In the open area, only the moans and painful gasps of breath remained, echoing through the air. Evan opened his eyes, silently observing the proceedings. They were almost done; just one step remained.
The cloaked figure approached them, his black robe stained red with blood. He ignored the blood splatters and displayed a final, crazed expression.
"The blood of an enemy, willingly sacrificed, shall bring your enemy back to life!" he declared coldly, almost shouting.
Harry struggled desperately, attempting to free himself from the ropes. He watched as the silvery dagger trembled in the man's hand and was about to pierce him.
Unable to move, Harry could only helplessly witness the man's actions. The next moment, he felt the dagger pierce his elbow's crook, causing intense pain and blood to drip from the wound, staining his torn robe sleeve.
Still trembling from the pain, the man retrieved a vial from his pocket and placed it beneath Harry's wound. A few drops of fresh blood flowed into the bottle. The man then approached the cauldron and poured Harry's blood into it.
Instantly, the liquid within the cauldron turned a brilliant white, emitting a foul odor. The man had completed his task and fell to the ground, his body contorted in pain as he clutched his injured arm.
Beside him, the cauldron seethed violently, sending sparkling diamond-like sparks into the air, creating a blinding spectacle.
"We did it!" Evan exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the stone cauldron. Voldemort was using Harry's blood for his resurrection. Harry's mother's blood protection was working; it had become an incredible source of strength.
Suddenly, the sparks around the cauldron were extinguished completely. White vapor rose from the pot, blending with the surrounding mist, obscuring everything from view. Their senses were dulled, shrouded in a mysterious restlessness—an eerie sensation.
Through the thick white mist, they discerned a figure slowly rising within the cauldron—a tall, gaunt man. He was pale and had an almost skeletal appearance.
"Dress me!" a cold, sharp voice echoed behind the mist.
The man who had fallen to the ground, bleeding from his arm, scrambled to his feet and began fumbling for a black robe from his burden. He stood, wrapping it around his master, who had already extended his head, covered by a hood.
The thin man approached the cauldron, dressed in a robe. His red eyes fixed on Harry, his expression devoid of any emotion.
Harry gazed into the face that had haunted his nightmares for years. Voldemort's face was even paler than a skeleton, with two large, glowing red eyes, a flat snake-like nose, and two slits for nostrils.
Voldemort had been resurrected!
Voldemort shifted his gaze away from Harry, seemingly ignoring him and looking around instead. He began to examine his newly resurrected body. His pale, bony hand caressed his form inch by inch—his thighs, chest, arms, and face. His movements were slow and delicate.
His red eyes appeared even more vibrant in the darkness, with pupils that resembled cat-like slits. After slowly tracing the contours of his entire face, Voldemort raised both hands and flexed his fingers, a look of pure joy on his face.
Voldemort reveled in the euphoria of his new body. It had been many years, but he had finally achieved his goal of returning to the world of magic. He paid no attention to the man on the ground, still bleeding and groaning, or to Evan, Harry, and the large snake.
The snake, which had silently approached Evan and Harry, hissed softly. The atmosphere was strange yet quiet, and time seemed to stretch indefinitely.
Evan knew that it was time to go. They had achieved their goal, and there was no need to let Voldemort kill Harry here. They had preparations to make, and he had no interest in staying for Voldemort's resurrection party.
Karkaroff had given him a portkey, which he kept in his pocket, ready for use. When the right moment came, they could leave this place. In case of unforeseen circumstances, he also had something Dumbledore had given him.
Finally, Voldemort completed his examination of his new body, appearing satisfied. He reached into a deep pocket, withdrawing his wand. He gently caressed the wand and raised it high, a cold, sinister smile gracing his lips.
"I have returned!" he declared softly. "Many still remember me!"
Voldemort waved his wand, and the Dark Mark materialized in the air—a green, snake-like skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth. It became increasingly visible and rose higher into the sky. Voldemort scrutinized it carefully.
"They will take notice," Voldemort said, his face revealing a cruel and self-satisfied expression. "Now, we shall see who remembers us."
He relaxed, pacing back and forth in the desolate clearing. The man on the ground groaned, but Voldemort paid him no heed. He scanned the area, occasionally glancing at the surroundings.
"After feeling its presence, how many will have the courage to return?" Voldemort muttered. "How many will foolishly stay away?"
He began pacing before Evan and Harry, occasionally glancing around the open area. As for the groaning man on the ground, Voldemort ignored him completely, seemingly deeming him useless trash.
The man had stopped his bleeding through some special method, but he was still extremely weak, teetering on the brink of death. He pleaded weakly, having become one of Voldemort's vampire servants, but he received no mercy.
Evan observed everything coldly, calculating the time. He tightly held Harry's hand. Suddenly, Voldemort pointed his wand at something on the ground, and it floated into the air before landing in front of Evan and Harry.
His father's bone ash, one of the essential components of his resurrection ritual, is now rendered completely useless.
Voldemort's gaze shifted to Harry, his snake-like face contorted into a sinister smile.
"Harry Potter, we meet again," he hissed softly. "These bones, once belonging to my father, were a Muggle and a fool, much like your biological mother. But were they of any use? When you were young, your mother sacrificed herself to protect you. I, on the other hand, killed my own father. Observe, after he died, he proved to be quite useful."
Voldemort smiled, his red eyes scanning the area as he continued to pace. The large snake continued to slither on the grass.
