I'm the king of the roll at Hogwarts

Chapter 317 Return of Voldemort

In Harry's sight, ever since Peter Pettigrew pushed the cauldron over, the pile of clothes on the ground began to twist violently, as if it couldn't wait to be washed in the cauldron.

Harry began to speculate irresponsibly, if the clothes contained Voldemort, would this be considered boiled Voldemort? Ugh... it sounds like the name of a dish.

He began to stop his divergent thinking and could not think any further. The more he thought, the more sick he felt.

Peter Pettigrew, stooping his fat body, clumsily stuffed the wood under the cauldron. Then he waved his hand and a crackling flame ignited under the crucible, while the huge snake swam outward.

Snakes are afraid of fire, right? Harry was a little unsure, but he didn't have much time to think. The liquid in the crucible heated up very quickly. He felt that the snake had just swam away when the pot began to boil and sparks burst out, as if it was burning. The steam became thicker and thicker, and the figure of Peter Pettigrew, who was watching over the flames, became increasingly blurred in Harry's eyes.

At the same time, purple and white fog began to spread around the cemetery. Harry always felt that the fog looked very familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere, but he was not sure.

The mist gradually drifted over, and Harry was so distracted that he quickly cast a brain-blocking spell. But Peter Pettigrew, who had his back to the mist, didn't seem to notice it. The mist gradually spread over him, and Peter Pettigrew's movements became more and more agitated and impatient.

This mist seemed to be able to corrode people's minds. Harry saw it at a glance - he had learned this in Pandaria a while ago -

Thinking of Pandaria, Harry suddenly remembered that this energy seemed to be Sha energy?

According to the Pandaren and the Mantid, it is the power of some ancient god that can corrode people's minds and turn lives into puppets that succumb to their will.

But Harry didn't have time to think too much, as the situation over there became less optimistic. It seemed that some evil ritual of Peter Pettigrew and the young Voldemort was about to begin.

The mass of clothes shook more rapidly, and Harry heard a sharp, cold voice.

"quick!"

Now the entire surface of the water was dancing with sparks, as if it were dotted with burning diamonds, and under the rising purple and white mist, it looked even more eerie.

"It's ready, master..." Peter Pettigrew replied timidly.

"Now...!" said the cold voice in an unquestionable tone.

Peter Pettigrew pulled open the bundle on the ground, revealing the contents. Harry let out a scream, but it was muffled by the thing stuffed in his mouth, and he could only make a whimpering sound in vain.

It was like Peter Pettigrew flipping over a rock to reveal a slimy, eyeless ugliness... no, it was even scarier than that, a hundred times scarier.

The thing that Peter Pettigrew brought back looked like a curled-up baby, but Harry had never seen anything less like a baby. It had no hair, and its body seemed to be covered with scales, dry and rough, not round at all. And the color of its skin was dark and red, like injured tender flesh - some parts of the skin were covered with purple and white scars, and the white scars even emitted a bright white light.

Its arms and legs were thin and soft, and as for its face - no living child had such a face - it was a flat, snake-like face with a pair of vertical, glowing red pupils.

The thing looked completely incapable of taking care of itself, and it raised its thin arms and hugged Peter Pettigrew's neck, as if asking for a hug. If this action was done by a cute little animal, it might be cute - but this was a creature that looked like Voldemort, and Harry just felt disgusted.

Peter Pettigrew held it in his hands. At this moment, Peter Pettigrew's hood fell off, and Harry saw in the firelight an expression of disgust on his pale, weak face.

He carried the thing to the edge of the crucible, and for a moment, Harry saw the splashes of water on the surface of the potion illuminating the evil flat face. Peter Pettigrew put the thing into the crucible, and with a strange hissing sound, it sank along the water surface, and Harry even heard the soft sound of its soft body hitting the bottom of the crucible.

