Chapter 131: Lord Voldemort (1/2)

”My friend!” Malgino exclaimed in great delight. ”So? I keep my promises or not?”

”You do, Kazle.” Lord Voldemort replied, examining his own new body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant.

”Great. Stormy!” Malgino called.

Stormy walked towards Malgino still clutching her bloody hand. Then bowed to both of them.

”You've redeemed yourself and proved that you're not a waste. I forgive you. Now your hand.” Malgino smiled.

”No Kazle. As I said before, Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers... Stormy hold your hand out.” Voldemort said.

”As you wish, my lord.” Stormy hold out her bleeding stump.

Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Stormy's bleeding wrist.

”Thank you my lord.” She said. There was no sign of happiness on her face as she stepped back.

”Now it's time to call back my followers.” Voldemort said and raised his wand.

A crackling flame shoot out from his wand and it turned into a red skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark.

Harry screamed again.

”How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” Voldemort whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. ”And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

Malgino laughed.

”Have you met our guests, Voldemort?” He said.

Voldemort looked at Chris, Cedric and Harry. A cruel satisfaction on his face as his gaze fixed at Harry.

”You see, Harry Potter, those are the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly pointing at the open grave. ”A Muggle and a fool . . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child . . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death. . . .”

Voldemort laughed again.

”You still think like your sixteen years old self.” Chris spit out. ”Just your appearance is new, Riddle.”

Voldemort sharply looked at her.

”If you weren't so important to my friend, you would've been dead a long time ago.” He hissed.

”But I'm still alive.” Chris said, looking directly at Voldemort's eyes. ”And that changes everything.”

And without warning,

”Crucio.”

It was pain beyond anything Chris had ever experienced, even the thorn vines were nothing compared to it; her very bones were on fire; her head was surely splitting; her eyes were rolling madly in her head; she wanted it to end . . . to black out . . . to die . . .

And then it was gone.

Voldemort laughed coldly.

”Now? What were you saying?” He asked.

Chris glared at him.

”Ah-ha. You hit at the wrong place, my friend.” Malgino said coming forward beside Voldemort. ”Hit where it hurts. Crucio.”

Cedric screamed.

For a second, Chris remembered Neville, his parents going mad because of this curse. Then Cedric's yells.

”Stop.” She shouted.

Malgino stopped, smiled, then, ”Crucio.”

This time Harry screamed.

”Harry!”

Voldemort and Malgino both laughed loudly.

Seeing their laughing faces, for the first time, maybe, Chris felt weak. She felt they were going to die tonight.

”I were right. Muggles are indeed weak.” Voldemort said. ”Look! My family returns. . . .”

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

”Master . . . Master . . .” he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Chris, Cedric, Harry, Voldemort, Malgino, Ethan and Stormy. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

”Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. ”Thirteen years . . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. . . . We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.

”I smell guilt,” he said. ”There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.

”I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt appearances! — and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

No one spoke.

”And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, ”they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . .

”And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

”And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

But Chris got an idea, what if she summons Dames here. She never tried but she could, maybe.