You remind me of a man! What Man?

Harry Potter

The first week of school was rather nice was Harry's thought when he was going to bed Friday night. Snape was almost his least favorite teacher still, though something about Professor Lockhart bothered Harry greatly resulting in the Potions Professor sitting only near the bottom. His friends were great to spend time with, even when there were large stretches of time focused on their studies.

That cheer ended quickly when Oliver Wood woke Harry up far too early on Saturday for a Quidditch Practice he did not have the decency to let anyone know about ahead of time. Harry knew for sure Wood told no one considering the scowl on Tanya's face as they came down to the Common Room and her making them go back and get Ron since he was supposed to be training to be the next Team Captain once Wood left school.

Then there was the long debate Wood and Tanya had all the way down to the pitch about how no matter how good the previous year's team may have been, they should still hold trials for new players and reserves before diving into practice.

If Harry was not so tired from just being woken up, he may have found Woods blustering against a girl barely above his waist level funny, but, as it was, he and Ron were in agreement that they just wanted to be back in bed, wrapped in those warm sheets.

Marching into the locker room, Harry joined Fred and George in changing into the uniforms before having to listen to Wood discussing strategies he had spent all summer drawing up. Fred fell asleep on Alicia's shoulder as the explanation of the first diagram was given. Harry fell into a stupor imagining what he could have been eating for breakfast up at the castle instead of listening to Wood drone on and on for an hour about strategies.

"So," Wood said, waking up Harry out of the stupor as he looked around at his teammates. Fred and George both yawned loudly, Alicia, Angelina, and Katie looking drowsy, Tanya looking mildly annoyed. About the only two that looked at all awake were Wood and Ron. Though, even Ron still looked a bit tired, but he had a notebook that he was closing up. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I got a question, Oliver," George said testily. "Why couldn't you have told us all this stuff yesterday when we were awake?"

"Oh, I've already given him a thorough telling off," Tanya said, giving Wood a glare.

Why Tanya was so annoyed was a bit of a mystery to Harry considering she was already awake when they were informed of Wood's plan. Regardless, Harry appreciated her voicing the team's annoyance at getting up so early.

"Yes, anyways, we did well last year, but the other teams know that and if we want to win again this year, we will have to increase our practice. Do even better than we did last year!" Wood said, trying to encourage everyone. "Now let's get out there!"

They made their way into the field, but before anyone could mount their broom, Tanya brought up, again, that they really should be holding tryouts instead. "I'm the only reserve player since Ron isn't officially part of the team yet. We should hold tryouts, get Ron either to be another reserve player or maybe he'll even be good enough to make it into the starting lineup."

Wood was clearly not happy about his authority being questioned. "We have a great team already. I don't see why we need to mess with what works."

"Just because it worked last year doesn't mean it will keep working. And limiting ourselves to just slightly over the minimum team size leaves the team vulnerable to injuries and even broom malfunctions. Or do I need to remind you about how Harry's broom lost control in the first game last year?"

Wood was looking rather uncomfortable when another voice popped in.

"Having trouble with your team, Wood?" The nasally voice of Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team called out.

"What are you doing here? I booked the field. I made sure I booked it first."

"Ah, but I got a special note," Flint said, pulling out the note in question. "Signed by Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field, owing to needing to train their new Seeker.'"

"New Seeker?" Wood asked, thrown a little. "Where?"

From behind the large forms of the six other members of the Slytherin team came Draco Malfoy.

"Congrats Draco," Tanya spoke while barely giving Draco any real attention before turning back to the two team captains. "Well, if the two of you are so adamant about training today, the first Saturday morning of the school year, it seems there is only one solution."

"Oh? And what is that?" Flint asked with a cruel smile.

"A pickup game. There are two full teams here, just break out the balls and play a game. Everyone gets to dust off their skills, you get to give your new Seeker to experience a game, and you all get to have your fun."

"But I booked the field, they should shove off," Wood tried to argue.

"They have a note from a teacher, you have the field booked. There is plenty of space and this fulfilled everyone's needs. Now either just play the game or I'll get McGonagall to resolve this issue."