Let it drown, Harry begged Merlin in his heart. The burning pain from his scar was almost unbearable. Please... let it drown... I am willing to study hard and make progress every day in exchange for this thing drowning in the cauldron...

Peter Pettigrew was speaking, his voice trembling, as if he was a little nervous. His eyes were wandering, looking left and right like a mouse, no one knew what he was afraid of.

But soon, a thick purple mist floated over and entered his body. Peter Pettigrew seemed to have received some kind of encouragement. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and said to the night sky: "Father's bones, donated unintentionally, can regenerate your son!"

The grave beneath Harry's feet opened, and Harry watched with horror as a tiny wisp of dust rose into the air at Peter Pettigrew's beckoning and fell gently into the crucible. The diamond-like surface of the liquid broke with a hiss and a spark, and the liquid turned a vivid blue that was obviously poisonous - a very poisonous one at that.

Peter Pettigrew was whimpering, and he pulled out a long, thin, silver dagger from his cloak.

Peter Pettigrew's voice turned into a sob of extreme fear again: "The flesh of a servant...will be donated voluntarily...to bring your master back to life!"

He stretched out his right hand - the hand that was missing a finger, and then tightly grasped the dagger with his left hand. After struggling for a while, he bit his long rat teeth, closed his eyes, and swung hard with his right hand.

Harry realized at the last second what Peter Pettigrew was going to do. He closed his eyes tightly, but he could not stop it.

The scream that pierced the night sky pierced Harry's brain, and Harry's head began to hurt again, and he had an illusion that he was stabbed by a dagger. He heard something fall to the ground with a thud, and heard Peter Pettigrew's painful gasp, followed by a sickening plop, and something was thrown into the crucible.

Harry didn't want to look...but the potion turned a fiery red and a bright light shone into Harry's closed eyes.

Peter Pettigrew was gasping and groaning in pain. When the painful breath sprayed on his face, Harry realized that Peter Pettigrew had come to him. "The blood of your enemy... forced to give... can make your enemy... resurrect!"

Harry couldn't stop it, he was tied too tightly, he struggled desperately, trying to break free from the ropes that bound him, he saw from the slit of his eyes the silver dagger trembling in Peter Pettigrew's single hand. He felt the tip of the dagger pierce his arm, and the blood of the fourth-level enemy (bushi) slowly flowed down the torn sleeves of his school uniform robes.

Peter Pettigrew, who was still gasping in pain, trembled as he took out a small glass bottle from his pocket and placed it next to Harry's wound. A small amount of blood flowed into the bottle.

He staggered towards the crucible with Harry's blood and poured it in. The liquid in the crucible immediately turned milky white, just like a crucian carp and tofu soup that had been stewed to perfection. Wormtail completed his task, knelt down beside the crucible, and collapsed on the ground, holding his bleeding broken arm and sobbing.

The crucible was about to boil, and diamond-like sparks flew everywhere, so bright and dazzling that everything in the Zhou Kingdom turned into the color of black velvet.

"Woo woo woo!" Harry whimpered, unable to say anything with his mouth blocked by a sock - to translate, what he actually wanted to say was how come I didn't boil you to death? Son of the Beach.

In his heart, he kept begging Merlin for help, asking him to quickly heat up the pot and boil the strange-looking Voldemort to death...

Then, through the white mist in front of him, he saw with horror that an embryo-like shape slowly rose from the crucible, just like the embryos he had learned about in elementary school textbooks in the Muggle world, somewhat transparent, and bloodshot could be seen inside. Soon, the embryo slowly grew up, as if it was accelerating its development, and gradually turned into a figure wearing a black robe, tall and thin, like a skeleton.

"Dress me," said the cold, sharp voice behind the steam. Peter Pettigrew sobbed and groaned, still protecting his stump, and hurriedly grabbed the black robe wrapped in the bundle from the ground, forced himself to stand up despite the pain, shook the black robe, and put it on his master's head with one hand.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry with cold eyes... Harry saw the face that had often appeared in his nightmares for the past three years. It was paler than a skull, with two big red eyes, a nose as flat as a snake's, and nostrils that were like two slits of sockets. Harry, who had lived in the Muggle world for a long time, even had a strong desire in his heart - to find an electrical plug to plug him in...

