"Gweh!"
I let out a rather unflattering scream as I felt myself pitching forward and falling.
"Elaina, are you alright?"
"I'm not injured, at least…"
"Where are we?"
At Harry's words, Cedric and I also looked around in confusion.
"It doesn't seem like a surprise…"
Even if the Triwizard Cup had been turned into a Portkey and activated the moment we grabbed it, the destination should have been somewhere within Hogwarts Castle. Yet there was no castle around us, nor the Forbidden Forest, nor the lake, nor the mountains. Instead, an overgrown graveyard stretched out in every direction.
"Maybe the surprise Portkey malfunctioned?"
"Ah, that's possible."
After answering Cedric's plausible suggestion, Harry glanced uneasily around the graveyard and asked,
"What should we do?"
"For now, let's try going back to where we were."
The most likely possibility was what Cedric had said, a malfunction or misconfiguration of the Portkey. If that were the case, grabbing it again should send us back. If the three of us set off fireworks at the same time, the professors would notice immediately. Then we could simply explain what happened.
"Wait, someone's coming…"
Suddenly, Harry, who had been peering into the darkness, spoke in a tense voice. The three of us drew our wands just in case, and from the direction Harry was staring at, someone approached.
A small figure in a hooded cloak, seemingly carrying something like a small baby.
"—!?"
Without any warning, Harry let out a pained cry and clutched his scar. His wand slipped from his fingers, and he collapsed to his knees, groaning.
"Seize them!"
A cold, terrifying voice rang out, followed by another shrill voice that tore through the night.
"Stupefy!"
A red flash shot forward and pierced Cedric straight in the chest. With a slightly surprised expression, Cedric fell to the ground. I reacted instinctively.
"Expulso!"
But my opponent easily cast a Shield Charm and blocked my counterattack, then shrieked sharply.
"Don't move!"
When I froze, I heard a hissing sound, like steam escaping, from the direction where Cedric had fallen.
"That's right… good. Stay still. Otherwise, that man will become Nagini's food."
Leaving aside the fact that I could still move, Harry was writhing in pain and Cedric was unconscious. They were completely defenseless.
(I don't know what Nagini is, but it makes a sound similar to the Basilisk I fought in my second year. If I move carelessly, someone will die…)
As for the hooded man before me, he was skilled enough to knock out Cedric, a champion, with a single spell. With hostages taken and my hands tied figuratively, I had no choice but to obey.
"Drop your wand."
I let my wand fall to the ground as ordered. The hooded man chanted a spell.
"Incarcerous!"
Ropes shot from the tip of his wand, binding me tightly. Losing my balance, I toppled to the ground. He left me there and moved toward Harry, who was immobilized by pain.
"Hurry!"
Urged on by a sinister voice, the man struck the struggling Harry and dragged him away, tying him with ropes to a stone statue shaped like the Grim Reaper. The moment Harry saw the hooded man's face, he shouted.
"Wormtail, it was you!?"
But Wormtail did not answer. Instead, he began boiling a large cauldron filled with liquid. As the surface started to bubble vigorously, he brought over a small bundle and revealed what was inside.
It looked like a horribly ugly baby. A flat, snake-like face with glaring red eyes, and a dark, raw-looking body that seemed covered in scales. Some grotesque, indescribable thing.
Wormtail placed the creature into the cauldron, then, trembling, raised his voice and cried out into the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You shall renew your son!"
At once, the lid of a stone tomb at Harry's feet split open. A single bone rose into the air and fell quietly into the cauldron. The surface of the liquid cracked like a diamond, hissing as sparks flew, and it turned into a vivid, poisonous blue.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given. You shall revive your master!"
With a voice like frozen, sobbing whimpers, Wormtail extended his right hand over the cauldron and cut it off with a knife. The severed hand fell into the cauldron with a splash. Groaning in agony, he cried out again.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. You shall resurrect your foe!"
He approached Harry, sliced open the inside of Harry's right elbow with a silver knife, and collected the dripping blood in a glass vial. Though staggering, Wormtail returned to the cauldron and poured the blood into it. Instantly, the liquid turned a blinding white.
Having fulfilled his task, Wormtail collapsed, sobbing. The cauldron bubbled violently. Then, in a dazzling flash, the sparks vanished, and white steam rose.
When the haze cleared, a tall, skeletal-thin figure slowly rose from within the cauldron.
"Dress me."
The high, cold voice that came from beyond the steam gave that order to the groaning Wormtail. I recognized the profile. A face I had seen many times in books and newspapers.
A face whiter than a skull, with narrow, eerie red eyes and a flat, snake-like nose.