It was after a tense stare down between the two captains that ended with a nod that they agreed to just play. While everyone else was getting into position, Harry noticing Tanya managed to slip away, Harry sidled up to Draco.

"So, you managed to get on the team?" Harry asked, looking at Draco's broom.

"Yeah. My father got me the new Nimbus 2001 and donated a set of 2000s to the team," Draco said, puffing up his chest as though spending a bunch of money was a skillful thing to do.

Harry just smiled. "Well, good luck."

—-

Hermione Granger

Hermione was by herself at the Great Hall, a book propped open as she had a light breakfast, when Tanya dropped into the seat next to her.

"Morning. Harry and Ron haven't come down yet," Hermione started.

"They're at the Quidditch Pitch playing against the Slytherins in a pickup game because Wood has no idea how to schedule things with people."

"What do you mean?"

Tanya was loading up a plate with eggs and toast as she explained. "Wood booked the field, but didn't bother letting any of the team know about it until this morning and may not have even bothered actually letting any of the staff know if the booking is just making a note in some calendar."

"You seem unusually upset about this," Hermione said.

Tanya's face flushed. "I am having a heavy month and am a bit irritable right now."

It took a moment for Hermione to understand what Tanya meant when school had just started, but then the knut dropped and she realized it was not related to school at all. "Oh. I think I may have something in my bag," Hermione started, grabbing her school bag that she had with her… on a Saturday without classes.

"It's fine," Tanya said, grabbing Hermione's wrist. "I just need some food and to spend the rest of the day curled up in bed. That was what I was planning on doing until a certain captain decided at the last minute that we were going to have practice."

"You sure?" Hermione asked.

"If you want to help someone, grab a few things and bring them out to the field. I doubt anyone in the Gryffindor team got a chance to have any breakfast. Just do me one little favor if you do."

Hermione was unsure about agreeing considering the rather vicious smile on Tanya's lips, but nodded her head anyways.

"Make sure Wood gets nothing."

—-

???

Halloween. Halloween had occurred. In the addled mind of a man under the Imperius curse, he knew that much. His family's house elf told him and has managed to convince his father to give him a treat. A Halloween meal. Halloween had always been one of his favorite holidays and the house elf knew this.

This Halloween was different though. This Halloween was special.

Master returned. Master was back. The mark showed it. The mark proved it. He had to return to his Master. The fog over his mind was being pushed back. For the first time in over a decade, his head was his own.

—-

Albus Dumbledore

It had been two months since the start of the school year and there had been thankfully no other crisis that popped up in that time. The Sunday language club was in full swing with Harry doing his best to pass on his knowledge of Parseltongue, though it seemed there was an active magical component to the language that Harry was subconsciously using and was hard for even Albus to learn.

That was the good news. The unfortunate news was that while leaving Nearly Headless Nick's 500th Deathday Party, a rather special opportunity for anyone living to get to attend, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Tanya came across a rather unfortunate scene.

Argus's cat has been petrified and hung from a torch in the hall across from a message scrawled in blood. 'Enemies of the heir, beware.'

Rather melodramatic in Albus's opinion, but highly concerning. Getting that cleaned up would be a pain, rumors were beginning to spread among the students already on what it could mean, and Argus was distraught. The man was not the best caretaker of the school, but he was still part of the school and it saddened Albus to see him in such a state.

So Albus was working away in his office trying to organize things and figure out what his next step was when Severus barged in.

"He's back."

"Who's back?" Albus asked, befuddled as he was not aware of anyone having left recently.

Severus pulled up his sleeve to show a dark, black tattoo of a snake intertwined with a skull on his left forearm. Albus shot up to his feet. "When was this?"

"Minutes ago."

Albus looked over at the clock. It was just past 6 in the morning. What ritual would be done at this early of an hour that could see the return of him?

It was late for Albus, and Severus too judging by the bags under his eyes, but that was from them dealing with the events of last night. What was happening? How has he returned?

