Unknown underground chamber, the room is warm as spring, under the glow of the unrefined candlestick, food arranged neatly in the dishes on the table emits an attractive color and aroma. It seems to be a very warm scene, but Ventya's heart was filled with bone-chilling cold.
In the forests of Albania, she had shared some time with Voldemort, and she knew well that the Dark Lord, feared by the wizards of the magical world to the bone, had become an evil monster unlike any human being.
She has witnessed Voldemort interrogate Bertha Jorkins with her own eyes, felt his cruel methods up close, and his complete lack of respect for life. In young Bathilda Crouch, she has seen another terrible side of Voldemort.
"I will dress you, my lord..."
As a domesticated house-trained goblin, it is not qualified for me to feed the Dark Lord, Master. During these days, this task has been undertaken by young Bathilda Crouch. He half-kneels beside Voldemort's chair and ties a napkin on him with delicate feminine movements. His face, without a trace of blood, bears a radiant glow like that of the most devout believer.
This warped devotion combined with the slightly bulging eyes of Bathilda Crouch deeply interpreted what insanity was!
"Oh, all thanks to you, Bathilda. What would I have done without you these past days?"
Voldemort smiled as he watched, touched by her gratitude as she cried on his arm, with her snake-like eyes showing no trace of emotion.
"All thanks to your meticulous care, I... Ah, I think I've recovered well enough. In this brief reunion time, I wish to do it myself..."
Voldemort lazily pushed back Bathilda's head, his long, slender fingers like a goblin's gripped the silver fork on the plate.
"Go on, Bathilda, sit opposite Miss Cleopatra. Let's... Ah, since today is a day of reunion, then, Voldemort, Master does not hesitate to grant some favors..."
The monster's smile beside her brow caused a slight twitch. She could feel that Voldemort was indeed stronger than before.
"Bathilda..."
Voldemort turned his head to look at young Bathilda.
"See... Is it too much to ask you to invite the guests from the next room to join the feast? He's family, isn't he?"
"He doesn't deserve it, Master. He doesn't deserve it!"
Even little Bathilda was shocked by Voldemort's sudden command. He jumped up from the ground, his bulging eyes even more prominent now. "That lowborn breed has no right to sit at the same table as you, Master. If it's all right with you, I will go--"
"Oh, Bathilda--" Voldemort waved his hand. "He's not a muggle-born, Bathilda. He's your father. Don't shy away from this. Face this humiliation head-on, just like I do... The esteemed Director of the International Magical Cooperation Bureau, the pure-blood of the Crouch family, Voldemort willing to give him some dignity."
"Let me kill him, Master!"
Young Bathilda Crouch's teeth clenched tightly, and even the seam of her teeth was stained with blood. She seemed to have been grievously wronged, madly screaming, "Please, Master, let me end this humiliation just as you did years ago!"
"Oh, Bathilda, haven't we already discussed how to deal with your father? You will receive this honor, but now--"
Voldemort's voice was slightly colder, and the terrible malice that surrounded him made young Bathilda tremble. Just like Shining in the room, he trembled.
"First, go and invite your father to join our gathering, Bathilda. What do you think?"
Young Bathilda dragged his father over. He pulled on the collar of Old Bathilda's coat, dragging him like a piece of garbage, and as the door opened, Vitya heard that the house-elf had been crying behind it, whispering to Bathilda to be gentle with his father.
Since the beginning of this semester, Vitya knew that the fate of Old Bathilda was already sealed when she fell into their hands. However, when she saw Old Bathilda, she couldn't help but feel a wave of grief.
Bang!
Under Voldemort's interested gaze, young Bathilda roughly pulled his father to the opposite side of Vitya Kryon. The once iron-fisted official was now a shell of himself, resembling a spineless wet rag as he sprawled his upper body across the table.
Old Bathilda was completely soaked in blood, his hair sticking to his face due to the blood, and his cheeks covered in injuries. The scars left by the repeated wounds and healings left by them looked like the legs of a centipede on old Bathilda Crouch's face.
In a brief glance, Vitya saw that Old Bathilda's right arm had a large piece of flesh completely missing, the wound exposed to the bone, and the blood and flesh around it had already rotted and produced pus. Furthermore, she also saw that there were several holes in Old Bathilda's legs, which emitted a putrid odor and slowly oozed black blood.
This man should have died, but only because of the evil witch's dark magic that sustains the body's most basic functions, and because his mind has been taken away, he is barely alive!
Young Bathilda's eyes were filled with indescribable hatred. He manipulated his father's body like a puppet, ensuring that his father could follow the great Dark Lord's orders and stay on the table.
"Come on, let's have our meal, now--"
From Voldemort's shrill voice, Vitya could easily imagine how excited this demon must be now.
She didn't touch anything here at all, no matter if it was poisoned or not. Vitya did not want to touch it. Only a madman could eat with relish in the presence of a body that was about to completely rot.
And her attitude made Voldemort's snake-like eyes flash with red light once more.
"What's going on, Mr. Crouch? Didn't you hear me say 'eat'?" Voldemort said coldly, smiling and putting down his spoon, staring at the unmoving clump of flesh beneath young Bathilda, and said.
"Or perhaps you think Voldemort's new home is too shabby, oh, maybe I should teach you some manners as a guest..."
"Let me do it, Master!"
Attention was focused on Voldemort, and Bathilda realized what he was doing. He jumped up in excitement but his actions were a bit too hasty, as a spell light hit his chest before Voldemort could deal with his father.
"Master!"
Young Bathilda Crouch immediately dropped down, his pale face turning red with sweat in an instant. His entire body was contorted like a cooked lobster, his thin body quivering uncontrollably.
"Master-- I beg you to forgive me--"
"I hope you remember this lesson, Bathilda--"
Voldemort lazily said, he waved his wand to remove the heart-stricken curse on young Bathilda Crouch. Then, he gently tapped the mushroom soup bowl in front of him with his wand.
instantly, the thick soup in the bowl boiled, and the boiling soup overflowed and expanded tens of times. The thick soup flew to Old Bathilda in the air, under Voldemort's cruel and delighted gaze, the thick soup poured into Old Bathilda's mouth and nose madly!
Under this extreme pain, with his mind basically destroyed, Old Bathilda's body convulsed uncontrollably, like a catfish falling into hot oil. His upper body struck the table repeatedly and heavily.
"Enough!"
Vitya's face turned pale with anger. She couldn't bear to watch any longer, so she suddenly stood up, ignoring young Bathilda's wand. Her green hair flew around her face without wind, and her emerald eyes, with a circle of pupil scattering a green light,
Crack!
Vitya slapped her hand on the table. This wasn't a warning. With her palm touching the table, a burst of vibrant magical energy rushed into the lifeless wood, and the lifeless woodspring back to life immediately! A lush green shoot sprouted up from the table in an instant, and in just one breath, it had grown into a thick vine over ten feet long!
Young Bathilda Crouch immediately darted to Voldemort's side, his wand pointing at Vitya. Even Voldemort couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly.
Whip!
The rough vine sliced through the air with a fierce howl, but it wasn't aimed at Voldemort and young Bathilda. Instead, it pointed directly at the lifeless wood of old Bathilda Crouch on the table!
(End of this chapter)