Who could this terrifying figure be?
"Voldemort…"
Yes. It was the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort.
**
The resurrected Voldemort caressed his own body with large, pale hands like those of a giant spider, as though cherishing it. His red pupils were slit vertically like a cat's, and a triumphant smile spread across his skull-white face.
"Hold out your arm, Wormtail."
"Oh, my master… thank you…"
"The other one."
Mockingly, Voldemort corrected him. Wormtail, his face filled with despair, muttered, "Please… not that…" Yet with a look of agony, he extended his uninjured left arm. Voldemort bent down and rolled up the sleeve of the robe. There, engraved on his skin, was a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth—the Dark Mark.
"It has returned… They all must have noticed."
Harry grimaced in pain, and Wormtail let out a scream. When Voldemort released his arm, the Dark Mark had turned a deep black.
"Now we shall see clearly… how many still have the courage to return, and how many fools would dare to stay away."
Then Lord Voldemort fixed his gleaming red eyes on Harry and looked down at him with a cruel smile.
"Harry Potter, can you see the manor house on the hill? My father lived there. My mother was a witch from this village. She fell in love with him, but the moment she revealed her true identity, he abandoned her. She died after giving birth to me, and I was left to grow up in a Muggle orphanage…"
Voldemort looked around the graveyard and spoke in a low voice.
"But now… my true family has returned."
From between the graves, from the shadows of the trees, from every corner of the darkness, wizards Apparated one after another, their cloaks billowing.
Death Eaters.
All of them wore hoods and masks engraved with eerie patterns. One by one they approached, staring at Voldemort as though unable to believe their own eyes.
When about thirty had gathered, one Death Eater crawled forward and kissed the hem of Voldemort's black robe.
"My master…"
Seeing this, the others hurried to do the same. When they finally stepped back, they formed a circle around us and Voldemort. Lord Voldemort slowly surveyed the hooded faces and spoke quietly.
"Well done. Thirteen years have passed… yes, thirteen years since we last met. And yet, you answered my call as though it were only yesterday. Thus, we are still united beneath the Dark Mark… is that not so?"
Voldemort threw back his dreadful face, flaring his snake-like nostrils.
"But there is the scent of guilt here…"
A tremor ran through the Death Eaters. Though every one of them looked as if they wanted nothing more than to flee, they remained hunched and rigid, as though bound by an invisible paralysis.
"All of you stand here unscathed and in good health. Your magic has not diminished. And yet, why did none of you come to aid the master to whom you swore eternal loyalty?"
"...…."
No one spoke.
Like office workers cowering before a power-harassing superior, they seemed desperate not to draw the short straw, trying under their masks to blend into the crowd as much as possible.
"You must have believed that I had been defeated. And so you turned your coats, slipped smoothly among my enemies, and pleaded innocence and ignorance…"
For the first time, Voldemort's gaze shifted and landed on me.
Instinctively, I lowered my eyes to avoid meeting his.
It is well known in certain circles that my mother handled the defense and reintegration into society of many Death Eaters. It would not be strange if they bore resentment.
A chill ran through me at the thought of becoming a target of displaced anger, but Voldemort soon turned back to the Death Eaters.
"This raises a question. Why did none of you believe that I would rise again? You knew that long ago I had taken measures to guard myself against death. You witnessed my overwhelming power when I was stronger than any living wizard. On what grounds did you doubt?"
Unease spread among the Death Eaters. Some began to gasp softly; others trembled uncontrollably. Even I felt a tightening discomfort in my chest.
"I am disappointed… yes, I confess that I am disappointed."
Suddenly, one Death Eater broke formation, rushing forward and throwing himself trembling at Voldemort's feet.
"My master, forgive us! Please forgive us all!"
The fact that he pleaded not only for himself but also for his colleagues made him seem oddly decent. He had absolutely no sense of the atmosphere, however.
As expected, an air of "Oh no" and "He's finished" seemed to ripple through the others. Not disappointing expectations, Voldemort laughed and cast the Cruciatus Curse. The unfortunate Death Eater screamed and writhed in agony.
"Rise, Avery."
Avery lay there, barely breathing, while Voldemort sneered down at him.
"You beg for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. You will repay thirteen years of debt. All of you, except for Wormtail, who has already repaid a portion."
Voldemort looked down at the weeping Wormtail.
"You returned to me not out of loyalty, but because you feared vengeance from your former comrades."
