A magical journey that begins in Azkaban

"Master..." Wormtail whimpered, his voice full of despair and pleading: "Master... you promised... promised..."

He clutched tightly the robe that was stained red by his own blood, and his body crawled on the cold ground. His tears mixed with the dust, forming muddy traces.

He felt that he was so loyal and obeyed his master's orders completely. He even sacrificed his own flesh and held a resurrection ceremony for Voldemort.

In his mind, after Voldemort's resurrection, he should restore his mutilated right arm according to their agreement. Such an innocent idea that Buck, who was watching indifferently, thought he was cute and stupid.

Voldemort turned his neck indifferently, turning a deaf ear to Wormtail's cries and pleas. He raised his pale and slender hands, and gently moved his slender fingers in front of his eyes, as if he was enjoying the touch of his new body.

Then, his bright red eyes turned to Harry, and a cold and sharp smile appeared on his lips. "Buck, are there any clues about the curse on Harry?"

Voldemort turned his head and his eyes fell on Travis. Buck's face reminded him of that cunning and greedy little guy from Hogwarts: Roger Travis.

Buck nodded slightly, with a respectful and cautious attitude: "Master, according to the information brought back by Wormtail, Harry has an ancient blood curse. It requires close relatives to sacrifice their lives in order to be fully effective."

Once upon a time, he followed Voldemort's shadow like a fanatical believer and had a deep understanding of his master's unfathomable magical attainments. Regarding the mysterious curse on Harry, he suspected that Voldemort was not ignorant.

Rather than testing his abilities, Voldemort was testing his loyalty.

Buck answered truthfully and firmly: "As long as Harry Potter lives with his blood relatives, he can block all magical exploration and maintain the power of protection."

Voldemort's face was like a calm lake, without any fluctuations. Buck's answer was non-committal.

He slowly walked towards Harry, and with a flick of the wand in his hand, he opened the rip in Harry's sleeve. His long nails dug into the scabbed wound easily, and blood gushed out again.

He pulled his fingers away and admired the bloody nails. Then, he put Harry's blood in his mouth, licked it lightly with his tongue, and then let out a creepy and cold laugh: "What a wonderful magic! Go, bring them here!"

Buck bowed and obeyed the order, turned around and walked towards the gloomy church not far away. Harry watched his figure disappear into the night, feeling an ominous premonition in his heart, as if something important was about to leave him.

At this time, Cedric's body was shaking involuntarily, and he did not dare to look directly at the mysterious man with a nose as flat as a snake. While he was silently praying that Voldemort would not notice him, the figure was approaching him step by step.

"You know who I am." Voldemort's eyes pierced Cedric's fear like ice blades, and he asked coldly, "Tell me your last name."

"Digory..." Cedric struggled in fear, his voice trembling intermittently, "Cedric Diggory..."

"Digory." Voldemort recalled something and motioned for Wormtail to crawl over. He said lazily: "Stretch out your arm."

Wormtail quickly raised his broken right arm, his face filled with humble gratitude: "Oh, Master... Thank you, Master..." Then, he stared at the wand in Voldemort's hand with a look of anticipation.

However, Voldemort's eyes were as cold as ice, and he scolded: "The other arm, Wormtail."

The humble smile on Wormtail's face disappeared fleetingly, and his eyes were full of confusion: "Master, please..." He arched his body and begged.

Voldemort bent down and took Wormtail's left arm. While rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, he sneered and said, "Pure-blood wizards, how many people still remember who their master is?"

Harry watched the scene, his eyes falling on Wormtail's forearm. There was a bright red tattoo there, exactly like the mark he had seen in the World Cup sky: a skull with a snake spitting out of its mouth, evil and mysterious.

"The Dark Mark!" he exclaimed in his mind. Sirius had warned him that this mark was the symbol of the Death Eaters. Every wizard who is loyal to Voldemort bears this evil mark on his body.

Voldemort studied it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable sobs.

"It's back," he whispered to himself, with a sickly contentment in his voice, "They'll all notice it... Now, let's see (who doesn't come)... We'll know (who doesn't) loyalty)……"

A cold light flashed in Voldemort's eyes, and that chill was even more chilling than the Dementor's kiss.

He pierced the long wand into Wormtail's arm, and the bright red tattoo seemed to be given life, and began to twist and squirm visibly to the naked eye. Harry felt the sharp pain coming from the scar on his forehead again, and Wormtail fell to his knees, letting out a heart-rending wail.

As Wormtail suffered, the color of the mark changed from bright red to pitch black. A cruel and proud smile appeared on Voldemort's face. He straightened up, raised his head, and turned to Buck, who had just returned.

