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0783 Voldemort
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 11:54:02 +0000 UTCVoldemort slowly turned his red gaze away from Harry's began to examine this physical body—the flesh and bone body he had desperately yearned for and dreamed of possessing throughout those fifteen torturous years of unimaginable darkness and ethereal exile.
His hands resembling spiders with their unnaturally long fingers, caressed his newly restored chest, arms, and face. Each touch was performed as if he were stroking the most precious treasures ever unearthed, his breathing became soft, his expression turned to one of pure, intoxicated ecstasy.
"Master," came a weak, trembling voice from below.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s thin face had turned a sickly, deathly pale from the severe blood loss caused by his severed arm, which continued to seep crimson droplets onto the ground beneath him.
Despite his grievous wound and weakening condition, he stared up at Voldemort's restored body with the fanatical devotion of a religious devotee who had just witnessed the resurrection of his god.
Completely ignoring his own potentially fatal injury, he used his remaining arm to crawl painfully across the rough, stone-littered ground with determination to reach his master's feet, where he pressed his lips against them in worshipful submission.
Meanwhile, Voldemort was occupied with admiring his own wand, which he had drawn from the depths of his robes. It felt alive in his grip after fifteen long years of being unable to wield it with anything approaching its full power.
Barty's desperate kiss against his feet drew his attention back to the present moment and the pitiful figure groveling in front of him.
As if he had only just become aware of the presence of this loyal Death Eater despite having been cared for by this devoted follower throughout the past year, despite achieving his resurrection mainly through Barty's assistance and sacrifice—Voldemort raised one pale eyebrow.
Harry, still bound tightly to the tombstone was certain he glimpsed a faint, cruel mocking smile curling at the corner of Voldemort's lips.
"Your performance tonight was somewhat disappointing, Barty," Voldemort said in a soft voice.
"Fortunately for you, no one else was present to witness tonight's... festivities, Barty. If someone had been here to observe that rather theatrical duel you engaged in earlier, what do you suppose they would say?"
His voice took on a mocking, sing-song tone as he continued. "That the Dark Lord's most trusted and loyal Death Eater was soundly defeated by three underage children from Hogwarts School?
Three mere students who haven't even completed their magical education? Oh, if word of such an embarrassing defeat were to spread throughout our circles, wherever would I put my face? How could I maintain the respect and fear that are rightfully mine?"
Barty Crouch Jr.'s face was pressed so firmly against the cold earth that dirt and small pebbles were grinding into his skin, leaving marks and scratches across his pale cheeks. He dared not raise his eyes to meet his master's gaze, and he certainly dared not offer any excuses or justifications for his failure.
In the presence of the great Dark Lord, all explanations were worthless, all reasoning meaningless. He could only lie there in the mud, his entire body showing the overwhelming shame and self-loathing he felt at having brought such disgrace upon his beloved master's reputation through his inadequate performance.
"Rise, Barty," Voldemort commanded in that same lazy, almost bored tone.
"I made you a promise that you would be generously rewarded once this sacred ritual was accomplished and my return to flesh completed. The Dark Lord always keeps his promises, especially to those who follow him with genuine loyalty. Rise now—you will not be numbered among those who will lose their lives tonight."
Barty finally dared to raise his head from the dirt, his forehead now completely caked with mud and dirt, his expression showed relief and tearful gratitude that his master had chosen mercy over punishment.
Perhaps recognizing that if this pathetic display continued much longer, Barty Crouch Jr. might very well die from blood loss before he could be of further use, Voldemort gracefully raised his wand and began to move it through the air in a complex pattern.
The tip of wand traced a band of bright light that resembled molten silver, which at first formed no particular recognizable shape as it danced and wriggled in the darkness. Then, as if responding to Voldemort's will, the silver light twisted, gradually becoming a gleaming silver hand that attached itself seamlessly to Barty Crouch Jr.'s severed arm.
The excruciating pain that had been steadily draining Barty's strength stopped instantly. His expression of delighted surprise and wonder showed that he had never dared to expect his master to heal his wounds—such mercy was beyond his wildest hopes—yet here he was, receiving this unexpected and extraordinary reward for his service.
