Harry Potter: outlier

Harry had once again been powerless, forced to be an onlooker on the sidelines.

His limbs still bound, blood trickling down his arm where Wormtail's knife had sliced him open. Cedric lay only a few feet away, eyes wide, forever frozen in shock. The light had gone from them so fast, so senselessly.

It was just as fast as Ron's death.

Harry's heart pounded so hard it hurt.

He could barely hear what Voldemort was saying anymore. The voices of the Death Eaters were a dull murmur, swallowed by the roaring in his ears. All he saw was Cedric. All he felt was the pulse of fear and helplessness, sick and crawling inside his gut.

His scar seared with pain. Every time Voldemort looked in his direction, it flared, as though a branding iron had been pressed to his forehead.

Then, without warning, the bindings snapped. His limbs flailed free, and he tumbled sideways into the grass.

His instincts screamed to run before his brain caught up.

Harry rolled, just as Voldemort's cold voice rang out behind him.

"Now… we play fair."

Wand tossed.

It landed inches from his outstretched hand.

Harry snatched it up and staggered to his feet, breath ragged, legs weak beneath him.

Voldemort stepped forward, snake-like grace in his stride.

"No help this time. No mother's love. No girl's curse. Just you… and me."

But before the slaughter could commence, a voice interrupted them. "My lord..."

Voldemort did not take his eyes off Harry. His wand twitched in irritation. "You dare interrupt me now, Nott?"

"Yes, my lord," The head of house Nott said quickly, knowing how easily his master got irritated. "I only ask for a moment. A thought."

That made Voldemort pause.

He didn't lower his wand, but his gaze flicked to the other robed figures at the edge of the dueling circle.

"Speak. Quickly."

Nott swallowed hard. "Instead of disposing of him here would it not be more beneficial to do so at a later date."

Voldemort's expression softened for a split second, the hatred clouding him gone. "Go on."

Nott glanced at Harry, still panting and tense, wand clutched like a lifeline. "He is their symbol, my Lord. The boy who lived. Disposing of him here would undermine your grand ambition. Lucius and I have been working in the shadows since he was born to build him up as this 'hero' of the wizarding world. The face of resistance. Because we knew you would return."

The other robed deatheaters gasped at the implied unfaithfulness. 

Voldemort only needed a moment to get the truth out of his head, because no one here would dare resist his Legilimency.

What he saw delighted him. He might not have known, but he had trusted.

Voldemort's lip curled into a thin, cruel smile.

"Oh, Lucius," he purred, eyes sweeping the circle until they landed on the pale-faced man who stood stiff among the Death Eaters. "You always were a cunning one."

Lucius inclined his head but said nothing, his silence the only answer he dared offer. Beside him, the other masked followers shifted nervously, unsure whether this was the prelude to punishment… or praise.

His presence alone suffocated. It pressed on their ribs, made the air shimmer with tension. It was terrifying, electric, and addictive. And yet, somewhere beneath the fear, they craved it.

Craved him.

There was a high that only the dark lord could provide, an intoxicating sense of purpose, of power, of absolute clarity. Without it, life had dulled. The world outside his presence felt like a world in constant rain. Lucius remembered the years after Voldemort's fall, the emptiness of them, the numb discontent of pretending to be someone he wasn't. Father. Husband. Public servant. All of it felt like a borrowed mask after tasting the truth of what he was under Voldemort's gaze.

There was a flicker in Lucius's eyes as the Dark Lord spoke his name. An old instinct, like a hound perking at its master's voice. He kept his face composed, but something inside leaned forward.

It was deeper than loyalty, rotted into the bone, like he'd been steeped too long in someone else's shadow.

He remembered the weight of the death eater mask in his hands, the certainty it gave. The cold thrill of acting without apology or consequences. Back then, he hadn't needed to question whether he was right. He was right, because the Dark Lord had looked at him and decided he was worthy.

Now, shame pressed behind his eyes, sour and hot. Yet part of him still watched for Voldemort's glance, still ached for that rare, withering nod of approval.

As if that would make everything clean again.

All of the gathered death eaters craved that, for he was the only one that gave their life a reason, however twisted that may be. And they wanted nothing more than to be in Lucius' skin right now. To get a taste of the ambrosia the platinum blonde was feeling right now. 

Voldemort let the silence stretch on for several heartbeats, basking in the knowledge that they are under his control, before turning back to Nott. "But not as good as you. However, there is one problem. Potter is not the one who defeated me."

The head of house Nott stilled for a moment, before an ingenious thought ran through his mind, which the dark lord read and pretended it was his. Normally he would have been faster than even Nott, but his recent resurrection still had lingering aftereffects that would take a few days to disappear. "But, if I wasn't aware, then no one else is."

Voldemort's smile returned, wider this time, sharp and terrible.

The Dark Lord turned in a slow circle, letting his words reach every masked follower gathered around. "If I believed he was the one… then he believes it too."

He turned back to Harry, eyes gleaming with something dark and giddy. "Let them. Let them keep their hero. Their beacon. Their false idol."

His wand lifted again, not to strike, but to gesture grandly. "Let the world think he stands a chance. Let them rally around him. Let them build him up higher and higher…"

The wand lowered, now pointed directly at Harry.

"So that when I crush him," Voldemort said softly, "the world breaks with him and I feast on their fear."

A ripple of approving murmurs spread through the circle of Death Eaters. Harry's mouth was dry, his hands slick with sweat, but he understood what was said.

But before he could think any further, Voldemort hit him with a chantless spell, a combination of a memory spell and Legilimency, as quickly as a lightning strike and he forgot their sinister plan.

...

The next second Harry seized the moment Voldemort 'thoughtlessly' turned his back on him to address his followers, to jump on top of Cedric's body and summon the cup to him.

They vanished.

And the dark lord laughed.