Chapter 380 - 381: Welcome, Death Eaters!

All traces of amusement vanished from his scarlet eyes, leaving behind only the purest killing intent.

"I've changed my mind," Voldemort announced in a chillingly calm voice. "It seems I need to do some cleaning before I summon my servants."

Green light, the colour of death, began gathering at the tip of his wand, bright and blinding like the opening eye of hell.

Harry's heart seemed to stop at that moment, but he did not close his eyes. He continued staring fixedly at Voldemort, using the last of his strength to maintain the mocking smile on his face.

He knew he had provoked him, and perhaps this was the last thing he could do: defend the dignity of his parents and all those who had resisted, refusing to bow even in the face of death.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light tore through the darkness, only to dissipate into nothingness.

"Hmph..."

A sneer escaped Voldemort's lips. His voice returned to that eerie calm, but the malice within it had deepened.

"You wanted to provoke me, wanted a quick and clean end? To die a 'heroic' martyr, just like your foolish parents?"

He slowly shook his head, as though lamenting the imperfection of a work of art.

"No... that would be far too easy for you."

Voldemort lowered his wand completely, a mocking smile playing across his lips.

"Your death should be a grand, public ceremony. It should happen before all those fools who admire and trust you. It should not happen in obscurity, nor should it be so hasty."

Voldemort straightened and stopped looking at Harry.

"Master... my hand... you promised me... Master..."

A weak, tearful plea came from the ground.

Peter Pettigrew lay prostrate on the cold earth, blood still seeping from his severed wrist and staining the ground beneath him dark red.

He looked up, his twisted face streaked with tears and mucus, like a mangy dog begging for mercy.

Voldemort finally strolled over to Wormtail, looked down at him, and said lazily, "Hold out your arm..."

Ecstasy and hope instantly flared in Wormtail's eyes. He eagerly raised his bloody stump, his voice becoming even more shrill with excitement.

"Oh, Master! Thank you, Master! You are so merciful..."

But Voldemort merely gave a short, cold snort, cutting off his fawning gratitude.

"Not that arm, Wormtail. The other one!"

His hope shattered instantly.

Wormtail's body trembled violently, his remaining hand clawing desperately at the dirt.

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

Barty Crouch Jr. strode over. Ignoring Wormtail's sobs, he roughly seized his intact left arm and forcibly held it out before Voldemort.

Voldemort looked down at the Dark Mark on Peter Pettigrew's left forearm.

He extended one pale finger and lightly pressed its tip against the Mark.

"Now, let us guess..." Voldemort said in a low, sinister voice.

The scar on Harry's forehead throbbed painfully once more, while Wormtail immediately let out a wail.

"Ahhh!"

Wormtail curled in on himself, but Barty Crouch Jr. held his arm firmly in place, preventing him from pulling away.

A moment later, Voldemort removed his finger from Wormtail's Dark Mark.

Fighting through his dizziness, Harry looked over and saw that the previously faded Mark had become as black as ink.

Voldemort's face once again took on that triumphant expression of complete control.

He straightened his back, raised his head, and surveyed the graveyard shrouded in darkness and death like a king surveying his domain.

"How many do you think will be clever enough to return when they feel its summons?"

He paused, a cold gleam flashing in his blood-red eyes.

"And how many will be foolish enough to choose not to come?"

Voldemort lowered his arm and waited silently.

The entire graveyard fell into a suffocating silence.

Barty Crouch Jr.'s face was filled with pride and anticipation, like a soldier awaiting inspection.

Wormtail had stopped sobbing and remained curled up in fear, not daring to make a sound.

One minute passed, then two...

There was only the sound of the wind sweeping through the graveyard.

Then, without warning, faint cracking sounds began to ring out through the air, as though countless ropes were snapping at once.

One, two, five, ten... more and more hooded, masked figures appeared among the tombstones at the edge of the graveyard.

The faint cracks of Apparition rose and fell, like a chorus of spectres summoned from the depths of hell.

They approached the grave in silence, their movements filled with confusion and terror, their black robes fluttering in the night wind like a moving forest of shadows.

They gathered around Voldemort in a circle. No one dared to speak. There was only the sound of nervous breathing and the rustle of fabric.

Through the eyeholes of their masks, their gazes fixed upon the familiar figure before them, the Master to whom they had once sworn allegiance and whom they had believed long dead.

Voldemort coldly surveyed the cowering Death Eaters like a butcher counting lambs before slaughter.

Then, in the silence, he suddenly spoke. His voice reached every Death Eater clearly, like cold steel needles piercing through bone.

"Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen long years have passed, and at last we are gathered once more..."

His voice suddenly turned icy.

"Tonight, we shall begin again and correct the mistakes of the past!"

Barty Crouch Jr. seized the opportunity to raise his wand towards the night sky.

"Morsmordre!"

A glowing green skull shot into the air, a serpent emerging from its mouth as it hung above the graveyard like a terrifying banner.

The Dark Mark illuminated the masks of the Death Eaters with their frightened eyes, as well as Harry's pale face.

A trace of mockery entered Voldemort's voice.

"I thought... I would receive a warmer welcome."

A wave of uncontrollable trembling passed through the crowd.

Finally, one Death Eater suddenly collapsed to the ground, prostrating himself like a puddle of mud at Voldemort's feet and desperately kissing the hem of his black robes.

"Master... Master, please forgive us! We have been waiting... We have longed for your return every moment!"

Voldemort did not even glance at him. His scarlet eyes continued sweeping slowly across the crowd as though searching for prey.

"Oh, really?"

His voice was soft.

"But all I see is prosperity... comfort... I see all of you trying to escape punishment, concerned only with accumulating wealth..."

His voice abruptly turned cold, like a freezing wind.

"I do not see a single person who tried to find their dying Master..."

Voldemort looked around at the faces hidden beneath the hoods. Wherever his invisible gaze seemed to fall, the entire circle shuddered as one.

He gave a cold scoff and raised his snake-like face. His slit-like nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath.

"I smell guilt," he said, disgust colouring his voice. "The air is thick with its stench."

At his side, Barty Crouch Jr. let out a timely, contemptuous sneer, his gaze sweeping disdainfully over his masked companions.

The circle trembled again. Everyone seemed to want to shrink back and escape the suffocating judgement, but fear rooted their feet firmly to the ground.

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