I'm the king of scrolls at Hogwarts

In Harry's sight, ever since Peter Pettigrew pushed the cauldron over, the ball of clothes on the ground began to twist violently, as if it could not wait to be washed in the cauldron.

Harry began to irresponsibly guess that if Voldemort was inside the clothes, would this be considered boiling Voldemort? Ugh...sounds like the name of a dish.

He began to stop his divergent thinking and could no longer think about it. The more he thought about it, the more disgusting he felt.

Peter Pettigrew bent his fat body and awkwardly stuffed firewood under the big cauldron. Then he waved his hand, and a crackling fire ignited under the cauldron. At the same time, the big snake snaked outwards.

Snakes should be afraid of fire, right? Harry was a little unsure, but he didn't have much time to think. The liquid in the crucible heated up very quickly. He felt that the snake had just swam away when the pot began to boil, and sparks shot out, like It's like it's burning. The steam became thicker and thicker, and the figure of Peter Pettigrew, who was tending the flames, became increasingly blurry in Harry's eyes.

At the same time, purple and white mist began to spread around the cemetery. Harry always felt that the mist looked familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before, but he was not sure.

The fog gradually drifted over, and Harry felt so happy that he quickly ran the brain occluder spell crazily. But Peter Pettigrew, who had his back to the fog, didn't seem to notice. The fog gradually spread to him, and Peter Pettigrew's movements became more and more restless and impatient.

This mist seemed to be able to erode people's minds, and Harry could see it at a glance - this was something he learned about in Pandaria a while ago -

Thinking of Pandaria, Harry suddenly remembered that this energy seemed to be Sha energy?

According to the pandaren and mantid, it is the power of some ancient god that can corrode the human mind and turn life into a puppet that surrenders to their will.

But Harry no longer had time to think too much. The situation there was not very optimistic. It seemed that some kind of evil ritual between Peter Pettigrew and the young Voldemort was about to begin.

The mass of clothes shook more rapidly, and Harry heard a sharp, cold voice.

"quick!"

Now the entire surface of the water was dancing with sparks, as if studded with burning diamonds. Under the steaming purple-white mist, it looked increasingly strange.

"It's burned, Master..." Peter Pettigrew timidly replied.

"Now...!" The cold voice said in an unquestionable tone.

Peter Pettigrew pulled the bundle off the floor and revealed what was inside. Harry let out a scream, but it was muffled by the stuff in his mouth and he could only make a futile whine.

It was as if Peter Pettigrew had whipped open a rock to reveal a slimy, eyeless hideous thing... No, it was even scarier than that, a hundred times scarier.

The object Peter Pettigrew carried looked like a curled-up baby, but Harry had never seen anything less baby-like. It has no hair, and seems to have scales on its body. It is dry, numb, and not round at all. Moreover, the color of the skin is dark and red, like injured tender flesh - some parts of the skin are covered with purple and white scars, and the white scars even emit a bright white light.

Its arms and legs were thin and soft, and its face - no living child had such a face - was a flat snake face with a pair of gleaming red vertical pupils.

The thing looked completely incapable of taking care of itself. It raised its thin arms and put its arms around Peter Pettigrew's neck, as if asking for a hug. If this action were done by a cute little animal, it might look cute - but this was this creature that looked like Voldemort, and Harry only felt disgusted.

Peter Pettigrew held it in his hands. At this moment, Peter Pettigrew's hood fell down, and Harry saw an expression of disgust on his pale and weak face in the firelight.

He held the thing to the edge of the cauldron, and for a moment, Harry saw the dancing water on the surface of the potion illuminating the evil flat face. Peter Pettigrew put the thing into the crucible, and with a strange hissing sound, it gurgled and sank down the water. Harry even heard the soft sound of its limp body hitting the bottom of the crucible.

Let it drown, Harry begged Merlin in his mind. The pain in his scar was almost unbearable. Please... let it drown... I am willing to study hard and improve every day in exchange for this thing to drown in In the cauldron...

