Although rumors of Voldemort's return had spread like wildfire throughout the wizarding world, there was never any concrete proof or definitive conclusion.
It was treated more like a joke.
After all, aside from Harry Potter, not a single wizard had truly seen Voldemort with their own eyes. Nor were there any confirmed reports of people or places suffering under the Dark Lord's renewed reign of terror.
The truth itself had been deliberately concealed by the Ministry of Magic.
That was precisely why most wizards clung to wishful thinking, or even believed that the Aurors, or Dumbledore, had simply been mistaken.
Yet no one could have imagined that this very Dark Lord would now appear on a small island in the northern seas...
"Lumos!"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Alongside the light shining from the tip of Peter Pettigrew's wand came the dull, echoing sound of footsteps against the stone path.
At some unknown moment, the storm had suddenly subsided.
If one were looking down from the sky at this instant, they would see a lone cluster of light slowly advancing toward the very center of the island, swallowed by darkness on all sides.
That unsteady glow was like a lone adventurer plunging into the abyss, as though it might be devoured at any moment by the surrounding blackness and lurking danger.
As they drew closer and closer to the massive fortress on the island, the oppressive weight it radiated became increasingly suffocating.
The screams and sobs that had once seemed distant and indistinct now proved beyond doubt that they were neither illusion nor imagination...
Yet compared to the calm indifference of Voldemort and Barty Crouch Jr. in the face of all this, Peter Pettigrew, who was holding the light, trembled more violently with every step.
If Voldemort had not been standing right in front of him, the cowardly wizard might have fled the island at the first possible moment.
Because this was... a place utterly devoid of hope and joy, an existence feared and rejected by every wizard alive.
As Peter Pettigrew's shaking wand swept its beam across the fortress's massive stone gates, the difference became clear.
Unlike the walls, which had been eroded by seawater, the magical inscription carved into the stone remained starkly clear.
It read—
Azkaban Wizarding Prison!
...
Azkaban Wizarding Prison.
Though the existence of this island was unknown to most people, within the wizarding world this name was thunderous, known to all and feared by all.
No wizard would ever wish to set foot inside Azkaban. Even those Ministry officials who knew of its existence treated it as an unspeakable taboo.
After all, the decision to cooperate with dark creatures and entrust them with guarding prisoners was hardly something worth boasting about or publicizing.
Especially when those dark creatures were emotionless monsters...
Naturally, Voldemort's arrival could not possibly escape the notice of Azkaban's guards.
Against the pitch-black surroundings, they were like fireflies, impossible to miss.
Of course, Voldemort and his followers had no intention of hiding.
Almost as soon as they stopped before Azkaban's enormous stone gates, Peter Pettigrew, the least unhinged of the group, suddenly felt a deep, icy chill rise from within, as though all happiness had been ripped straight out of his soul.
His teeth chattered as he let out a shrill, almost inhuman cry.
"D-Dementors! They've found us!"
"Shut up! Your courage is as small as a rat's!"
"Ugh!"
With Voldemort's merciless strike, an unpleasant sound tore from Peter Pettigrew's throat. His wand fell to the ground, and the only source of light vanished in an instant.
"Waaah... Master... I was wrong, great Master... waaah..."
Voldemort did not even spare him a glance.
He didn't turn back, didn't respond, and ignored the sobbing Peter Pettigrew at his feet as casually as one would discard a piece of trash.
Since his resurrection, and after Lucius had led others in betraying him, Voldemort's temper had grown even more volatile and unpredictable...
As he withdrew his finger, Voldemort's pitch-black eyes, eyes that seemed capable of devouring everything, lifted to meet the black figures gliding down from the sky.
Those shadows were the guardians of Azkaban Wizard Prison...
The Dementors!
…
It was common knowledge.
Dementors were merciless dark creatures, but that did not mean they lacked intelligence, nor that communication with them was impossible.
Otherwise, the Ministry of Magic would never have been able to strike a deal with them.
And so, at the moment the wizard before them removed his hood, the Dementors who had surrounded the three of them, seemingly ready to swoop in and savor an unexpected feast, all visibly hesitated.
Clearly, they recognized who this wizard was.
That brief pause was enough to draw a raspy, satisfied laugh from Voldemort.
"It seems you haven't forgotten the great Dark Lord, have you?"
The magic and presence radiating from him, steeped in malice beyond anything else, caused even the Dementors, beings that walked hand in hand with evil, to emit strange, fearful sounds that no one could possibly understand.
Without giving Voldemort any chance to act, the Dementors hovering around them retreated in unison, drifting up into the sky.
Though they had no faces or expressions, the way their dark forms wavered made them look almost flustered, as if they had just glimpsed something utterly terrifying.
And all of this was brought about by Voldemort himself, who was letting out that low, ominous laughter.
"Master?"
"Patience, my loyal Crouch. During the long years of my resurrection, I have learned that waiting is also important."
Ever since Lucius had betrayed him, Voldemort seemed to make a habit of adding the word "loyal" when addressing his followers. Whether it was meant as a warning or a reminder to his Death Eaters not to betray him again was anyone's guess.
In any case.
Although Voldemort spoke of patience, the restless magic surging around him made no effort to hide itself, rolling forward in violent waves toward the Azkaban prison before him.
It was only when a Dementor larger than all the others appeared that Voldemort finally drew back that terrifying power, the kind that felt as though it could wipe the entire island away.
This Dementor, which appeared to be their leader, hesitated for a long moment before slowly lowering its head.
The meaning of that gesture needed no explanation.
As he watched the Dementor bow before him, Voldemort burst into laughter, his voice rising from a low rumble into a shrill, unhinged crescendo.
"Very good... Hahahahaha!"
Judging by the Dementor's reaction, the day when Voldemort's power would be fully restored did not seem far off at all...