HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Lockhart almost vomited from watching, and the other Death Eaters turned pale and nearly fainted.

Finally, the two eyeballs, which were only connected by nerves and were dangling outside, were pulled back into their sockets as if by invisible threads.

They even automatically adjusted their positions and returned to their original state, except that their scarlet pupils were now tightly closed.

Chapter 437 The Chain

As the last fragment returned to his body, the terrible lacerations in Voldemort's chest and abdomen began to heal at a visible speed, and his skin returned to normal, as if the horrific scene had never happened.

"Cough—ho!!"

Voldemort took a deep breath, his body convulsed violently, and then he suddenly opened his eyes.

Those scarlet eyes were first filled with extreme pain and confusion, then quickly replaced by rage and disbelief.

He immediately looked at his hand and found that the gray-brown wand was gone. Then he sat up abruptly and looked around.

He saw the fairy leader standing in front of him, looking down at him.

He also saw the silent and menacing goblin guards around him, as well as his panicked Death Eaters who looked as if they had seen a ghost.

Memories flooded back like a tidal wave, instantly overwhelming him with the extreme pain of his internal organs being torn apart and his eyeballs bulging out.

"you……"

Voldemort's voice was terrifyingly hoarse. He stared intently at the goblin leader, his killing intent palpable. "What did you do to me?!"

The fairy leader let out a short, cold laugh.

“Me? I did the same thing as last time, Tom Riddle—pulled you back from the brink of death after you stupidly killed yourself.”

He paused, his tone undisguisedly sarcastic, "It seems that even after experiencing it more than once, you still haven't learned the meaning of 'caution'."

His gaze swept meaningfully over the gray-brown wand lying quietly on the ground, then he said with a half-smile:

“Not all power is worth coveting, is it? Especially when it comes with a price tag.”

Voldemort's face was contorted with anger and shame. He instinctively reached for his old blackthorn wand, only to find it lying nearby.

He is now so weak that he cannot even cast a summoning spell smoothly.

The fairy leader stopped looking at him and turned to his fairy guards, saying, "Clean up these disgusting traces."

Then he looked down again and said to Voldemort, who was still sitting on the ground looking disheveled:

“I saved you twice, Riddle. How do you intend to repay this ‘debt’?”

Voldemort took a deep breath and, suppressing his anger, said, "Voldemort will not mistreat those who have helped him."

"It sounds like a pale, superficial project."

A mocking smile curled at the corner of the fairy leader's mouth beneath his hood.

He no longer looked at Voldemort's distorted face, but waved to the goblin guards and the terrified Death Eaters around him, as if shooing away flies.

"go out."

The fairy guards immediately bowed and orderly withdrew from the room, disappearing into the shadows outside the door.

The Death Eaters hesitated, glancing at Voldemort. Seeing that he made no move, and then at the mysterious goblin who had easily sent Bellatrix flying, they finally pushed and shoved each other as they retreated.

The heavy door was gently closed by the last fairy to leave, leaving only the fairy leader and Voldemort in the room.

The goblin leader paced slowly, circling around Voldemort as he tried to gather power, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It seems you’ve already figured it out,” he said, “or rather, you’ll soon find out. When I rescued you last time, I casually put a ‘chain’ on you.”

Voldemort suddenly looked up, his crimson pupils contracting sharply: "The chain?"

The word made him feel ashamed.

"Ah, it's just a... small insurance measure."

The fairy leader casually remarked that it was like putting a collar on a pet, "After all, investments always need some protection, especially investments in unstable products like yours."

He leaned forward slightly, the shadow of his hood almost completely enveloping Voldemort.

"It won't affect your power or control your mind—that's too boring. Of course, when necessary, like that stupid moment when you blew yourself to pieces, it can 'stabilize' your existence a little so I can get there in time to clean up the mess."

He straightened up and calmly spread his hands: "Simply put, Tom Riddle, your life is no longer entirely your own. Part of it is in my possession. You can continue your 'great cause,' and you can continue to cause trouble, but please remember, your life and death are no longer matters for you to decide alone, unless one day I decide to let you go."

Voldemort's breathing became heavy. He stared intently at the shadow under his hood, trying to make out the other person's expression, but could only see darkness.

"How...how dare you..."

He forced out a few words through gritted teeth, his killing intent boiling, but his physical weakness prevented him from putting them into action.

The fairy leader seemed to enjoy his feeling of helplessness.

"Put away your useless anger, Riddle. Instead of wasting your energy on things you can't change, think about how to keep your promise of 'not being treated unfairly'."

