Kapitel 203: Chapter 203: Voldemort's Resurrection
For a moment, Harry almost hoped Voldemort would drown in the potion.
But that was too absurd.
How could Voldemort seek his own death? How could he allow his servants to harm him?
Karkaroff raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night sky, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
Harry watched in shock as a small wisp of dust rose from beside him at Karkaroff's summoning, drifting into the air before gently falling into the cauldron.
It was then that Harry noticed there was a skeleton lying next to him, one that had been decaying for many years. Perhaps due to the power of magic, it hadn't completely rotted away, but its features were unrecognizable, emitting a foul stench like a ghoul.
'The bone of the father?'
'Was this Voldemort's father?'
'And this is how he treated his father's remains?'
Before Harry could think further, the diamond-like surface of the cauldron's liquid shattered, hissing and sizzling as sparks flew. The liquid turned a bright blue color. Barty Crouch Jr. sneered as he grabbed Harry by the collar and dragged him to the edge of the cauldron!
Barty urged Karkaroff, "Hurry up, Karkaroff! And the locket!"
Karkaroff quickly rolled up his sleeve, revealing a hand wrapped in a locket.
He glanced fearfully at Barty, then pulled a long, thin, silver-glinting dagger from his cloak. His voice became harsh and resolute: "Flesh of the servant—willingly given, you will—revive—your master."
His words were fragmented, as the pain nearly prevented him from speaking.
The silver dagger sliced through his hand as if cutting a piece of wild grass.
Harry's eyes widened, but he was no longer focused on Karkaroff's misery. This was because Barty Crouch Jr. had taken the dagger, pressing Harry's head against the edge of the cauldron. The scorching metal seared Harry's skin, turning it red and sending up acrid smoke, while the boiling potion nearly splashed into his eyes!
"The blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, will resurrect your foe!"
Harry couldn't stop it; he was bound too tightly... He struggled desperately, feeling the dagger's tip pierce his shoulder blade.
Blood flowed down through the torn sleeve of his robe, dripping into the cauldron.
The liquid in the cauldron instantly turned a dazzling white. Diamond-like sparks flew out in all directions, so bright that everything around seemed to turn the color of black velvet.
"You've fulfilled your great task, Harry!" Barty Crouch Jr. shouted with excitement, more thrilled than he had been at his own moment of freedom!
He tossed the dagger aside and pulled Harry close, gripping his head tightly to force him to witness everything. "Look! The great Dark Lord reborn!"
"He won't succeed!" Harry gritted his teeth.
But Harry's prayer was in vain.
The sparks above the cauldron died out. A white steam rose from the cauldron, obscuring everything in front of Harry.
Then, through the white mist in front of him, Harry saw with horror a tall, thin black figure slowly rising from the cauldron, resembling a skeleton.
The hazy white mist was instantly dyed black by a magical force, then transformed into a fabric-like material that looked like gauze. Finally, it became a black robe draped over the skeleton-like figure.
The three-headed snake that had been slithering around had somehow returned to Voldemort's feet and was crouching there.
"You were wrong, Harry~"
The tall, thin man stepped out of the cauldron, his eyes fixed on Harry... Harry saw the face that had appeared in his nightmares frequently over the past three years: paler than a skeleton, with large, glowing red eyes, and a nose as flat as a snake's, with nostrils like thin slits...
Voldemort had been resurrected.
He did not immediately acknowledge Harry but instead began inspecting his body. Strangely, he pulled out a wand from the robe that had materialized around him, and it was the same wand he had used before.
"Master!" Barty Crouch Jr. threw Harry to the ground and knelt at Voldemort's feet, though it was more of a dependence than a kneeling posture. "How do you feel?"
Voldemort closed his crimson snake-like eyes, as if savoring the sensation of having a body truly his own. "Better than ever!"
Having fused with the soul fragment from the locket, Voldemort indeed felt that his magical power had increased slightly. It was a small difference, but it was real!
It was a peculiar sensation.
Since his school days, Voldemort had long forgotten what it felt like to have a complete soul. He had disfigured himself, yet his power had increased because, at that time, he was still far from reaching his peak.
As for now, he had only recovered a small, insignificant amount of his strength.
"The only regret is using the flesh of such a traitor for my revival." He cast a disdainful glance at Karkaroff, as if looking at something filthy and worthless.
"You should have used my flesh—" Barty Crouch Jr. immediately said.
"Of course not, Barty. I expect you to remain whole!" Voldemort said arrogantly, but with a hint of expectation.
He was barefoot, standing on the blackened earth. As he passed by Karkaroff, Karkaroff looked at him with a pleading gaze.
"Hand!"
A look of joy appeared on Karkaroff's pale face. He extended his still-bleeding severed hand, like a person in distress begging for the Lord's salvation.
But Voldemort was no merciful lord.
His expression was utterly cold, as if he were looking at a corpse that was already dead. "The other one!"
Karkaroff immediately froze.
Voldemort didn't say another word. He simply made a gesture, as if he were pulling on an invisible rope, and Karkaroff's other hand was yanked up.
Then, he rolled Karkaroff's sleeve up to his elbow.
Harry saw something on the exposed skin, like a bright red tattoo—a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.
The Dark Mark!
Voldemort gazed at the mark with a nostalgic expression, as if recalling days gone by.
What he missed were the days of his own power and might, the anguished cries of Muggles, and the thrill of seeing the Death Eaters grovel humbly at his feet!
"They will all know you've returned!" Barty Crouch Jr. said excitedly, "Lestrange, Lucius, Flint… they are all waiting for your call, sir!"
Voldemort chuckled softly, placing his long, pale index finger on Karkaroff's arm.
The scar on Harry's forehead throbbed painfully once again, and Karkaroff let out another wail.
A cruel, satisfied expression appeared on Voldemort's face. He straightened up, lifting his head as he surveyed the dark lair.
"Waiting for my call?"
"But after feeling it, how many will have the courage to return?" he murmured, his glowing red eyes fixed on the stars above. "And how many will foolishly not come?"
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