—-

Lord Voldemort

It had been a long journey across the Colonies to get to the God forsaken swamps that held the secrets to Voldemort's revival. Trusting strangers was not high on Voldemort's list of things to do in order to return to the flesh, but he had only limited time before his current host's body crumbled apart fully.

Immortality gave Voldemort the comfort of knowing he could take his time, but that time had to be balanced against current needs. So Voldemort and his loyal, but doomed, servant found themselves standing in a shack with macabre decorations hanging all over the place with a woman swaying in place under the Imperius curse and a lanky man examining the silvery unicorn's blood carefully held in glass vials.

"Hmm, yes," the man said, giving a toothy grin. "Dis will do. Dough I mus' warn you the Loa are na ta be trifled wid. You make your request, give them what dey want, and pray dey like you enough."

"That will not be a problem," Voldemort hissed from the back of Quirrell's head.

"Den you both kneel here," the man said, grabbing a staff that has been leaning against a wall. "And we begin now."

Voldemort scowled as Quirrell motioned for the woman to kneel down, head bowed before joining shortly after.

The staff met the ground with a thudding crack, a rhythmic pounding beginning as the man began circling Quirrell and the woman. Incense began smoking throughout the shack and the already dark shack became even darker.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The man began to chant as he circled, pouring out a circle of cornmeal around the kneeling pair.

Thunkthunkthunk.

The pounding grew faster. The man dipping his hand into a bucket of ashes that he swiped down his face, creating a skull-like visage.

Thnkthnkthnk.

Faster the pounding went, the chant turned to song. A wind began whipping through the shack.

Total darkness. Silence. It came as a shocking stop to the frenzy building to a crescendo.

"Now, what the fuck do we have here?" A voice said. It sounded similar to the man Voldemort had come to, but there was a difference to it. A change in cadence.

Fwsh.

A match was struck, causing the candles around the shack to come alight with purple flames. The man was in a different outfit. A purple suit with tails and a top hat. The man leaned over to look Quirrell over as he lit a fat cigar.

"Well, aren't you a bag of shit?"

"I take it you are the spirit I seek," Voldemort said, causing the figure of the man to step around Quirrell to get a closer look. Glowing purple eyes meeting red.

A cloud of smoke was blown into Voldemort's face. "A bastard on the back of a cunt?"

Voldemort scowled. "Give him the gift," Voldemort demanded of Quirrell.

"Y-yes, master." Quirrell barely revealed the bottle before it was plucked out of his hand.

"Well, you got good tastes it seems," the man said, kneeling in front of the woman and lifting her chin. "Good fucking tastes indeed."

Without further ado, the bottle of rhum was cracked open and the man took a large swig. "You have the attention of Bawon Samdi. Now tell me, who the fuck are you?"

"I am Lord Voldemort."

Samdi chuckled. "I see. I see. The bitch anchored their soul to the living world. And now you want me to return you to life?"

Voldemort would have liked to spit out his demands, but held his tongue. He had done his research, delved into the mysteries of the Dark Arts. He was well aware of what he was dealing with. "Yes. I seek to return to the flesh and regain my rightful place."

"Well, my dear bouzen koulèv, I believe I can help you. But! A stipulation."

"Of course. What is your demand?" Voldemort asked, knowing that it would not be so simple.

"First, we will party together. Second, to maintain your new body, you will have to treat it right." Bawon Samdi had a wide grin that made it clear he did not mean that Voldemort was to live a healthy lifestyle with plenty of veggies. "You will wear purples, blacks, and whites. None of your silly greens. And you will drink rum."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Bawon. He didn't trust Bawon Samdi, but the deal was clear cut and not too out of line with what Voldemort was willing to do.

"Is that all?"

Bawon spread his hands out wide. "Do I seem like a guy that needs to lie? I will keep you out of the grave so long as you do as I asked."

"Agreed."

Laughter began to fill the shack along with thick clouds of smoke.

—

Harry Potter

With a start, Harry sat upright clutching his forehead as his scar pounded in pain. His head swam with lingering images of debaucherous activities that left him blushing hard even thinking back to the dream.