"My mother was a witch, and she fell in love with him—a Muggle," Voldemort continued in a soft voice. "But when she revealed her true nature, he abandoned her, for he despised magic! Just like all foolish Muggles, he left her and returned to his Muggle parents. At that time, I had not yet been born."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Voldemort's cold, harsh voice echoed throughout the open area, and Evan and Harry listened silently, their bodies tense. Harry's scar throbbed painfully, and he clenched his teeth, positioning himself protectively in front of Evan, whom he believed to be Gabrielle. Harry was embroiled in this situation because of the girl, and he had decided to survive and bring her to safety, whatever the cost.
As Voldemort continued to pace back and forth, seemingly content and nostalgic, he spoke of his past.
"My father abandoned us, and my mother suffered and died while giving birth to me in a Muggle orphanage," Voldemort recounted. "That's why I vowed to find him. Later, I avenged him and a man named Tom Riddle, who shared his name with me."
At the mention of that name, there was a chilling tone of loathing in Voldemort's expression.
"I consider that name shameful—a name that brings me shame," Voldemort continued, his voice growing gentler. A cruel smile curled on his lips. "But it ends today. This shame, along with the shame my father brought upon me, will be eradicated by me. Haha, Harry Potter, you are truly honored. Listen to me reminisce about my family history. I feel a little sentimental, but look, Harry! My true family has returned!"
His words faded, and the air suddenly filled with the sound of rustling capes. Figures appeared in the weeds, behind dead trees, and in the shadows. They were wizards and witches, their faces hidden beneath hoods, moving cautiously and seemingly in disbelief.
Voldemort stood there, silently waiting, his snake-like face twisted into a malicious grin. The Death Eaters, plump and emaciated alike, knelt and crawled toward Voldemort, kissing the hem of his black robe.
"Master, master," one of them whispered softly.
Behind him, the other Death Eaters followed suit, bowing and kissing Voldemort's robe before retreating to form a circle around the man on the ground, who was still groaning in pain, and Evan and Harry.
The circle had gaps as if they were waiting for others to join, but Voldemort no longer seemed to expect more. He observed them through his hooded face. Although there was no wind, it felt as though a slight rustling had passed through the circle, causing it to shiver.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said calmly. "Thirteen years have passed since our last gathering. But you have answered my summons as if it were yesterday, proving that we are still united under the Dark Mark, correct?"
He raised his fierce face and sniffed the air, although the atmosphere had a guilty stench.
"I see you are all in good health, with your magical powers as strong as ever," Voldemort continued, pacing slowly within the circle. "You came so readily, rushing to me like this! I often asked myself, why these formidable wizards did not help their masters and instead pledged their loyalty to my enemies?"
No one spoke; no one dared to move.
"I answered myself," Voldemort said softly as he continued to pace. "Perhaps they believe I am not good, that I am finished. They return to my enemies smoothly, claiming they are innocent and unaware of the situation, using the excuse of the Imperius Curse."
"I also asked myself," he continued, his voice darkening, "why do they believe I will not return? Do they not know that I have long possessed a means of preventing death? Are they unaware I am more powerful than any wizard, having displayed countless feats of limitless power?"
He let his words linger, a heavy silence filling the air.
"I also answered myself," Voldemort said, "perhaps they believe that there is a power even greater than me, one that can defeat Voldemort. Perhaps they have pledged their loyalty to someone else now, perhaps to the leader of that Order of the Phoenix, that Mudblood and Muggle guardian, Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the circle members stirred, some muttering and shaking their heads.
Voldemort paid them no heed, and his expression grew colder.
"This deeply disappoints me," he said. "I admit that I am disappointed in all of you."
Suddenly, one person in the circle collapsed, falling to the ground and crawling toward Voldemort, trembling uncontrollably.
"Master!" he cried out. "Master, forgive us! Forgive me!"
Voldemort sneered and raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed in agony, emitting pitiful cries that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. Voldemort's power was greater than any dark wizard's, and his evil thoughts made the Cruciatus Curse especially cruel and unbearable.
Evan firmly gripped his wand. The portkey could not be far from activation.
Several minutes passed before Voldemort finally lifted his wand.
"Enough, Avery," he said softly. "Stand up. Did you ask for my forgiveness? I told you, I will not forgive. I will not forget the thirteen years of debt you owe me. You will repay it, and only then will I consider forgiveness."
Voldemort observed the other Death Eaters around him as if seeking his next target.
"I'm sure you are all wondering how I returned," he said gently. "I did receive some assistance from a few vampires, although they were not entirely cooperative. Still, they aided me, and Voldemort always repays those who help him."
He raised his wand again, and a shining silver band of light emerged from it. At first, it was formless, but it soon twisted into the shape of a sparkling hand, like moonlight.
The silver hand flew through the air and landed gracefully on the bleeding arm of the man on the ground as if he were putting on a dazzling glove.
The man tried to flex his fingers, and a tremor ran through him as he picked up a twig from the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My master!" he said softly. "Thank you, kind master."
He knelt and crawled, kissing Voldemort's robe.
"The loyalty of those who serve Voldemort is finally rewarded," Voldemort declared. "This is your reward, Durand. Welcome to becoming a Death Eater. According to our agreement, I will help you regain what should rightfully be yours."
Evan took note of Durand's appearance. He had replaced Peter Pettigrew as Voldemort's servant and had acquired that cursed arm. Durand seemed to perform better than Peter in this role.