"How many people would have the guts to come back after sensing it? And how many would foolishly choose not to?"
The spell to summon the Death Eaters had already taken effect, but it would still take some time for them to pinpoint the exact location. Waiting is always an anxiety-inducing and tedious affair, like a witch's curse that can only be broken with time.
"Harry Potter..."
During this pause, Voldemort finally had a moment to walk over to Harry and scrutinize the boy who had once caused his soul to be shattered.
—So ordinary.
An ordinary name, an ordinary appearance, and even his abilities couldn't be considered gifted.
He was nowhere near as adept as Snape, who had already mastered some dark magic before even his first year ended. He was not as proficient in every subject as young Barty Crouch, let alone Voldemort himself.
Aside from a bit of almost reckless bravery, Harry Potter didn't have anything worth mentioning.
Now that he thought about it, that prophecy was simply nonsense. Could someone like this really be fated to be Voldemort's enemy?
What a joke!
Voldemort suddenly felt that his past self had been so foolish, making a big fuss over an insubstantial prophecy.
But in the end, he had lost—although he hadn't lost to Harry Potter, but to the ancient magic of Lily Potter.
Was this just a coincidence? Or was it the inevitability of fate?
Voldemort wasn't sure about that yet, but as he began to take Harry Potter more seriously, he found the boy before him increasingly insignificant. Even that one-in-a-million magical talent, Parseltongue, was something Harry had only because of the fragment of Voldemort's soul within him.
He wasn't qualified to be his destined enemy. Voldemort quickly confirmed this point. There were only two people in this world worthy of being his enemies—Albus Dumbledore and Cyrus.
One was the greatest white wizard, and the other was himself!
But he had to admit, Harry's courage was exceptionally striking. He wasn't just recklessly brave; in fact, he had a good understanding of his own abilities and talents. But even so, he would not bow down to Voldemort.
Even lying on the ground, he still stared stubbornly at Voldemort with those defiant green eyes!
Voldemort didn't care about the anger of an ant. He lazily walked over to Harry's side. Surprisingly, he felt no anger towards the boy who had caused his downfall. Instead, he leisurely began to share his family history with Harry.
"See, Harry, the body lying next to you is my father," he said kindly, showing no sign of displeasure. Young Barty's face even bore a comical smile.
"He was a Muggle and a fool... just like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, didn't they? When you were little, your mother died to protect you... I killed my father. You see, he has been quite useful even after his death..."
Voldemort's words pierced Harry's lion heart like a blade.
"Shut up!" Harry shouted in hatred, desperately wishing he could tear Voldemort apart!
However, no matter how much the young lion raged, it could not bite off even half a scale of the Serpent King.
Voldemort sneered and flicked his wand, casting the Cruciatus Curse on Harry. It was merely a minor punishment. Especially now that Voldemort no longer believed in the prophecy, he suddenly found that even torturing this child had lost its appeal.
"Listen to me, Harry. You should learn some manners," he said, his snake-like eyes filled with indifference. "I haven't turned you into one of them. You should be grateful for my mercy. Otherwise, you'd be rotting right now or being eaten by a Rune Snake."
As he spoke, he raised his hand, palm down. The three-headed Rune Snake rose up, its jagged, bone-chilling heads pressing against his palm.
It was merely a threat; of course, he wouldn't kill Harry.
"Killing my own father, I feel a bit sentimental," Voldemort tilted his head back and sighed lightly, but there wasn't a hint of sadness on his face. "But look, Harry! My real family is about to return..."
As soon as he finished speaking, the air was suddenly filled with the rustling of cloaks.
Between the graves, behind the pine trees, in every shadowy spot, wizards were Apparating. They all wore hoods, their faces concealed. One by one, they approached slowly and cautiously, as if they couldn't believe their eyes.
Voldemort stood there silently, waiting.
A Death Eater fell to his knees, crawling to Voldemort's side, kissing the hem of his black robe.
Harry saw a woman dressed in black with her eyes glowing, but with a hint of suspicion. She looked utterly mad, even daring to question the Dark Lord!
"Who are you?" Bellatrix raised her chin, her wand pointed at Voldemort.
She was genuinely confused now.
The reborn Voldemort looked completely unrecognizable, especially his face. Bellatrix would be willing to believe he was born from a snake's belly!
Was this really the Dark Lord?
Twelve years ago, the Dark Lord was already quite terrifying in appearance, but at least he still had a nose, didn't he?
Moreover, not long ago, Bellatrix had seen a portrait of "Tom Riddle" in the Daily Prophet. That handsome young wizard was the true appearance of the Dark Lord! His return to youth was proof of his immortality!
"You've made me sad, Bella. You don't remember me?" Voldemort turned around, looking at the gathering Death Eaters, his eyes filled with discontent. "Who else could summon you besides me?"
He glanced around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a faint rustling seemed to pass through the crowd, as if everyone shivered at once.
"What are you thinking? Why aren't you immediately kneeling at your master's feet, begging for forgiveness?!" Young Barty was angrier than Voldemort, or rather, his anger was visible.
He rushed to stand between Voldemort and the Death Eaters, blocking Bellatrix's wand that was pointed at Voldemort, looking ready to fight Bellatrix.
But Voldemort reached out and placed his hand on Barty's shoulder, his bony fingers distinctly pronounced.
"Stand back, Barty."
After everything that had happened, Voldemort valued Barty very much as a servant, and he wasn't upset with those who had once been loyal to him.
The loyalty of the Lestrange family, especially Bellatrix, was beyond question!
"Master..." Barty stepped back but still looked at Voldemort with concern.
The Dark Lord had finally regained his former composure. He walked forward defenselessly, his snake-scaled, pale gray chest exposed, until it touched Bellatrix's slightly crooked wand.
"I know what you're doubting," Voldemort said softly. His voice was very gentle and calm—who would think he was a merciless killer?
He sounded almost like he was speaking to a lover, but his words were meant for all the Death Eaters, not just Bellatrix.
"Master?" Bellatrix, half-believing, lowered her wand and prepared to kneel.
In truth, there were few who still doubted at this moment. Appearance could be disguised, but power and aura could not be faked. The person before them was undoubtedly the Dark Lord!
"Today, it is not you who should be kneeling before me, Bellatrix."
Voldemort's gaze swept over all the wizards. They had formed a circle, but it was not a tight one; instead, it was somewhat sparse, as if missing a few people.
He stepped past Bellatrix, moving closer toward the circle formed by the Death Eaters.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said calmly.
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12 Advance Chapters—Patreon.com/HornyFBI