cheers. Only Karkaroff seemed sour.
-..-
Despite her precautions, Madam Bones was unable to prevent all leaks. Somehow, the Daily Prophet was able to report of the changes in the third task and the additional security measures a day before it took place. She was furious about the leak, yet unable to find its source on time. She was sure it would prevent her from completing her plan to catch the dark lord and his minions before they managed to do any more evil.
-..-
In his hideout, Voldemort read the newspaper. He didn't like what he read, but he wasn't too surprised. His servant at Hogwarts had stopped sending him progress reports for some time, making him quite sure that the man was found out. This made it much more difficult to get the Potter brat, and with the additional security in place, it became a lost cause. He couldn't find a way to kidnap that boy in time for the ritual. Well, he could use somebody else for his resurrection. As he considered all Muggles as his enemies, any of them would do, despite his preference to use some magical blood in the ritual.
If his servant had been found out, then he needed to change the location too. He assumed that the cemetery at Little Hangelton was no longer safe enough. He could still send Wormtail a day earlier to extract a bone from his father's grave, to be used for the ritual.
-..-
The Aurors who reached the cemetery found nothing out of order. A single gravestone seemed to be misaligned, one above the tomb of one Mr. Ripple, a young muggle who had died in a car accident, some five years earlier. Nobody paid it any attention. Despite waiting until the middle of the night, well after the third task was over, the Aurors found nothing to do.
-..-
Voldemort instructed Wormtail to conduct the ritual inside his hideout. They had acquired the bone a day earlier. A homeless wanderer that Wormtail had found nearby was considered good enough for the blood. A simple sleep charm had been all that was needed. The drunkard would not even know he'd unwillingly taken a part in the ritual, once he woke up. He would only wonder about the long gash in his arm.
Wormtail was acting as expected. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" he said, dropping the bone taken from the grave into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master." He stretched his right hand out in front of him – the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. A sickening splash was heard, as something was dropped into the cauldron.
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. He took a glass vial, full of dark-red blood.
"B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe." He poured the blood inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white.
Nothing seemed to happen for several minutes, except for random fumes and sparks coming out of the cauldron. It then got covered with mist, as a man, tall and skeletally thin, was rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, moving to the large chair, only a few paces away from the cauldron. He walked slowly and majestically… and then he stepped on the hem of his robes and fell forward, his face crashing to the floor. He tried to get up but failed. Wormtail rushed to help him and needed to almost carry the tall man to the chair, where he slumped, too weak to properly sit.
"Bring me some food!" he said.
Wormtail lifted his stump. "But… Master… please…"
Voldemort looked at the pitiful excuse for a man, contemplating what to do. He didn't have much choice, really. He had no other servant available, and this one could not do much without his hand. He took his wand, which was still on the adjacent table and waved it at the stump, stopping the bleeding.
He felt exhausted by this single spell, and it worried him. Wormtail was still moaning, "Please. Master… please…"
"Bring me some food first!" Voldemort said, trying to sound powerful. Wormtail moved swiftly, fearing his master's wrath. He went out of the room, returning with a large tray which he was holding with one hand and using the other arm to keep it right. He reverently put the tray down on the table.
"Move it closer!"
Wormtail pushed the table until it could move no closer. Voldemort started eating. He felt no hunger, really, nor had he any appetite, but he felt that his body was too weak and needed urgent nourishment. He felt so weak that even eating was tiring him. He considered himself lucky that the serving was quite small, as he barely had enough energy to finish it.
"Now take it away and let me rest!" he ordered.
Wormtail lifted his stump again. "But… Master… please…"
"You've taken your time before coming to search for me. You can wait until I'm rested enough," Voldemort told him. Wormtail hurried to do as requested, still moaning occasionally. Voldemort could barely hold his posture until left alone. He thought of transfiguring his chair into a sofa, but wasn't sure he was strong enough to do it. He closed his eyes, drifting into uneasy sleep almost at once.