"You are too merciful, my master! Too generous to one so undeserving!" Barty gasped, flexing his new silver fingers in amazement.
"This is the reward you deserve, Barty, a small compensation for the many injustices and hardships you have suffered during all these years," Voldemort replied with what might have passed for magnanimity in a less sinister context. "Of course, of course, there will be much more to come—far greater honors and rewards will be bestowed upon you in the days ahead. But I think—"
Voldemort bent down and grasped Barty's arm with his pale fingers, rolling up the sleeve to expose the skin from wrist to elbow.
Harry, still bound helplessly to the cold tombstone, had been expecting that Voldemort's first act after his resurrection would be to kill him. Strangely, Harry found that he wasn't afraid of this; in fact, part of him was almost eager for it to happen, craving the release that death might bring.
Everything was over, as far as he was concerned. His world had all been shattered the moment Ron and Hermione had fallen lifeless to the ground.
Yet Voldemort seemed to be in no particular hurry to take his life, casting him aside as if he were nothing more than an afterthought.
There, on Barty's exposed forearm, was a bright red tattoo—a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth, the same sinister symbol that had appeared floating above the crowd that terrible night at the Quidditch World Cup.
"—that we should publicly praise your loyalty and dedication before all our followers," Voldemort continued, his pale cheeks showing the faintest trace of what might have been a smile. "Come now, Barty—"
"They must have noticed the summons by now. The mark burns in every arm that bears it, calling them home like wayward children. Now we shall see... we shall see how many of our old friends have the courage to return to my side, and how many are foolish enough to stay away."
He pressed his forefinger against Barty's arm. After watching the bright red mark turn pitch black, he revealed a cruelly satisfied expression.
"I will follow you forever, my master! Until my dying breath and beyond!" Barty said with passionate enthusiasm.
The significant blood loss was making Barty feel increasingly dizzy and disoriented. He stood with difficulty, but every cell in his body was expressing his absolute worship and devotion to the Dark Lord.
Voldemort didn't immediately respond to this declaration. Instead, he began to pace in slow circles around the fallen cauldron. He breathed deeply with intoxicated pleasure, savoring the sensation of drawing living air into his restored lungs.
Suddenly, he stopped his pacing and glanced at Harry with eyes that burned with glowing hatred. His thin lips curved into a smile that was both cruel and anticipatory, promising terrible things to come.
"Bring them here, Barty," He commanded. "I mean Harry Potter's dear friends. Let him gaze upon them once more, drink in their faces—he won't be seeing them much longer, after all. The little girl you killed earlier... she'll make excellent food. Nagini will appreciate such a tender crumb. But wait, my beautiful Nagini—"
Voldemort raised his hand toward the massive serpent, who had been coiled motionlessly in the grass but immediately rose upon hearing her master's voice, her forked tongue flicking eagerly through the air.
"Wait just a moment longer, my dear. Be patient until all our guests have arrived for this reunion. Oh, and Barty—don't forget to bring your father and that house-elf of yours.
My goodness, I've grown quite fond of your Winky during our time together. Compared to my years hiding in the wild forests of Albania, having her around to attend to my needs has been wonderfully comfortable. She's been such a diligent servant."
He paused, his scarlet eyes gleaming with something that might have been pleasure.
"Ah, and we mustn't forget our unexpected old friend—the one lying so still over there. How could I possibly forget such a delightful surprise? I imagine he's a gift from Cliodna, though I never asked her to do such an endeavor.
It must have cost her considerable effort to arrange, but I must say, I thoroughly appreciate this particular gift. Therefore, I can afford to be somewhat lenient with her in the future, perhaps forgiving some of her previous insolence."
Barty bowed deeply. Then he eagerly hurried to obey the command, moving to gather everyone scattered throughout the graveyard and bring them to this central location where his master waited.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly.
Watching Barty disappear into the shadows to collect his cargo, Voldemort's scarlet gaze fell once again upon Harry's face as he spoke in a conversational tone.