Predictably, Voldemort is resurrected.

After so many years, so much time, and so many Death Eaters, isn't this the day he's been waiting for? Voldemort narrowed his scarlet snake eyes and looked Harry up and down. He was not in a hurry to deal with Harry, and now, there was more to do.

Voldemort looked at Harry for a while, but didn't pay too much attention to him. Instead, he began to examine his own body. His hands were pale and thin, with an unhealthy color. He touched here and there, like a child encountering a new toy.

It is understandable that he misses the long-lost body. After all, Voldemort has lived in a wandering soul state for who knows how many years. During this period, he did many things, including leaning over Horcruxes and sticking to other people's heads... Speaking of which, this Dark Lord is quite frustrated.

At the same time, a group of indescribable monsters continued to gather around. Harry didn't recognize what these things were. Their appearance was hard to describe. They looked like empty skeletons, with purple and white bodies, emitting a strange light.

Seeing them surrounding him, Peter Pettigrew shuddered uncontrollably, as if he had suffered from these things before.

"What are you afraid of, Wormtail?" Voldemort's voice was cold and sharp. Just hearing the sound was enough to make people shudder.

Harry swore that if he hadn't been tied to the tombstone, he would have run away out of fear at the first moment.

It was so torturous, that sound was like the most vicious poisonous snake, tormenting people's nerves.

It hurts, it hurts too much.

Peter Pettigrew huddled on the ground, trembling as he said, "No...nothing, Master, I'm just...I'm just...I'm not scared...Master, my hand hurts..."

“Oh… that’s it…” Voldemort showed an expression of understanding. He looked at Peter Pettigrew for a while, snorted, and let out a cold and sharp laugh, as if despising his cowardice.

"Master..." Peter Pettigrew begged with sobs, "You promised, you promised..."

Voldemort grunted, showing a lazy expression, stretched out his skinny claws, and took out the wand from Peter Pettigrew's arms: "Stretch out your arm."

After hearing Voldemort's words, Peter Pettigrew was instantly ecstatic. He knew that his master would not let him give up his arm in vain, and his master would soon compensate him!
Oh, how can it be called compensation? It should be called a reward. He secretly spit on his own ignorant thoughts just now.

"Oh, thank you, master, thank you... Master..." Peter Pettigrew looked so grateful that Harry felt like he was going to vomit again - this time it was not because of Peter Pettigrew's sour and smelly socks, but because of his fawning attitude, which almost made him vomit the overnight meal into his socks.

Harry felt genuinely sad. He felt sad for his father and the other two members of the plunderers. How could my father James, such a great man, be on par with a flattering villain like you?
If his father were still alive, he would definitely despise Peter Pettigrew's current behavior, right? Harry thought sadly, looking down on Peter Pettigrew who was cowering on the ground more and more, thinking that he and his Animagus were really a perfect match, crawling in the dark in the gutter in the same way.

He stretched out his bloody broken arm, squinting his rat eyes and looking at Voldemort flatteringly, but Voldemort sneered: "Not this one, Wormtail, you know which one I'm talking about."

Hearing Voldemort's refusal, Peter Pettigrew's heart instantly sank to the bottom of the valley. He cried and begged: "Master, please, please..."

Voldemort bent down, pulled up Wormtail's left arm, and lifted his sleeve with his wand to his elbow. You can see that there is something on the skin, like a bright red tattoo pattern, with a snake spitting out of the mouth of a skull, the same pattern that appeared in the Quidditch World Cup - it is the Dark Mark representing Voldemort and his reactionary forces.

Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable sobbing.

"It has returned," said Voldemort quietly. "They will all notice it... Now, our time is coming..."

(End of this chapter)