Buck raised the wand in his hand, and the Dursleys were forcefully dragged over like balloons.

Harry's Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Cousin Dudley, who often bullied him, were all ruthlessly dumped at Harry's feet.

They hit the tombstone hard, their eyes filled with utter fear and despair. However, they were under a spell and could not make any sound. They could only lie there helplessly, waiting for an unknown fate.

"Master, I feel it." Buck rolled up his sleeves, and the Dark Mark on his wrist was getting faintly hot.

Voldemort sneered, his red eyes staring at the twinkling stars in the sky, seemingly looking for something. Then, he asked in a joking tone: "How many people are brave enough to come? And how many people are stupid enough not to come?"

Buck stood silently, while Wormtail fell into despair and cried. Only the silent cold wind responded to Voldemort's questions, which made him feel very unhappy.

He suddenly turned his head, his eyes fell on Buck like sharp knives, and his voice was stern: "Buck, what do you think?"

Buck's heart tightened and he said in a trembling voice: "Master, they dare not not come."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with satisfaction. He thoroughly enjoyed the Death Eaters' fear of him, their adoration of him, and their fanatical and unconditional following.

"But Master, I'm a little worried." He murmured softly, with a hint of uneasiness in his tone. "The last time I contacted Lucius, I found that he was being monitored by the Aurors of the Ministry of Magic..."

"Auror?" Voldemort interrupted him with a few sneers, his voice full of contempt and disdain: "A bunch of stupid things. You mean, they are more worried about the Ministry of Magic than they are loyal to me?"

Buck didn't respond, but silence was better than sound at the moment.

Voldemort began to pace back and forth in the cemetery, his eyes scanning the surroundings from time to time, anticipating the return of the Death Eaters. However, a minute passed and still no figure appeared.

His eyes fell on Harry again, the snake's face twisted into a cruel smile.

"Wormtail, throw the knife to him." Voldemort turned to Cedric and ordered in a cold tone: "Digory, are you ready to follow me?"

Harry, Buck, and Wormtail all focused their gazes on him at the same time, and Cedric felt ten thousand ponies running past him. Facing the mysterious man's emotionless snake eyes, he struggled to pick up the shining silver dagger on the ground.

"Master." His heart surrendered to pain and fear, and he knelt before Voldemort and kissed his robes. Voldemort looked at him indifferently, waiting for his next move.

Buck suddenly spoke and mocked in a vicious tone: "Kid, are you worthy of becoming a Death Eater and joining us?"

His eyes glanced in the direction of the tombstone intentionally or unintentionally, hinting that Cedric wanted to do something and show his loyalty to Voldemort through actions.

Cedric gradually recovered from his initial panic. He took a deep breath, raised the dagger in his backhand, and started walking towards Harry Potter step by step.

Survival or destruction, for Cedric, is not a question that needs to be pondered at this moment. His trembling heart chose the way out for him, and his trembling hands decided his future.

The blade of the dagger was stained with blood, and the blood reflected strange light and shadow in the dim night, as if anticipating the impending murder.

He suddenly raised his hand, and a bright white light flashed across the night sky, flashing into Harry's eyes. Just as he was about to stab Harry's heart with the dagger, Voldemort suddenly shot a spell and knocked him away.

"Kill them." Voldemort's voice was cold and ruthless, echoing over the cemetery. His snake-like pupils looked towards Harry's Muggle relatives, pointing out the target for Cedric.

Cedric pushed himself up with difficulty and limped over. The spell Voldemort released at will had made him understand the terrifying strength of the other party, and at the same time it had completely extinguished the desire to resist in his heart.

Petunia and Vernon struggled to keep their fat son, Dudley, behind them. Facing Cedric's ruthless eyes, their struggles seemed so weak and humble.

If killing a wizard left Cedric with a lingering sense of guilt, then executing a Muggle might make him feel better.

In order to survive and to please Voldemort, he grabbed Dudley's collar and prepared to kill him.

The dagger is thin and the blade is fast.

It cut through Dudley's fat neck mercilessly, and hot blood spurted out from the artery, sputtering several feet into the air like a fountain. It reflects with the light of the stars, forming a cruel and terrifying picture.

The patronus statue that restrained Harry was covered with a layer of blood-colored gauze. Harry stared blankly at Dudley's fallen body, his mind going blank. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were pale, crying silently, and tried to crawl towards Dudley's body.

"Dudley is dead," Harry whispered. He looked at the fat face at his feet and his gray eyes, and felt a throbbing pain in his heart.

The cousin who had grown up with him and bullied him every day now had his mouth half open, with an expression of fear remaining on his face. His blood flowed out in large streams and seeped into the coffin under the sculpture.

