Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 376 Catalysis
Voldemort shifted his gaze from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands, like pale spiders, long, thin, pale fingers caressed his chest, arms, and face.

Those red eyes shone even brighter in the darkness, their pupils like two slits, like a cat's eyes.

He raised his hands and flexed his fingers with an expression of ecstasy, paying no attention to Wormtail, who lay bleeding and twitching on the ground, or to the giant snake.

It swam back sometime during the night, hissing as it circled around Harry.

Voldemort reached his unusually long fingers into a deep pocket and pulled out a wand.

He gently stroked his wand once more, then raised it, pointed it at Wormtail, lifted him off the ground, and threw him onto the tombstone where Harry had been tied. Wormtail slumped beside the tombstone, collapsing there and weeping.

Voldemort turned his crimson eyes toward Harry and let out a cold, sharp laugh.

The robes covering Wormtail's severed arm were soaked with blood.

"Master..." choked Wormtail, "Master... you promised... you promised..."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh, Master... Thank you, Master..."

He stretched out his bloody, severed arm, but Voldemort sneered again, "Not this one, Wormtail."

"Master, please...please..."

Voldemort bent down, pulled Wormtail's left arm up to his elbow, and saw something on the skin—a bright red tattoo—a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, the same symbol that had appeared in the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it closely, completely ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable sobs.

"It's coming back," he whispered. "They'll all notice it... Now, we'll see... we'll know..."

He pressed his long, pale index finger against the arm of the insect's tail.

Harry's forehead throbbed with pain once more, and Wormtail let out another mournful howl. Voldemort removed his finger from the mark on Wormtail, and Harry saw that the mark had turned completely black.

Voldemort's face revealed a cruel and smug expression.

He straightened up, raised his head, and surveyed the dark cemetery.

"After sensing it, how many people have the courage to come back?" he murmured, his glowing red eyes fixed on the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough not to come?"

He began pacing back and forth in front of Harry and Wormtail, glancing occasionally at the graveyard. After about a minute, his gaze fell on Harry again, his snake face contorting into a cruel smile.

“Harry Potter, you’re standing on my father’s bones,” he hissed softly. “He was a Muggle and a fool… just like your mother. But they were both useful, weren’t they? Your mother died protecting you when you were little… I killed my father, and you see how useful he is after he’s dead…”

Voldemort laughed again. He paced back and forth, scanning his surroundings; the snake was still slithering across the grass.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the rustling of cloaks. Among the graves, behind the fir trees, in every shadowy spot, wizards appeared. They were all hooded, their faces covered. They approached one by one… slowly, cautiously, as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Voldemort stood there silently, waiting. A Death Eater knelt down, crawled to Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master... Master..." they whispered.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same, each of them crawling on their knees to Voldemort's side, kissing his robes, then stepping aside, standing up, and silently forming a circle around Tom Riddle's grave, Harry bound, Tyella standing blankly beside the tombstone, Voldemort, and Wormtail slumped on the ground, sobbing and twitching.

But some gaps remained in the circle, as if waiting for others to join. However, Voldemort seemed no longer expecting anyone to come. He looked around at the hooded faces, and although there was no wind, a faint rustling sound seemed to pass through the circle, as if the circle had shivered.

“Welcome, Death Eaters, welcome, my friends,” Voldemort said calmly. “Thirteen years…thirteen years since our last gathering. Yet you still answer my call as you did yesterday…meaning we remain united under the Dark Mark! Is that so?”

He raised his ferocious face and sniffed through his two narrow nostrils.

“I smelled guilt,” he said. “There was a stench of guilt in the air.”

The circle trembled again, and it seemed that everyone wanted to step back, but did not dare to move.

“I see you all, healthy and unharmed, your magic as strong as ever—arriving so quickly!—I ask myself…why haven’t these wizards come to help their master, to help those they’ve sworn to serve forever?”

No one spoke, no one dared to move. Only the insect tail lay on the ground, sobbing as it cradled its bleeding arm.

“I answered myself,” Voldemort said softly, “they must have believed I was finished, that I was dead. They slipped back into my enemies’ midst, claiming innocence, ignorance, and witchcraft…” “Then I asked myself, why did they believe I wouldn’t rise again? Didn’t they know I had taken precautions against death long ago? Didn’t they witness me prove my boundless potential countless times when I was more powerful than any wizard?”

“I answered myself, perhaps they believe there is a greater power that can defeat Voldemort… perhaps they have now pledged allegiance to someone else… maybe it is that leader of the commoners, the protector of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”

Upon hearing Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, some muttering and shaking their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

"This disappoints me... I admit I'm disappointed..."

One of the people in the circle suddenly fell to the ground, prostrating himself at Voldemort's feet, trembling from head to toe.

"Master!" he screamed. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us!"

Voldemort sneered, then roared—

"Thirteen years! Thirteen years! In these thirteen years, not one of you has tried to come looking for me!"

As he spoke, Voldemort suddenly rushed toward the nearest Death Eater and pulled down his mask—

"Crawb!"

"McNeil!"

"Gore!"

“Even you don’t have that.” Voldemort moved on to the next person—

For some reason, Tyella detected a hint of sadness in Voldemort's voice—

"I'm here to join this family, not to break it up."

—This sentence instantly popped into Tierra's mind.

Tierra controlled her facial expressions, trying hard not to laugh.

Tiera is always like this; the more nervous he is, the less likely he is to be amused, and he is easily amused by trivial things.

"Lucius!"

Voldemort ripped off Lucius's mask.

"Master! Master!" Lucius Malfoy cried out in anguish, "Master! Master! Master! I have always been loyal to you, Master! I have never betrayed you! I have always obeyed your commands, Master! Master!"

Lucius Malfoy clung to Voldemort's leg and howled like a dog—

At that moment, Lucius suddenly saw Tyella standing blankly beside the tombstone.

"The year before last! The summer before last!" Lucius suddenly shouted, as if grasping at a straw—

“Master! Master! The summer before last, when you possessed this mud-blooded brat, I was always obeying your commands, Master! I provided you with two large boxes of materials, Master! I did my best for you, Master!”

"Hmm?" Voldemort paused for a moment, then narrowed his crimson snake eyes at Tyella—

"Tsk tsk tsk," Voldemort suddenly appeared beside Tyella with an ethereal air—

"Oh, right, I almost forgot about you." Voldemort grinned maliciously, sticking out his tongue and licking Tyella's face. "Our little genius, our little prophet. Hehehehe, what a handsome young man, I'll make you—"

Don't touch him!

At that moment, Harry shouted, his voice distorted with fear and anger.

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(End of this chapter)