Chapter 287: Return of Voldemort

It was as if Peter had suddenly overturned a stone, revealing a sticky, eyeless, grotesque creature—no, it was even more terrifying, a hundred times worse.

The thing Peter carried looked like a curled-up baby, but Hermione and Fleur had never seen anything less baby-like.

It was hairless, with what seemed like scales on its dark, reddish skin, resembling injured flesh.

Its arms and legs were thin and limp, and its face—no living child had a face like this—was a flat snake-like visage, with shiny red eyes glaring.

The creature seemed completely incapable of movement, lifting its thin arms to clutch the neck of Wormtail.

Wormtail carried it towards the cauldron.

At that moment, his hood slipped off, and the girls saw his pale, disgusted expression in the firelight.

Wormtail placed the creature on the edge of the cauldron and gently pushed it in with a hiss.

They even heard the soft sound as its limp body touched the cauldron's bottom.

"What... what is that thing?" Fleur asked in a trembling voice.

Hermione shivered, feeling nauseous.

"That's our greatest enemy," Alaric said in a grave tone.

"Is he... Voldemort?" Hermione gasped suddenly, but immediately covered her mouth.

If she spoke that name, they would surely be discovered.

Alaric nodded silently.

The two girls fell silent, afraid that the baby-like Voldemort might notice them at any moment and attack.

Even though the Charm that Alaric used ensured that even if they talked loudly, no one would notice them—it felt like their only way to avoid being discovered.

Alaric held the girls' hands; their hands were ice-cold and trembling.

But his strong grip and the warmth of his palm temporarily reassured the girls.

Meanwhile, Wormtail spoke, his voice trembling as if he were in a state of nervous breakdown.

He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke into the night sky, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The ground beneath Harry's feet cracked open, and a small amount of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's call, gently falling into the cauldron.

The diamond-like liquid surface cracked with a hiss, sparks flew, and the liquid turned into a bright poisonous blue.

Wormtail choked up. From his cloak, he drew a long, thin, shining silver dagger.

His voice turned into a desperate sob.

"Flesh—of the servant—willingly sacrificed, you will revive—your master."

He extended his right hand—the hand missing a finger—and tightly gripped the dagger with his left, thrusting it towards his right hand.

The dagger was incredibly sharp; Wormtail's palm was instantly severed, and both girls couldn't bear to look.

A piercing scream cut through the night sky and into their ears, then they heard something hit the ground, heard Wormtail's painful gasps, followed by a nauseating thud as something was thrown into the cauldron.

The next moment, the potion turned bright red.

Wormtail gasped and moaned in pain, approaching Harry.

"Blood of the enemy... forcibly taken...you will resurrect your foe."

Harry struggled desperately, trying to break free from the ropes binding him, but he was too tightly bound, powerless to stop any of this.

The dagger pierced his elbow, and blood flowed down the torn sleeve.

Still gasping in pain, Wormtail fumbled a small glass bottle from his pocket, placing it near Harry's wound, where a small amount of blood flowed into it.

He staggered with Harry's blood towards the cauldron and poured it in.

The liquid in the cauldron immediately turned dazzling white.

Wormtail completed his task, kneeling beside the cauldron, his body slumping, holding his bleeding stump of an arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was about to boil over, diamond-like sparks splattering outward, so bright they turned everything around into a velvety black.

Maybe it had drowned, the girls thought unrealistically, maybe it wouldn't succeed...

In fact, they knew success was the best outcome—after all, Alaric had said Voldemort must be revived first, then killed again.

But faced with Voldemort's resurrection right now, they were still afraid, their instinctive fear rejecting everything happening.

Suddenly, the sparks on the cauldron extinguished.

A white vapor rose slowly from the cauldron, and through the mist, they saw with horror a tall, thin man slowly rising from the cauldron, black in color, like a skeleton.

Was this the legendary Voldemort?

Fleur, clutching tightly to Alaric, couldn't face any of this, and even Hermione held onto Alaric's arm tightly, her nervousness and fear causing deep indentations in Alaric's arm.

"Dress me."

The cold, sharp voice said behind the vapor.

Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still protecting his severed arm, hurriedly picked up a black robe wrapped in a bundle from the ground, stood up, and with one hand, pulled it over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, examining his body.

His hands were like pale, large spiders, with long, pale fingers stroking his chest, arms, and face; his red eyes glowed brighter in the darkness, the pupils slits like a cat's eyes.

He raised his hands, moving his fingers ecstatically, ignoring Wormtail twitching on the ground in a pool of blood, and the large snake—that had returned at some point, hissing and coiling around Harry.

Voldemort reached into a deep pocket with his unusually long fingers and pulled out a wand.

He gently stroked the wand, then raised it, pointing it at Wormtail, lifting him from the ground and throwing him onto the tombstone where Harry was tied.

Wormtail fell beside the tombstone, sobbing.

Voldemort turned his eyes to Harry, emitting a cold, sharp, sinister laugh.

Bending down, he pulled up Wormtail's left arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his skin.

"We... we saw that mark... on the night of the World Cup," Fleur trembled.

Hermione, gathering her courage, explained to her the significance of the Dark Mark.

Seeing Voldemort press his long, pale index finger against Peter's Dark Mark, Fleur looked even more frightened.

"He... he's summoning the Death Eaters... isn't he?" Fleur whispered almost inaudibly.

"Let's... let's get out of here quickly... while... while they haven't arrived yet, anyway... we've already seen Voldemort... resurrected."

"There's no need to rush," Alaric said casually, shaking his head.

"I still have one last thing to complete, which is to let Voldemort kill Harry."

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