However, he continued,
"You did help restore me. You are a wormlike traitor, but the fact remains that you helped. And Lord Voldemort rewards those who assist him…"
Voldemort twirled his wand in the air. Something like molten silver began to glow at its tip, gradually forming the shape of a human hand. It fitted itself onto Wormtail's wrist. Wormtail stared at the silver arm in disbelief, his tears stopping as he flexed his fingers, as though confirming the sensation of the shining hand.
"Magnificent… my master, thank you… thank you…"
"Wormtail, so that your loyalty may never waver again—"
"My lord, I would never—"
"...…."
Hmm. A textbook example of domestic abuse or black company brainwashing.
To explain the basic recipe, it begins by instilling a sense of belonging with words like "family" or "comrades," then thoroughly tearing the person down and crushing their self-esteem completely.
Next, they are cornered mentally with words that foster anxiety, and their capacity for sound judgment is stripped away through physical pain.
Then, just when they are overwhelmed by helplessness and fear, a helping hand is graciously extended.
The contrast of "a usually harsh person praising me" fulfills both the social desire to belong and not be alone, and the need for recognition, the feeling that "I am accepted" and "I am valued."
That rush of excitement and emotional gratitude makes one hesitate to leave the organization, thinking, "They can be kind sometimes…" Repeating the cycle creates a state of psychological dependence. That is the general flow of mind control.
Incidentally, Hermione has proposed the hypothesis, through interviews with house-elves such as Dobby and Winky, that the reason house-elves devote themselves so loyally to wizards may involve a similar form of mind control to that seen in abusive relationships or exploitative workplaces. Further research is awaited, though that is another story.
"Lucius, my cunning friend."
Voldemort next approached Lucius and whispered,
"You returned to the public world by using the avaricious Celesteria family, maintaining a respectable facade while secretly continuing to enjoy tormenting Muggles. And yet, you never once attempted to search for me…"
"My lord, I was always preparing," Lucius replied swiftly.
"By utilizing Victorica Celesteria, I obstructed the imprisonment of Death Eaters in Azkaban and spent thirteen years weaving a network of allies throughout the political and financial spheres. Had I heard even the faintest word of your whereabouts, I would have rushed to your side at once and placed myself at your service—"
"And yet, when you saw the Mark cast into the sky this summer by my most loyal servant, you fled?"
Lucius fell silent.
Perhaps inwardly he was thinking, If I had done that and become a suspect, all my efforts would have gone to waste. But he likely understood that speaking such logic here would only provoke fury. Reading the room is essential in a black workplace.
"I know all things. Therefore, Lucius, I am disappointed in you… From now on, you will serve me more faithfully."
"Of course, my lord… I am grateful for your mercy."
When Voldemort moved on, I thought I heard the faintest sigh of relief.
"Macnair, I hear you now execute dangerous creatures for the Ministry. But I shall grant you far better victims."
"It would be my honor…"
After Macnair murmured his response, Voldemort moved before two large men.
"Crabbe, Goyle… You will do better this time, I trust?"
The two awkwardly bowed and muttered sluggishly, "Yes, my master…" but Voldemort seemed unimpressed.
"And you as well, Nott."
"My lord, I prostrate myself before you. Your most loyal—"
"That is enough."
Then Lord Voldemort stepped toward a conspicuous gap among the Death Eaters and stared into the empty space.
"The Lestranges should have stood here."
He spoke quietly.
"They were loyal. And so they were cast into Azkaban. They chose Azkaban rather than betray me… When they are freed, they shall receive the highest honor."
Choosing loyalty only to be thrown into Azkaban seems somewhat pointless, but perhaps it is a matter of sentiment.
"The Dementors will join us. The exiled giants shall be summoned back. All my loyal servants, and the dark creatures that make the world tremble, shall return to me…!"
After that, Lord Voldemort began recounting his own story.
After the curse he cast at Harry rebounded upon himself, he became weaker than a ghost and wandered in that state.
Though he could not use magic, he was able to possess the bodies of humans and animals. Thus, he possessed Professor Quirrell in an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone and restore himself.
When that plan failed and he went into hiding once more, Wormtail returned out of fear of Sirius Black's revenge. Together, they prepared carefully for this very night.
"Crucio!"
Without warning, Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse, and Harry's scream echoed throughout the graveyard.
"Look! How foolish the belief that this boy was ever stronger than I. Harry Potter escaped me by nothing more than mere luck."
Voldemort fixed his crimson eyes on Harry, who hung limp against the ropes binding him to the gravestone.
"But tonight is different. This time, there is no mother to sacrifice herself for you, and no meddlesome Dumbledore present."
Or perhaps, Voldemort sneered,
"Will you cling to that little girl over there instead?"
(End of chapter)
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