Wormtail let his master rest for the whole night. He didn't dare disturb Voldemort's rest. He even managed to get some rest too, after using his own wand to clean his robes of most of the blood. Holding his wand in his left hand proved to impair his magic quite strongly, but he could do nothing about it.
The sun was already quite high in the sky when Wormtail dared come check on his master. With some daylight pouring through the windows, Voldemort looked like a robed skeleton, forgotten on a chair. As he came closer, to find if his master was even breathing, Voldemort woke up.
"Bring me breakfast!" Voldemort said-hissed. He felt even worse than before falling asleep.
Wormtail hurried to oblige, unwilling to annerve his master.
Once he cleared the breakfast tray, he got his courage up enough to lift his stump. "Please. Master… please…"
Voldemort didn't feel like he had enough power for even a simpler spell, but he just couldn't show his weakness to his servant. What kind of a dark lord would he be if he showed any weakness?
Voldemort raised his wand and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a rough replica of a human hand, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's wrist.
Wormtail raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling ski glove. He flexed the shining fingers, and then, trembling, tried to pick up a small stone from the floor. He only succeeded the third time, as the fingers didn't seem to close right. It was still better than no hand at all. He vaguely wondered if that was the best his master could achieve or the best he considered right to give.
"My Lord," he whispered. "Master… it is beautiful… thank you… thank you…"
Voldemort dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Leave me alone for now. I need to think."
It took Voldemort a few days of thinking to come to the conclusion that the ritual had been botched in some way. He found the parchment on which Wormtail had written the instructions about the grave to take a bone from. The way Wormtail wrote RIDDLE it could be easily read as RIPPLE. He wondered if that was the cause of his problem or maybe something else. He was too weak to cast Crucio, so he didn't try to investigate too deeply. He couldn't let his servant become aware of his weakness.
With frequent meals, his body seemed to get a bit stronger. He then remembered that he had designed the dark mark to allow him to siphon some magic from his followers. If he could take just a little bit from each, he would have enough to be able to reform his army… maybe…
Two weeks after his resurrection, with a healthy nutrient diet and with the addition of some strengthening potions, Voldemort felt ready enough to face his followers. As night fell, he went slowly to the cemetery, stopping for rest every few paces. He then called Wormtail and pressed the dark mark on his arm. Unknown to anybody, he also used the dark mark to soak another bit of magic from his followers. It was too little for them to notice, but it could give him some badly needed boost to his own magic, at least for long enough to start moving things the way he wanted them.
He waited impatiently, leaning on a headstone, to preserve his powers.
The air was suddenly full of movement, as wizards were apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes. Others did the same. They then crawled back a few paces and stood up, silently forming a circle. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years… thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact – such prompt appearances! And I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.
"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!" Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked, but only for a second. The pain was much less than he had expected, based on past experience. Actually, it was barely more than a tickle.
Voldemort kept his wand trained on that man, trying to push more of his magic into the spell, to no avail. He felt cold sweat appearing on his forehead and he quickly ended the spell.
"I'll forgive you, this time. Don't ever cross me again!"
"Of course, Master," the death-eaters chorused.
Voldemort had to abandon the long, twisted speech that he had initially intended to recite. He knew he could not do it when he could hardly stand, and he could not grab some more magic from others without using the dark mark on one of his followers, only that would expose his weakness. He just gave his orders, assigning each Death Eater certain tasks and sent them away. They each apparated away as soon as he let them. He barely found the energy to sit down in a dignified way and not collapse on the nearest grave.
"Go back and make dinner. I still need to do something here," he told Wormtail.
"Yes, master," the bald man said, apparating away.
Voldemort was still looking at the same spot. He would have liked to apparate, but he knew he couldn't, not with that frail body that seemed to have needed most of his magic just to keep living. It left almost nothing for him to use. He walked slowly back, not even noticing the Ripple grave that he had sat on.