On the other side of the tent, Mr. Weasley was tending to Harry's wound.
"It's just a simple cut, no trace of magic..." Mr. Weasley made a brief inspection while bandaging Harry.
Interestingly, many people were injured at the scene, but Mr. Weasley wasn't concerned about his own children, but rather Harry. His own children considered it natural as well.
After all, it was Harry, the Boy Who Lived.
"But why do they need Harry's blood?" At that moment, Charlie had already finished treating his own wound and was fixing his torn shirt in passing.
"Perhaps it's for some kind of curse. I've heard my colleagues talk about curses that require blood as a medium..." Bill was helping analyze the possibilities.
"Um, there's something I'm not sure if I should mention." Harry remembered the words of the kidnapper while he was drawing his blood. Saying it out loud felt a bit terrifying, but if he didn't say it, it could lead to trouble.
"Go on." Mr. Weasley handed Harry a cup of hot chocolate and looked at him encouragingly.
"Well..." Harry repeated the words of the mysterious man while he was extracting his blood.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, can bring back... your enemy." Mr. Weasley repeated those words to himself, his face suddenly changing.
Who was Harry's enemy? Which of his enemies needed to be brought back to life? The answer was already clear.
The Dark Lord.
He was Harry's destined nemesis, who was currently preparing to rise again and return to power.
Some of the more astute people present also realized this possibility.
Mr. Weasley struggled to remain calm. "It's probably an accomplice of those who were parading, but their efforts are doomed to fail... maybe they can only achieve it in dreams."
The tension in the air suddenly eased. After all, reviving the Dark Lord was a kind of magic on an unreachable level for common wizards.
"I'm going to write a letter to Dumbledore to ask if there's any curse that requires blood as a medium. Harry, don't worry, no one will harm you." Mr. Weasley smiled.
When they heard Dumbledore's name, everyone felt relieved. Then, implicitly, they moved past that topic.
"Who were the people parading tonight?" Harry took a sip of the hot chocolate, feeling much better, and his arm didn't hurt as much anymore.
"They're the Death Eaters." Bill explained to Harry. "They are followers of the Dark Lord."
"And what about the Roberts family?" Hermione was more concerned about the condition of the affected family than the strange actions of the Death Eaters.
"They're not in a good situation. Tonight's experience has affected them a lot; it will be hard for them to forget this, and their behavior in the future might become strange." Mr. Weasley sighed, speaking with compassion.
Hermione took a big gulp of chocolate. "So, will they receive compensation?"
"Compensation?" Mr. Weasley was a bit surprised; it seemed he had never considered that aspect. "It's unlikely that the Ministry of Magic will provide them with any compensation, there's no precedent."
After all, they didn't care much. They were just a Muggle family. The Ministry of Magic didn't want to compensate them and could come up with a thousand excuses.
Hermione and the Grangers fell into silence, taking large sips of their hot beverages.
The atmosphere in the tent, which had relaxed a bit, became more tense. Even Dawlish closed his mouth and held his tea cup silently, acting as a backdrop. Mr. Weasley stood up, asserting his authority as the head of the family, and sent everyone back to their respective beds.
If they went to sleep now, they could still get a few hours of rest before dawn and wake up just in time to take the Portkey back home.
Harry climbed back into his bed, his head buzzing. He tried to force himself to sleep, but he spent the night awake. After tossing and turning countless times, he finally fell asleep.
Harry had a very strange dream. In the dream, he seemed to turn into a baby that someone was carrying to a cemetery.
The person holding him seemed very inexperienced and made him uncomfortable, but somehow, Harry felt a strange sense of joy deep within his being. He couldn't explain why; he just felt like laughing out loud.
Finally, "Harry" stopped in front of a large marble tombstone, and he could glimpse the name on the tombstone: Tom Riddle.
Harry felt like "he himself" was placed on the ground, and now he could clearly see the face of the person holding him.
It was Peter Pettigrew!
Harry was very surprised, so much so that he almost felt like he was waking up.
Peter dragged a cauldron of stone as tall as a person from somewhere, and Harry felt a surge of excitement inside him.
Peter crouched next to the cauldron and began to make some wand movements until a flame finally rose beneath the cauldron. Normally, such a large cauldron would take a long time to heat up, but it was clear that it didn't contain water, but some magical potion.
The liquid in the cauldron began to boil rapidly, emitting large amounts of steam and sparks.
Harry felt like "he" was being lifted by Peter and getting closer and closer to the cauldron.
"Wait, wait," Harry himself panicked: Wasn't this liquid very hot? Was Peter trying to kill this little life by throwing it in there? And the strangest thing was that Harry felt happy, a mixture of fear and excitement, an extremely complex experience.
And so, Peter threw him in.
Gurgle, gurgle...
Harry didn't feel the pain of being scalded by boiling water or the sensation of suffocation from being submerged in water. It was as if he had returned to being a fetus, returning to the warm amniotic fluid.
It was really comfortable, Harry almost fell asleep, but his dream self was still awake, he couldn't fall asleep, like a spectator, a watcher.
Through the layer of liquid, Harry could still hear Peter's voice clearly from outside.
"The bone of the father, unknowingly given, can bring your son back to life!"
A small wisp of something black was thrown into the cauldron.
"The flesh of a servant, willingly given, can return life to your master."
A hand missing a finger was also dropped, and Harry couldn't help but take a cold breath. How could Peter Pettigrew be so cruel? He cut off his hand directly!
Through the water and in the middle of the night's darkness, Harry couldn't see clearly. If he were under bright light, he would realize that the hand didn't look as fresh as freshly cut.
While Harry was lost in his thoughts, a drop of blood mixed with the liquid in the cauldron.
Harry felt like it was dawn.
Everything around him turned dazzling white, the liquid was bubbling rapidly, and Harry felt itching all over his body...