Peter Pettigrew was talking. His voice was trembling, as if he was frightened and a little insane. His eyes were wandering, looking left and right like a mouse, not knowing what he was afraid of.

But soon, a thick purple mist floated over and entered his body. Peter Pettigrew seemed to have received some kind of encouragement. He raised his wand, closed his eyes and said to the night sky: "Father's bones" , an unintentional donation can make your son regenerate!"

The grave opened beneath Harry's feet, and Harry watched with horror as a small plume of dust rose into the air at Peter Pettigrew's summons and fell gently into the cauldron. The diamond-like liquid surface burst, hissing, sparks flying, and the liquid turned a bright blue. It was obvious at first glance that it was poisonous—and a very poisonous one at that.

Peter Pettigrew was whimpering, and he pulled out a long, thin, shining silver dagger from his cloak.

Peter Pettigrew's voice broke into sobs of extreme fear: "The flesh of your servant - a voluntary donation of your own - will restore life to your master!"

He stretched out his right hand - the hand missing one finger, and then held the dagger tightly with his left hand. After several struggles, he gritted his long mouse teeth and swung it hard towards his right hand with his eyes closed.

Harry realized at the last second what Peter Pettigrew was going to do. He closed his eyes tightly, but he couldn't stop it.

The scream that penetrated the night sky pierced into Harry's brain, and Harry's head began to hurt again. He had an illusion - as if he had also been stabbed by a dagger. He heard something fall to the ground with a thud, heard Peter Pettigrew's gasping, painful gasp, and then with a sickening thud, something was thrown into the cauldron.

Harry didn't want to look...but the potion turned fiery red and bright light shone into Harry's closed eyes.

Peter Pettigrew was gasping and moaning in pain. When the painful breath hit his face, Harry realized that Peter Pettigrew had arrived in front of him.

"The blood of your enemies...is forced to be sacrificed...to bring your enemies...back to life!"

Harry couldn't stop it. He was tied too tightly. He struggled desperately to break free from the ropes that bound him. Through the slits of his eyes, he saw the silver dagger trembling in Peter Pettigrew's one hand. He felt the tip of the dagger piercing his arm, and the blood of the fourth-level enemy (bushi) slowly dripped down the sleeves of the torn school uniform robe.

Peter Pettigrew, who was still panting in pain, took out a small glass bottle from his trembling pocket and placed it next to Harry's wound. A small amount of blood flowed into the bottle.

He staggered over to the cauldron with Harry's blood and poured it into it. The liquid in the crucible immediately turned milky white, just like a crucian carp tofu soup that had been stewed to perfection. Wormtail completed his task and knelt down next to the crucible. His body tilted and he collapsed on the ground, holding his bleeding broken arm and sobbing breathlessly.

The crucible was about to boil, and diamond-like sparks splashed out in all directions, so bright and dazzling that everything in Zhou Kingdom turned into a color like black velvet.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu" Harry whined, his mouth blocked by socks and he couldn't say anything at all - to translate, what he actually wanted to say was: How can I not boil you to death? Sons of the Beach.

He kept begging Merlin for help in his heart, so he could quickly increase the temperature and cook the grotesque Voldemort to death...

Then, through the white mist in front of him, he eerily saw an embryo-like prototype rising slowly from the crucible, just like the embryos he had learned about in elementary school textbooks in the Muggle world. It was somewhat transparent and could still be seen. Bloodshot inside. Soon, the embryo grew slowly, as if it was accelerating development, and gradually turned into a figure wearing a black robe, tall and thin, like a skeleton.

"Get me dressed," the cold, shrill voice said from behind the steam. Peter Pettigrew sobbed and groaned, still protecting his residual arm, and hurriedly grabbed the black robe wrapped in the bundle from the ground. He stood up despite the pain, shook the black robe, and used one hand to Hands slid it over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the crucible and stared at Harry with cold eyes... Harry saw the face that had often appeared in his nightmares for the past three years. It was paler than a skeleton, with two big red eyes and a nose like a snake's. It was flat, and the nostrils were like sockets with two slits. Harry, who had lived in the Muggle world for a long time, even had a strong desire in his heart - to find an electrical plug and plug it in for him...