Cedric couldn't help but take two steps back. Half of his face was stained red by the blood mist, making him look extremely terrifying. He looked at his hand, holding the slippery dagger, and he really killed someone.

Voldemort sniffed the warm smell of blood in the air with an expression of enjoyment on his face. He smiled sickly, using death to relieve the loneliness of waiting, while also demonstrating his authority and terror.

"Harry Potter..." He muttered the name in a low voice, and his whole body floated past like a ghost, "You are standing on my father's bones."

When he saw the inscription on the tombstone, he hissed and said in a contemptuous tone: "He is a Muggle and an idiot, just like your biological mother..."

Voldemort's wand waved lightly, and Petunia, who was heartbroken, was lifted up by an invisible force and suspended in mid-air. As Lily's biological sister, her face and eyes are very similar to Harry's mother.

Harry only noticed this after Dudley's tragic death, which made his heart feel a strong sting.

He should hate them and have reason to hate them. His aunt's family was not friendly to him, and even abused him in every aspect of his life, treating him like a servant.

However, at this moment, he deeply realized that it was his relatives who died in front of him. Years of living together have forged hatred and formed an indelible bond.

Uncle Vernon struggled on the ground, his eyes full of despair and anger. He witnessed his son's tragic death and knew that he and his wife would face the same fate.

He crawled towards Voldemort as a pupa, and even if he died, he would bite him hard with his teeth. He wanted these damn wizards to understand that Muggles could take revenge.

Voldemort paid no attention to the little bug on the ground, while Buck gave Cedric a cold push, signaling him to get rid of this useless Muggle.

Cedric stepped forward silently, his movements cold and decisive. Under Harry's eyes full of anger and despair, he did not hesitate to thrust the dagger into Uncle Vernon's fat body.

One knife...two knives...three knives...

His movements were mechanical and crazy. Every penetration and every pull out seemed to vent the fear and despair deep in his heart.

Blood gushed out from Uncle Vernon's broad chest, and his gray eyes were filled with tears and a trace of unwillingness.

All of this pushed Harry's emotions to the brink of collapse. He couldn't believe that his relatives were ruthlessly taken away from his life in front of him. The grief and anger in his heart were like a volcano about to erupt at any time.

There was fire in his eyes, and if looks could kill Voldemort, Harry would have burned him to ashes.

"Two useless Muggles..." Before Voldemort could finish his words, Petunia spat out at him. There was no fear of death in her eyes, only hatred for this snake face.

Wormtail ran over quickly and shouted nervously: "Master..."

Voldemort sneered and said slowly and jokingly: "It's this look. Thirteen years ago, your mother looked at me with this look."

Aunt Petunia's eyes seemed to take him back to the night when he completely lost his power, and his voice became gloomy: "You are just a baby, and she still died to protect you. She is really a very useful mother, isn't she?" Just like my father, he was still useful after being killed by me..."

"Actually, she can survive." He laughed again, coldly and crazily.

He paced back and forth in front of Harry, trampling on the puddles of blood gathered by Vernon and his son, "During this period, you seem to have become as famous as me and have become a very important person."

Voldemort couldn't remember what the loser called Harry for a moment, and turned to look at his men. Wormtail answered hastily, with a hint of flattery in his voice: "The Boy Who Lived."

Voldemort paused and immediately understood the origin of this title.

"How many lies are there in your legend? Harry!" His vertical pupils shone with disdain, and then he untied Petunia's magical restraints.

Aunt Petunia regained her mobility and ran frantically toward the bodies of her husband and son. She kissed their pale, cold and stiff cheeks and screamed heartbreakingly, her grief and helplessness echoing in the night sky.

Voldemort stroked his head with his long fingers, enjoying the beautiful, sweet sound of sadness. This voice should have been made at midnight thirteen years ago, when the woman named Lily saw Harry's tragic death.

Now, he finally heard it. It’s not too late to scream thirteen years late.

Voldemort had taken the Muggle woman's screams as a prelude to executing Harry. Finally, he would use the Cruciatus Curse to grant her death, putting a perfect end to this accident.

His eyes glanced into the darkness in the distance, where a wizard apparated.

Those figures walked cautiously and slowly, as if they couldn't believe their eyes. However, even more surprised than these Death Eaters was Voldemort himself.

Four people, only four people! In the entire magical world, only four Death Eaters obeyed his call!

"Do they think I can't lift the knife, or have they drifted away on their own?" A kind of anger was brewing in Voldemort's heart. At this moment, Wormtail seemed so loyal in comparison.

The keyboard is broken and the new keyboard doesn’t work smoothly. I’ll try to see if I can code the second chapter today.