This is what Ravenclaw looks like..

Chapter 555: The Resurrection of the Dark Lord
"Shall we begin, Lord Dark Lord?"

Bertha asked cautiously - she had just nearly spilled the extremely expensive potion, which had earned her a rare reprimand.

"I have to survive quickly and rely on my own strength. Otherwise, if I rely on these two guys, I will die..."

Voldemort said this in fear, this was the closest he had ever been to failure in his resurrection!
A madman and a fool!
If this pot of expensive medicine was spilled, he didn't know how long he would have to wait!
Not to mention the difficulty of collecting materials, just asking these two guys to brew a new pot of suitable potion would be enough to exhaust his remaining patience!

'Severus, that guy, no wonder he has such a bad temper all day long. Being a Potions Professor is really not a worrying job - and these two are purebloods!'

He even began to doubt his own strategic views. With such people mixed in with the pure-bloods, could he really lead this group of guys to take down the Ministry of Magic?

But he has no choice, the best options right now are these two.

"Get ready, Bertha."

Voldemort tried to make his voice convincing, although he himself was a little unsure.

But now was not the time to be furious. The two Death Eaters in front of him were different from Lucius and his gang - Lucius and his gang were cunning idiots who needed to be whipped, but these two were idiots who could not be whipped to do better.

"Yes, Lord Dark Lord."

Bertha approached carefully and lit the fire under the crucible - to be honest, she was very scared, and the current environment was not a good place.

Because this is a cemetery, a Muggle cemetery.

However, the ritual magic that she had memorized and engraved in her mind over the past few days had strange material requirements.

"He's not here, is he? The Dark Lord's father is here?"

She was unsure and didn't dare to guess. She just waited patiently for the crucible to boil, and then performed the ritual that had tortured her for a long time before she memorized it.

"Now, put me in, Bertha."

"Pfft!"

Water splashes.

Bertha nearly jumped up.

The tone of command startled her, and it was too hot.

"Merlin's beard, the Dark Lord is not drowned, is he?"

Such thoughts emerged in her mind, but the wand in her hand did not stop - the pain and words of comfort these days had alternately engraved the ceremony into her deepest memory.

"Father's bones..."

Beneath the trembling sound, there was a waving magic wand, the nearby grave cracked open, a small handful of ashes flew up, and then floated into the pot under the power of the ritual.

The surface of the potion began to boil. Bertha was startled, but she didn't dare to make a sound.

She shifted her gaze to the other side, waiting for that crazy Wormtail to continue.

The other party has already been instructed.

Moreover, the other party did not hesitate at all - before Bertha even urged him with her eyes, the madman cut off his right hand with a knife.

"servant…"

She stammered as she recited the second ritual words, but discovered something unexpected.

Even a madman could feel the pain. After cutting off his right hand, Wormtail lay down beside the pot. His entire body began to spit out snot, tears, saliva, and blood, and all of it fell into the pot along with his flesh and blood.

The flaming red potion suddenly felt strange, but Bertha couldn't stop.

She took a breath and looked at Wormtail for help - this madman should be able to handle it, but he seemed to have lost his little sanity in the pain.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Bertha moved her trembling hands to the Muggle tied to the tombstone, but she couldn't say a word. She could only slide the knife gently on the other's arm with an apologetic look, and then tremblingly took a cup of blood.

"Blood of my enemies..." She closed her eyes and walked to the crucible, then poured the final requirement of the ritual into the crucible.

The boiling potion began to turn pale, and then began to emit light.

Even the forbidden black magic and the forbidden rituals did not affect the crucible from emitting the dazzling white light that illuminated the sky.

Taboos and black magic do not affect the fact that this is a ritual of life, no matter how distorted it is.

A large amount of water vapor emerged, and a tall and thin figure emerged from the water vapor.

The potion that was originally used to revive her disappeared completely at this moment. Bertha heard a cold and sharp voice that she had never heard before, "Where are my clothes, Bertha?"

Obviously, it was the same person as before, but at this moment, he gave Bertha endless pressure.

She approached cautiously and handed over the wizard robe that had been prepared long ago.

"That's nice, Bertha...that's nice..."

Voldemort caressed his own body - he had never felt it so greedily before.

It was not Quirrell's disgusting body, nor was it the body of the starving baby that Wormtail had created earlier, but the most powerful body that he had created after performing more than a dozen extremely dangerous magical transfigurations!

All unnecessary things were discarded, leaving only flesh and strength, endless strength.

What Dumbledore, what a legend, they are all nothing in front of his powerful strength!

He is back!

He is absolutely sure about this!
The Dark Lord who made the entire magical world tremble was resurrected at this moment!

From then on, he was no longer a disgusting insect or a humble wandering soul, but a most powerful wizard!

"My Lord the Dark Lord..."

Bertha's voice rang out.

Voldemort glanced at Bertha, but in the end he didn't lose his temper - today was a good day. Not suitable.

He was even ready to forgive those guys who had almost betrayed him in the dark, let alone some minor offenses.

Foolish loyalty also has meaning. Although it has gone through some twists and turns, hardships, and messy things, it was finally completed.

That was enough, and he was even willing to give a reward and forgive the madman Pettigrew.

Even when he did something so egregiously offensive.

"My Lord Dark Lord, you..."

Bertha's voice rang out again.

Voldemort turned his head and stared at the Death Eater with a bad memory - this was the second offense!
But he was still prepared to forgive the other party once, of course, after warning him.

"Bertha."

He opened his mouth, but suddenly felt a wetness.

Moist and sweet with a hint of rust, that was the smell of blood, and he liked it very much.

But where did it come from?

More flavors came in, and he didn't even have time to think about it.

"The wand! Bertha!"

"Except your weapons!"

The spell was cast faster than the wand was passed to it, and Bertha's wand flew up and fell into the hands of a handsome face that Voldemort was very familiar with.

(End of this chapter)