Harry Potter Dark Disaster

A tremor ran through Andrew's emaciated form, a ripple of disbelief that threatened to shatter the fragile illusion of his new reality. He wasn't just observing this scene; he was the scene. The chilling recognition settled, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on him like the damp earth of the graveyard. The air hung thick with the smell of decaying leaves and something else…something acrid, metallic, like blood. He looked down at his hands again, their skeletal fingers tracing the rough texture of the robe. It felt strangely familiar, as if it had always been a part of him. He raised a hand, a shaky, hesitant gesture, and watched as the moonlight glinted off the long, pale nails. Each movement was a stark confirmation of his horrifying metamorphosis. He was a ghost, a wraith, a creature of shadows woven from the very darkness that surrounded him.The boy – Harry Potter – remained oblivious, his eyes tightly shut, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. The snake, a monstrous thing with eyes like chips of obsidian, coiled around the statue, its scales shimmering in the moonlight. Wormtail, his rat-like features illuminated by the flickering light, looked on with a mixture of fear and fawning adoration that chilled Andrew to the bone.A chilling wave of nausea washed over him, the taste of bile rising in his throat. He tried to speak, but only a rasp escaped his lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. He focused, trying to gather his thoughts, desperately clutching at any semblance of his former life. Uruguay…the street…the blinding headlights…the impact…a searing white light…He remembered the books, the movies, the whispered conversations in college dorm rooms. He remembered the casual interest that had blossomed into a fascination, then an obsession. He had devoured the stories, marveling at the magic, at the characters, at the intricate world Rowling had created. Now, he was in that world. And he was Voldemort.A sudden surge of power coursed through him, a raw, untamed energy that pulsed beneath his skin like a second heart. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly alien. He felt a connection to the snake, a dark, symbiotic bond that sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the boy's fear, a palpable wave of terror that resonated with something deep within him—a twisted echo of his own dark power. Wormtail shuffled forward, his eyes fixed on Andrew with an unsettling blend of reverence and terror. "My Lord," he croaked, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "He is ready." The weight of centuries of evil settled upon Andrew's shoulders, the weight of countless lives taken, of unspeakable acts committed. He wasn't just Andrew anymore. He was Voldemort. And he had a dark destiny to fulfill. The words hung heavy in the air, unanswered. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him, heavy and unforgiving. The game had begun.