Chapter 378 - 379: The Dark Lord Returns!

Throughout the entire process, the enormous serpent remained quietly coiled nearby.

Its flat head was held high, its forked tongue flicking rapidly as its yellow eyes remained fixed on the cauldron.

Harry's heart felt as though it were burning, despair and fear constantly intertwining within him.

He watched the evil ritual progress step by step, his mind screaming desperately for some impossible reversal.

When the liquid in the cauldron began to boil and the first bubble appeared, the giant snake seemed unable to restrain itself any longer and began slithering restlessly back and forth.

Its tail struck the ground, and that sharp, cold voice rang out again.

"Hurry!"

The icy command made Wormtail tremble again, nearly causing him to drop the container in his hands.

The potion in the cauldron was now boiling violently, bubbling and churning. Whenever the bubbles burst, sparks resembling molten metal sprayed into the air.

"It's ready, Master," Wormtail reported, his voice trembling.

"Very good..." The cold voice sounded once more from the snake's belly. "Nagini... it's your turn."

Harry's heart suddenly tightened.

Nagini?

Was there someone else here?

He looked around uneasily, but aside from them, there were only cold tombstones scattered throughout the graveyard.

The next second, his question was answered.

The giant snake slithered to the edge of the cauldron, raised its head high, and held it over the boiling liquid.

The muscles in its neck spasmed violently before it suddenly opened its enormous jaws.

Gurgle~~!

Accompanied by a nauseating, slimy sound, a dark-red lump of flesh covered in mucus was spat into the cauldron!

In that fleeting instant, illuminated by the flickering firelight beneath the cauldron, Harry clearly saw the true form of the "lump of flesh."

It had a twisted, festering body, looking even more wretched than the giant snake. Its skin was completely wrinkled, giving it the appearance of a deformed infant.

Was this Voldemort?

Extreme disgust and a sense of absurdity seized Harry.

Was he going to be boiled to death?

A glimmer of hope rose in his heart.

However, Voldemort's high-pitched voice immediately cut through the sound of the boiling potion, echoing across the graveyard with chilling fanaticism.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

Barty Crouch Jr. immediately understood. He strode behind Riddle's tombstone, his expression solemn, almost reverent.

He raised his wand, pointed it towards the earth beneath the gravestone, and chanted clearly and forcefully, "Bone accio!"

The earth split open in response, and a small greyish-white bone flew out, tracing an arc through the air before dropping precisely into the boiling cauldron.

The potion instantly turned murky, hissing as though groaning in pain, while the splashing sparks changed to an ominous phosphorescent green.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!"

"Master... please..."

Wormtail let out a suppressed sob, his face filled with fear and pleading.

But he knew there was no turning back. Trembling as though controlled by invisible strings, he reluctantly extended his right hand, which had only four fingers.

Barty Crouch Jr., standing beside him, showed no pity. He simply waved his wand with cold decisiveness.

A flash of light appeared, and Wormtail's hand was cleanly severed at the wrist.

"Ah!"

Wormtail let out a heart-wrenching scream and curled up on the ground as blood poured from the stump.

The severed hand fell into the cauldron with a dull thud.

Instantly, the entire potion turned a thick, deep red like fresh blood, resembling a boiling pool of gore. The sinister energy radiating from it made the surrounding air tremble.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

Voldemort's voice tore through the air, rising to a frenzied climax, every syllable carrying thirteen years of accumulated hatred and the ecstasy of being on the verge of regaining his power.

Barty Crouch Jr.'s face immediately twisted into an almost insane smile, his eyes gleaming with the fervour of a fanatic.

He roughly seized Harry's still-bleeding hand, his fingers clamping around Harry's wrist like iron. Ignoring Harry's desperate struggles, he forcibly held the severed finger over the cauldron, which now resembled a churning pool of blood.

"No!"

Harry croaked, but it was useless.

A few drops of warm blood were squeezed from the severed finger and fell into the roiling, dark-red potion.

The instant Harry's blood touched the potion, the liquid in the cauldron seemed to receive one final surge of life.

The enormous cauldron first fell deathly silent.

Then, like a volcanic eruption, an indescribably powerful burst of light exploded from the bottom!

It was not a warm light, but a cold, dazzling pallor, as though the flames of hell had been frozen in an instant before being unleashed once more.

The light was so intense that it instantly engulfed the entire graveyard. The outlines of every tombstone and every withered blade of grass were etched into the darkness like burning silhouettes, while the night sky itself seemed to be torn apart.

Harry's eyes burned with excruciating pain, forcing him to squeeze them shut.

Barty Crouch Jr. also turned his head slightly, but the fanatical expression on his face did not diminish in the slightest.

Wormtail, curled up on the ground, let out a frightened whimper and buried his face in the dirt.

The brilliant light lasted only a moment before beginning to recede like the tide. Yet the cauldron itself seemed to have become a source of pale light, and something within it was rapidly taking shape.

Harry forced himself to open his stinging eyes despite the terror gripping his heart and looked towards the cauldron.

At the centre of the still-churning liquid, which had now turned pearly white, a tall, lean human figure slowly rose.

The potion slid from his body as though alive, leaving no trace of moisture behind.

It was a man, standing with his back to Harry. He was very tall, with skin as pale as bone.

He stood naked in the scalding potion, seemingly oblivious to the heat.

The man slowly raised his hands and examined his long, powerful fingers with a gaze filled with greed and fascination.

Then he turned around.

Harry's heart nearly stopped.

His face was flat and snake-like, with no nose, only two slits for nostrils. His pupils were scarlet vertical lines, gleaming with a sinister, icy light.

He stepped out of the cauldron, his feet touching the cold earth with a faint sound.

Those scarlet eyes swept over everyone before finally settling on the black robe lying on the ground.

"Clothe me."

The cold, sharp voice carried an undeniable command, sounding even clearer than when it had come from within the snake.

Wormtail, enduring the excruciating pain of his severed wrist and the dizziness brought on by blood loss, suppressed his sobs and hurriedly reached for the robe with his remaining hand, hoping to regain even a little of his master's favour.

But...

"Not you," Voldemort said calmly, shaking his head. "Your blood would stain it."

Wormtail instantly froze. The colour drained from his face, leaving behind only complete submission and despair.

Barty Crouch Jr. immediately stepped forward, his expression almost reverently solemn.

He carefully picked up the robe as though holding a sacred relic, then respectfully draped it over his reborn master.

Voldemort elegantly extended his arms, allowing Barty Crouch Jr. to fasten the robe for him.

Now, Voldemort, restored to his complete form, stood in the world once more.

He raised his head slightly, feeling the surging power within his new body.

Ignoring Wormtail, who trembled at his feet from pain and fear, his scarlet eyes slowly turned towards the pale-faced boy beside the tombstone.

Harry Potter.

After a few seconds of silence, that cold, high-pitched voice once again echoed through the deathly still graveyard.

"The Dark Lord... has returned."

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