"The salt circle is a bit uneven, is this your first time?" Harry managed to shift his bindings to get that extra boost from his toes. Across from him, he could make out a softly glowing rune. He frowned. Looked skyward. Looked down at the rune again. Skyward once more. "Hey, you two! You put uruz in the wrong spot. It's supposed to be north. That is definitely not north."
"Silence child!" The masked kidnapper whacked him upside the head. "What do you know of the most dark and forbidden magicks?"
"More than you, obviously! Uruz is always placed on the northern point! Haven't you ever done any 'dark and forbidden magicks' before? You're trying to resurrect Voldemort, aren't you? Uruz is literally the healing sigil, it's the most important rune in the array and you put it in the wrong spot!." The wizard smacked him again.
"Let me see the boy!" A whispery, cracking voice intoned from the wizard's cradled bundle of joy. The wizard presented the baby. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized the baby was not a baby, but a fetal mass of mottled flesh swaddled in cloth. A homunculus, a human half-formed.
"Eew! Yuck!" Harry said.
"How dare you!" The thing said, its voice was childlike yet pretentious. "You dare critique my work? I, Lord Voldemort, the most accomplished necromancer to have ever lived!"
Harry could not help it. He snorted and threw back his head, laughing and laughing until his stomach ached and he couldn't breathe. To the Death Eaters, it was just as unnerving as faux-Moody's laughter had felt to Harry. A touch creepier, even. This was a fourteen-year-old boy they'd just kidnapped after all.
The Cloak, which despite not possessing a brain, was a lot smarter than Harry and so it surreptitiously moved its hem along the little scrying stone that was still working and broadcasting all of this to a horrified audience. With help from the Wand, the scrying stone vanished before Harry could act any more incriminating.
"Hey, master necromancer!" Harry taunted. "Where's your beloved snake? Did something feast on her soul, huh? Only one of us is mortal here, Tommy, and it isn't me."
Voldemort growled.
"Wait, what does that mean?" Said the Death Eater holding the homunculus. "You said this would be easy, I didn't sign up for this!"
"Silence, fools! None shall question me! I shall be mortal no longer, Harry Potter! Barty - start the ritual!"
"Eh boss - the moonphase -"
"Begin, Barty!"
With a huff, Barty shrugged and gestured to his accomplice. The saner of the pair moved over to the cauldron and held Voldemort up above its noxious fumes while Barty raised his wand above his head and stood at the southernmost rune.
He delivered his lines like he was giving a speech, inflecting each syllable with care and gravity and an odd staccato rhythm that sang with magic.
"Bone of the father! Unknowably given! You will! Renew! Your son!" The ground beneath Harry's feet trembled, and a bone burst from the dirt and landed with a plunk into the mixture. Barty moved clockwise around the cauldron, standing to Harry's immediate left.
"Flesh of the servant! Willingly given! You will revive! Your! Master!" Without an ounce of fanfare or hesitation, Barty brought his wand to his forearm and with a crazed, almost euphoric (dare one say orgasmic) expression, hissed a curse and tore his arm clean off. It plopped to the ground with a spurt of blood. Barty moaned. A moan that luckily Harry didn't comprehend the meaning of, being a sweet innocent child, but needless to say, the flesh had been very, very willingly taken. The arm was dropped into the cauldron.
Barty hissed another curse, cauterizing his wound. Bouncing with glee, he moved again around the ritual space, coming to a stop right in front of Harry. The Death Eater's breathing was heavy. Droplets of saliva flew from his mouth and landed on Harry's face.
"Blood of the enemy," Barty giggled. Harry closed his eyes and cringed away from the disgusting man breathing on him. "Forcibly taken! You will resurrect your foe."
Harry was very, very worried that Barty was going to take one of his arms. Barty's wand jabbed in his throat and whispered an incantation so low Harry couldn't hear it over his rising heartbeat.
He didn't feel anything. An eye cracked open, getting a view of Barty's confused face.
"Blood of the enemy!" He tried again, jabbing his wand harder.
"What? What's happening over there? Barty! What's wrong?" Voldemort shouted.
"Oh, I should have mentioned," Harry said, the picture of innocence. "You can't actually have my blood. Necromancer thing, it prevents this exact scenario. And even if you did get some, I don't think it would work?"
"What?" Barty said, taking a step back so Harry could witness the full width of his angry pout.
"Well, I'm barely unwilling, aren't I? I haven't fought back at all. It's kinda cute to watch this. I remember my first ritual you know. Nothing's going to happen if uruz isn't north." Harry whispered to the man.
"If I fix it, can I have some of yer blood?" Barty asked.