HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes slightly and stopped Barty with a subtle gesture.

“You’re very brave, Potter,” Voldemort sneered, “Is it because you’re afraid of being tortured that you want me to kill you quickly?”

Harry was still smiling, utterly fearless. "Come on, it's not the first time you've killed your own father."

Voldemort's flat face was expressionless, but his slit-like nose seemed to twitch more rapidly.

After a while, a cruel smile appeared on his face—

"Heart-piercing and bone-scraping!"

"what--"

Harry immediately collapsed to the ground, his body arching like a boiled shrimp, and he instinctively let out a scream.

He felt his bones burning, as if an invisible awl was drilling into his heart, and even every strand of his hair was filled with pain.

He didn't want to scream, but he couldn't help it. He desperately wanted Voldemort to give him a quick death, but he knew that Voldemort wanted to see him beg for mercy. He absolutely couldn't let him have his way, he absolutely couldn't.

Whether it was a second or a long time, Harry finally felt the pain subside. He opened his eyes and saw Voldemort holding his wand, looking down at him.

He had regained his air of complete control and was now looking at Harry with a mocking expression.

Harry opened his eyes and glanced at Voldemort's face, but immediately closed them again. "Ha... look at your face now... you don't even have a nose... were you always this ugly? I really don't want a son as ugly as you, but unfortunately I can't drown you."

The insect tail was so frightened that it stopped even sobbing; no one dared to so disrespect the image of the Dark Lord.

After a few seconds of deathly silence, Voldemort laughed.

“Very well… Potter…” His voice was terrifyingly low, each word like it was wrapped in shards of ice, “You and your father… are ready to die. So, as you wish…”

He slowly raised his wand, the yew wand pointing steadily at Harry's chest.

Chapter 374 Death Eater Gathering

All the mockery seemed to vanish from his scarlet eyes, leaving only the purest intent to kill.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Voldemort announced in a chillingly calm tone. “It seems I need to do some cleaning before summoning my servants.”

The green light, a symbol of death, began to gather at the tip of his wand, bright and blinding, like the open eyes of hell.

Harry's heart seemed to stop for a moment, but he didn't close his eyes. He kept staring at Voldemort, using the last of his strength to maintain the mocking smile on his face.

He knew he had angered him, and this might be the last thing he could do—to defend the dignity of his parents and all the rebels in the face of death, and never to grovel.

Avada Kedavra!

The green light tore through the darkness, only to vanish without a trace.

"Ah……"

A cold laugh escaped Voldemort's lips, his voice regaining its chilling calm, but with an even deeper malice.

"Trying to provoke me, wanting a clean and quick end? Want to die as a 'heroic' martyr, just like your foolish parents?"

He slowly shook his head, as if lamenting the imperfection of a work of art.

"No... that would be too easy on you."

Voldemort lowered his wand completely, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

“Death for you should be a grand, public ceremony. It should happen in front of all the fools who look up to you and trust you. It should not be unknown to anyone, nor should it be so hasty.”

Voldemort straightened up and stopped looking at Harry.

"Master... my hand... you promised me... Master..." A weak plea, tinged with sobs, came from the ground.

Peter Pettigrew lay prone on the cold earth, blood still seeping from his severed wrist, staining the ground beneath him dark red.

He raised his distorted face, snot and tears streaming down his face, like a mangy dog ​​begging for mercy.

Voldemort finally strolled slowly to Wormtail, looked down at him, and lazily said, "Stretch out your arm..."

A gleam of wild joy and hope instantly erupted in the insect's tail eyes. He eagerly raised the blood-soaked severed arm, his voice shrill with excitement: "Oh, Master! Thank you, Master! You are so merciful..."

But Voldemort merely let out a short, cold snort, interrupting his fawning gratitude: "Not this one, Wormtail."

Hope was shattered in an instant.

The insect's tail trembled violently, its remaining hand digging desperately into the soil. "Oh... Master, please... please..."

Barty the Younger strode over, ignoring Wormtail's sobs, roughly grabbed the undamaged left hand, and forcibly dragged it in front of Voldemort.

Voldemort looked down at the thing on Peter Pettigrew's left arm—the Dark Mark.

He extended his pale finger and gently pressed the tip of his finger onto the mark.

"Now, let's guess..." Voldemort's voice was deep and his tone menacing.

Harry's forehead scar throbbed with pain once more, and Wormtail immediately let out a mournful howl.

"Aaaaaah—!"

Bug Tail curled up completely, but Little Barty held his arm down tightly, preventing him from breaking free.

A moment later, Voldemort removed his finger from the mark on the bug's tail. Harry, fighting off his dizziness, looked over and saw that the once dim mark had now turned pitch black.

Voldemort's face once again revealed that smug look of complete control.