As he spoke, he bent down to pick up the "Staff of Bone and Blood" from the ground, as if he had seen an interesting toy.

With the wand in hand, he gently ran his gloved fingers over the vein-like patterns on the wand.

Strangely enough, the wand that was like a living thing in Voldemort's hands appeared unusually "docile" in his, lying quietly as if it had fallen into a deeper sleep.

Then he reached out his other hand and began to fidget with the staff, which was covered in dark red, congealed blood, using his fingertips.

As he moved, the dried, blackened bloodstains on the wand began to writhe as if they were alive.

They seemed to be absorbed by the staff itself, seeping into the intricate patterns in fine strands.

The dark red marks faded and disappeared quickly, as if they had been completely "drunk" by the thirsty magic wand.

In just a few breaths, the wand, which had previously looked filthy, became as clean as new, and the eerie patterns were even deeper than before.

The fairy leader stopped what he was doing, weighed the purified wand in his hand, and then handed it back to Voldemort under his wary gaze.

Voldemort stared at the wand so close to his face, and hesitated for a moment.

The excruciating pain he had just experienced surged back into his mind, and he could even feel a dull ache in his internal organs.

"Take it; it is indeed a powerful weapon."

The fairy leader said in a low voice, "Don't be shy, because compared to helping you rebuild your flesh and blood, taming a magic wand is just a trivial matter."

Voldemort remained silent, a fierce battle raging within him between shame and greed.

Ultimately, the desire for power overcame the fear.

Of course, there was another reason—he couldn't show the slightest cowardice in front of this fairy!

He took a deep breath and then reached out and grabbed the wand from the fairy leader's hand.

It was still warm to the touch, and I could even feel its faint pulse.

He tried to swing it, but this time, the expected excruciating pain did not come immediately.

The wand lay quietly in his hand, like a ferocious beast that had been temporarily pacified.

The fairy leader looked at his hand gripping the wand tightly, and a low, enigmatic laugh came from under his hood.

"Very good, it seems you haven't been completely consumed by fear yet."

Chapter 438 Desire

"Very good, it seems you haven't been completely consumed by fear yet."

The goblin leader's deep voice echoed in the silent room. "Now, let's talk about the actual rewards, Tom. I want you to tell me, where are those giants who have surrendered to you?"

Voldemort's crimson pupils flickered slightly, and after a moment of silence, he gave a hoarse voice the location of a hidden valley deep in the Albanian forest.

"Very good, very good."

The fairy leader nodded in satisfaction. "Recover well, my dear 'partner'."

After saying that, he turned around and left without lingering.

The moment the dilapidated wooden door closed, the suppressed anger on Voldemort's face receded like a tide, and he instantly returned to calm.

He slowly stood up from the ground, stretched his body, and it seemed that even the weakness he had felt earlier had disappeared as his emotions subsided.

He calmly walked to the wall, bent down to pick up the blackthorn wand he had discarded, then looked at the unusually docile "Wand of Bone and Blood" in his hand, a disdainful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

……

The Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.

The air was filled with the scents of lemon hard candy and herbs.

Fox fidgeted restlessly on its gilded perch, its beautiful golden tail feathers trembling slightly. It occasionally let out a low whistle, quite unlike its usual elegant and composed demeanor.

Outside the window, the last rays of twilight were swallowed by the dark clouds, casting long shadows in the principal's office.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind a large desk with a book written in runes spread out on it, but he did not seem to be focused on reading.

He raised his right hand and stared intently at it.

The hand peeking out from the crimson cuff embroidered with silver stars looked to be in bad shape.

The skin of the entire palm was charred black, and this blackness was spreading very slowly upwards from the wrist along the skin's texture, like a vicious vine.

If you look closely, you can even see wisps of faint gray mist moving almost imperceptibly under the skin.

Dumbledore tried to move his fingers, but a sharp pain immediately shot through him, forcing him to stop.

The old headmaster took a deep breath, took out a small crystal bottle from inside his robe with his left hand, and carefully dripped a few drops onto his charred right hand.

The potion made a slight hissing sound when it touched the skin, easing the pain a little, but the bone-chilling cold and decaying sensation lingered.

"Much more stubborn than I thought, old man."

Dumbledore murmured to himself, his voice tinged with weariness.

His gaze fell on the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black on the wall, who was pretending to be asleep. "No need to pretend, Phineas. I know you're awake."

Phineas's portrait reluctantly opened one eye and muttered, "I was just thinking, Albus. Thinking whether you've finally overused your intelligence this time. That thing..."

He glanced at Dumbledore's hand. "It doesn't look like a friendly souvenir."