Chapter 272: "A Dark Rebirth"

As the last echoes of the Horcrux's death faded into the night, Harry wasted no time. With practiced ease, he vanished into invisibility and retreated a safe distance before transforming back into his thunderbird form. His powerful wings carried him high into the dark sky, positioning himself for a perfect view of what was to come.

He returned to his aerial vigil just in time to see Wormtail pour Charles's blood into the bubbling cauldron. Harry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction - Nagini's destruction had been quick and perfectly timed, her death throes' magical discharge now indistinguishable from the chaotic energies of Voldemort's resurrection ritual. No one, least of all Voldemort himself, would suspect anything was amiss.

Below, Wormtail collapsed beside the cauldron, his face twisted in pain as he clutched the bloody stump of his arm. He had given everything for his master, but Harry felt no sympathy. Wormtail had made his choice long ago. He could have fled, could have changed his life, but instead, he had decided to betray his friends and serve a monster. And now, here he was—broken, pathetic, groveling for scraps of recognition. If it made Harry's revenge easier, so much the better.

The cauldron, now filled with the ingredients of the dark ritual, was bubbling furiously, sparks of bright light erupting from its depths and filling the graveyard with an almost blinding glare. The scene shifted between flashes of brilliance and deep shadows And then, suddenly, the sparks died, and a thick white steam billowed from the cauldron, blanketing the scene in fog.

Through the mist, a figure began to rise—a tall, thin figure, pale as death, his silhouette both familiar and chilling. "Robe me," commanded the high, cold voice that had haunted so many nightmares.

Harry's sharp thunderbird eyes took in every detail—the flat, snake-like face, the glowing red eyes, the smooth, noseless skin. This was Voldemort, the so-called Dark Lord reborn. Harry recognized every feature from his memories and the books of his previous life. But there was something—something that felt... off.

Harry probed the dark figure's magical aura, and a smirk curled at the edge of his beak. The aura felt weaker than he had imagined, far less menacing than what he had been expecting. Was it the toll of the resurrection process? Or was it the absence of the Horcruxes that had sapped his power? Either way, Harry wasn't impressed.

'Is this really the most feared Dark Lord?' Harry thought, a mix of disdain and newfound confidence washing over him. If this was the extent of Voldemort's power, then Harry was more than ready to face him—and end him. Tonight could very well be the night when this terror was put to rest for good.

But Harry knew better than to rush in. He had patience, and he knew Voldemort's inner circle—the Death Eaters—would be arriving soon. The opportunity to eliminate them all at once was too great a prize to give up. He would wait.

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Voldemort continued to examine his newly formed body, flexing his long, skeletal fingers, a twisted smile forming on his lipless face. He turned his attention to Charles, still bound to the gravestone, trembling and wide-eyed. A high, cruel laugh echoed through the graveyard, chilling Charles to the bone. Wormtail crawled over, his face pale and twisted in agony, his silver hand trembling as he groveled at Voldemort's feet.

"My Lord..." Wormtail gasped, his voice cracked and desperate. "My Lord... you promised..."

But Voldemort only sneered, grabbing Wormtail's remaining arm and pressing his long finger to the Dark Mark branded there.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" Voldemort mused, his red eyes gleaming as he looked towards the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

As he waited for his followers to appear, Voldemort turned to Charles. His eyes roamed over the gravestone Charles was bound to, a glimmer of mockery in his gaze. "Do you know whose bones you are resting upon, Charles? My father's."

Voldemort's voice took on a chilling calm as he continued, "Tom Riddle. A Muggle who abandoned his family. I despised him for it, yet here we are. His death brought me to power, and his legacy means nothing more than ash." The dark wizard seemed to speak freely, unconcerned about his heritage in Wormtail's presence.

Harry watched in disbelief as Voldemort spoke so freely about his heritage—a Muggle father—in front of his followers. 'Seriously?' Harry thought. 'You're talking about your Muggle father when the purists are about to arrive? Either Wormtail's been thoroughly cowed, or you're slipping, Tom.'

Then, with a series of soft, swishing sounds, figures began appearing in the shadows of the graveyard. Between gravestones, behind twisted yew trees, and in every patch of darkness, wizards Apparated one by one, their hoods and masks concealing their identities. Slowly, cautiously, they moved forward, disbelief etched in their postures as they caught sight of their resurrected master.

The Death Eaters approached Voldemort in silence, awe mixed with dread, until one of them dropped to his knees and crawled forward, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"Master…Master…" he murmured, his voice trembling.

One by one, the others did the same, each paying their homage before backing away to form a silent, obedient circle around their lord. Voldemort let the silence linger for a moment, then spoke in a low, deadly tone.

"Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen years…thirteen years since last we met. Yet here you stand, united under the Dark Mark. Or are you?"

The silence that followed was absolute, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. Voldemort began to pace, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon each of them. "How many of you searched for me? How many were loyal, even when I was not there to reward that loyalty?"

Harry clenched his talons, his patience beginning to fray. He wanted to end this now, but he knew he had to wait. The timing was everything.

But Voldemort's words continued a tirade about the failures of his followers, each accusation dripping with scorn. Finally, one of the Death Eaters dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness. Voldemort's response was a cold, calculating Cruciatus Curse, leaving the man writhing on the ground.

Harry's eyes narrowed as Voldemort turned to Wormtail, granting him a new silver hand with an air of cruelty veiled as generosity. Wormtail's groveling thanks only further disgusted Harry. 

'Enjoy your new hand while you can, Wormtail,' Harry thought. 'You won't have it for long.'

Then Voldemort stopped before Lucius Malfoy, his voice turning coldly amused. "Lucius, my slippery friend…how the mighty have fallen. Tell me, was it worth trying to make a name for yourself without me?"

Malfoy dropped to his knees, his refined exterior cracking under Voldemort's gaze. "My Lord, I have remained loyal—there was no sign, nothing that—"

"Loyal?" Voldemort interrupted, a cold laugh escaping his lips. "You lost almost everything in my absence. And yet you didn't seek me out. Your influence, your fortune…everything slipping through your fingers, and still you did nothing." He raised his wand, and Malfoy barely had time to flinch before the Cruciatus Curse hit him, his body writhing under the spell.

Harry watched with a growing sense of annoyance. This farce needed to end. He was losing patience with Voldemort's posturing and theatrics. The thought of sending Charles to safety first held him back from acting. He had to be sure his brother would be safe before he engaged.

Finally, Voldemort took a step back, letting his followers recover. "You all have disappointed me," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. "And yet, I find myself forced to rely on you once again. We are few, but we shall rise. We shall bring the world to its knees once more."

Finally, the Dark Lord's gaze turned toward Charles, and he smiled, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

"My most faithful servant at Hogwarts has brought us a guest of honor tonight," Voldemort announced, his voice carrying through the graveyard. "Charles Potter has so kindly joined us for my rebirthing ceremony. One might say he's here to witness the dawn of a new era."

Harry watched from above, his beak curling into what passed for a grin in his thunderbird form. With these few people, he wanted to start a new era. If this was how Voldemort intended to start his "new era," then tonight would be the perfect night to end it.