He straightened up, raised his head, and surveyed the cemetery shrouded in death and darkness like a king.

"Guess how many people will wisely choose to return after feeling its call?"

He paused, a cold glint flashing in his bloodshot eyes. "And how many people will be foolish enough to choose not to come?"

Voldemort lowered his arm and waited silently. The entire cemetery fell into a suffocating silence.

Barty Crouch Jr.'s face beamed with pride and anticipation, like a soldier awaiting inspection.

The insect's tail stopped sobbing, curled up in fear, and dared not make a sound.

One minute, two minutes... only the sound of the wind could be heard in the cemetery.

Then, without warning, a faint crackling sound began to be heard in the air, as if many ropes were snapping at the same time.

One, two, five, ten... more and more figures wearing hoods and masks appeared at the edge of the cemetery, between the tombstones.

The faint sounds that accompanied the phantoms rising and falling were like a group of ghosts summoned from the depths of hell.

They approached the grave in silence, filled with disbelief, confusion, and terror, their black robes billowing in the night wind like a moving dark forest.

They gathered around Voldemort, forming a circle. No one dared to speak; the only sounds were tense breathing and the rustling of fabric.

Their gazes, peering through the eye holes of the mask, focused on that familiar figure—the master they had sworn allegiance to, whom they thought was long dead.

Voldemort coldly surveyed the cowering Death Eaters, like a butcher counting lambs to the slaughter.

In the silence, Voldemort suddenly spoke, his voice clear and penetrating the ears of every Death Eater, like cold steel needles piercing their very bones:

"Welcome, Death Eaters... Thirteen long years have passed, and we have finally gathered once again..."

His voice suddenly turned cold, "Tonight, we will start afresh and correct the mistakes of the past!"

Barty the Youngster seized the opportunity to raise his wand and point it at the night sky.

"The corpses have reappeared!"

A green, shimmering skull pattern shot into the sky, with a python emerging from its mouth, like a terrifying banner hanging high above the cemetery.

The Dark Mark illuminated the terrified masks of every Death Eater, and also Harry's pale face.

Voldemort's voice was laced with sarcasm, "I thought... I would receive a much warmer welcome."

An uncontrollable tremor ran through the crowd.

Finally, one of the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, crawling like a lump of mud at Voldemort's feet, desperately kissing the hem of his black robes: "Master... Master, please forgive us! We have been waiting... We have been longing for your return every moment!"

Voldemort didn't even glance at him; his scarlet eyes continued to slowly scan the crowd, as if searching for prey.

"is it?"

He said softly, “But all I see is prosperity…only comfort…I see you trying every means to escape punishment, single-mindedly seizing wealth…”

His voice suddenly turned cold, like a gust of wind, "I didn't see a single person trying to find their dying owner..."

Voldemort surveyed the faces hidden beneath his hood, and wherever his invisible gaze fell, the entire circle seemed to shudder.

He chuckled, raised his snake-like face, his two narrow nostrils flared exaggeratedly, and took a deep breath.

“I smelled guilt,” he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. “There was a stench of guilt in the air.”

At that moment, Little Barty let out a contemptuous sneer, his disgusted gaze sweeping over his masked colleagues.

The circle shuddered again, as if everyone wanted to shrink back and escape this suffocating trial, but fear kept their feet firmly planted in place.

Chapter 375 Absence

Voldemort turned his gaze to the crowd again, his voice becoming distant, as if from the depths of his memory.

“I have asked myself again and again on countless painful nights…” He paused, letting the question strike heavily on the hearts of every Death Eater, “Why…why have my loyal servants never come to help them swear eternal allegiance to their master?”

No one spoke; only the insect tail lay on the ground, cradling its bleeding arm and sobbing softly.

“I told myself,” Voldemort’s voice was as soft as a whisper, yet it reached everyone’s ears clearly, “that they must think Voldemort is finished. That he’s completely gone. So they hurriedly slipped back to my enemies, wagging their tails and begging, claiming they were innocent, that they were controlled by the Imperius Curse…”

He couldn't help but shake his head as he said this.

"I asked myself again, why don't they believe I can make a comeback? Don't they know that I mastered the power to transcend death a long time ago? Haven't they witnessed with their own eyes that I am more powerful than any wizard, and have proven my boundless magic to everyone countless times?"

"I told myself that perhaps they believed there was an even greater power that could defeat the omnipotent Voldemort..."

The members of the circle began to stir restlessly, and some, unable to withstand the mental torture, collapsed to their knees, uttering indistinct pleas for forgiveness.

Voldemort ignored him.

"Thirteen years have passed, and many of you have forgotten fear, forgotten loyalty, forgotten who you are. This disappoints me..."

He slowly shook his head, a cold smile playing on his lips, "I admit I'm disappointed..."

“Master, I have not let you down…”