Predictably, Voldemort was resurrected.

After so many years, so much time spent, and so many Death Eaters fattened, wasn't this the day we were waiting for? Voldemort narrowed his scarlet snake eyes and looked Harry up and down. He was in no hurry to deal with Harry, and now, there were more things to do.

Voldemort looked at Harry for a while, but he didn't pay much attention to him anymore. Instead, he began to examine his body. His hands were pale and thin, with an unhealthy color. He touched here and there, like a little baby. It's like a child encountering a novel toy.

It’s understandable how rare a long-lost body is. After all, Voldemort has lived in a state of wandering soul for countless years. During this time, he was not limited to bending over Horcruxes and sticking to other people’s heads... Speaking of which, this Dark Lord is also quite aggrieved. of.

At the same time, a bunch of indescribable monsters were gathering around. Harry didn't know what these things were. Their appearance was hard to describe. They looked like empty skeletons. Their bodies were purple and white, exuding an odor. The eerie light.

Seeing them gathering around him, Peter Pettigrew shivered uncontrollably, as if he had suffered from eating these things.

"What are you afraid of? Wormtail?" Voldemort's voice was cold and sharp. Just the sound of it was enough to make people shudder.

Harry swore that if he hadn't been tied to the tombstone, he would have run away out of fear in the first place.

It's so torturous, the sound is like the most vicious snake, torturing people's nerves.

It hurts, it hurts so much.

Peter Pettigrew shrank on the ground and said tremblingly: "No... nothing, Master, I just... I just... I'm not afraid... Master, it's because my hand hurts too much..."

"Oh...that's it..." Voldemort showed a clear expression. He looked at Peter Pettigrew for a while, snorted through his nose, and let out a cold and sharp sinister smile, as if he was despising his cowardice.

"Master..." Peter Pettigrew begged with sobs, "You promised, you promised..."

Voldemort groaned, showed a lazy expression, stretched out his skinny paw, and took out the wand from Peter Pettigrew's arms: "Stretch out your arm."

After hearing Voldemort's words, Peter Pettigrew was instantly ecstatic. He knew that his master would not let him give his arm in vain, and the master was about to compensate him!

Oh, how can it be called compensation? It should be said that it was a reward. He secretly despised his ignorant thoughts in his heart.

"Oh, thank you, Master, thank you...Master..." Peter Pettigrew looked so grateful that Harry felt like he was going to vomit again - this time it was not because of Peter Pettigrew's sour socks, but because of Peter Pettigrew's sour socks. Because of his flattering and flattering attitude, he almost vomited his last night meal onto the edge of his socks.

Harry felt sincerely sad. He was feeling sad for his father and the other two members of the Marauders. He thought, my father, James, a good man, is as famous as a flattering villain like you?

If his father were still alive, he would definitely despise Peter Pettigrew's current behavior, right? Harry thought sadly, looking down more and more on Peter Pettigrew who was cowering on the ground, feeling that he and his Animagus were really a good match, both crawling in the gutter in darkness.

He stretched out the bloody severed arm, the rat eyes squeezed, and looked at Voldemort flatteringly, but Voldemort sneered: "Not this one, Wormtail, you know which one I'm talking about."

Hearing Voldemort's rejection, Peter Pettigrew's heart suddenly fell to the bottom of his heart. He cried and begged with tears streaming down his face: "Master, please, please..."

Voldemort bent down, took Wormtail's left arm, picked up his sleeve with his wand, and lifted it to just above the elbow. You can see that there is something on the skin, which looks like a bright red tattoo. There is a snake spitting out of the mouth of a skull. It is the graphic that appeared in the Quidditch World Cup - it represents Voldemort and... The dark mark of his reactionary gang.

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

"It's back," Voldemort said softly, "They will all notice it... Now, our time is coming..."