"I imagine you must be quite puzzled by all of this. I will explain everything to you in exquisite detail, but you must be patient—good things come to those who wait, after all. I can tell you something interesting right now, however—you're currently standing upon my father's bones.
He was a hopelessly foolish Muggle... weak and small-minded, just like your dear mother was. But you know, they both had their uses in the end, didn't they?
When you were small and helpless, your mother died to protect you with her sacrifice. And I... well, I killed my father many years ago. Look how incredibly useful he's proven to be in death—his bone helped restore me to life!"
Even through his grief and trauma, Harry could clearly see that Voldemort was extremely excited and energized as he continued pacing back and forth like a caged animal finally released from captivity.
"Do you see that large house on the hill in the distance, Potter? That's where my father lived. My mother, you see, was a witch who lived in this very village—a young woman of magical blood who foolishly fell in love with him.
But when she finally revealed her true magical nature to him, he abandoned her without a second thought. My father, it turned out, had no tolerance for magic or anything that challenged his narrow view of the world."
Harry found himself somewhat drawn to Voldemort's story, his curiosity temporarily overriding his grief and hatred.
But when Barty Crouch Jr. returned from his task, carrying Ron and Hermione's lifeless bodies with and roughly threw them to the ground like discarded dolls, Harry's eyes immediately became bloodshot with anguish.
He struggled violently against the magical ropes binding him to the tombstone, desperately whimpering and roaring through his gag as his heart felt as if it were being pierced with daggers of grief and rage!
"He left her to face her pregnancy alone and returned to his Muggle parents," Voldemort continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry's emotional torment or perhaps getting pleasure from it.
"I wasn't born yet when this abandonment occurred, Potter. My mother died in childbirth and I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. But even as a child, I swore to find him someday. Eventually, I took my revenge on him—the man who had given me the same name as his own before casting us both aside. Tom Marvolo Riddle."
After Barty departed again to collect more of the evening's victims, Voldemort continued speaking in that same conversational tone, his red eyes scanning back and forth among the graves and monuments that surrounded them.
But Harry could no longer focus on the words. He was drowning in tears of grief and rage, struggling to breathe through the suffocating gag.
Barty Jr. returned shortly, compelling the terrified house-elf Winky to bring Barty Crouch Sr. along with her. The elder Crouch seemed not quite dead, but barely clinging to life by the thinnest of threads. The loyal house-elf was sobbing uncontrollably, but she dared not heal her beloved master or attempt to take him away to safety. She was bound by Barty Crouch Jr.'s cruel commands and paralyzed by her fear of the newly resurrected Dark Lord.
When Karkaroff was dragged over next, he was still frozen under the effects of Harry's Petrification Curse, but somehow his entire body was trembling.
Harry had never seen anyone manage to move while properly petrified—one could only imagine the depths of horror and fear that Karkaroff must be experiencing. Harry could understand such dread; Sirius had shared details of what Karkaroff had done during the war.
Last to be brought was Gabrielle—the first person to die in this cursed graveyard tonight. Looking upon the three corpses, Harry found that he no longer feared death. In fact, he actively wanted to die, craved the release that death would bring.
If he somehow managed to survive this night, how could he possibly face all of this?
After dumping Gabrielle's beside the others, Barty paused in his work. He smiled down at his father's dying face with bloody malice and sadistic satisfaction, clearly relishing the role reversal.
Then he turned and fiercely commanded Winky with his cold eyes to remain silent, warning her through his threatening gaze not to disturb his master who appeared lost in nostalgic reminiscence about his past.
"Listen to me carefully, Harry Potter. Listen as I recall our family history," Voldemort said, taking a deep, satisfied breath before speaking in tones that were almost tender. "Ah, I find myself feeling somewhat sentimental tonight—it must be the euphoria of resurrection affecting me. But look around you, Harry! Look and see—my true family has finally returned to me."
As if summoned by his words, dark shadowy forms began descending from the sky above, landing in this hellscape.
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