Voldemort shifted his gaze from Harry's body, starting to examine this one. This was the body he had longed for since the darkness of the last ten and a half years. His hands, like those of a pale spider, were thin and pale, tracing over his chest, arms, and face as if caressing treasures. His breath was gentle, his expression manic with excitement.
"My lord."
"Master."
He turned and studied the wand he pulled from his cloak pocket, a wand that he had not held firmly in his hand for fifteen years, until Barty's kiss captured his attention.
As if just noticing that there was a Death Eater loyal to him here, even though for a year he had been cared for by this follower, and even though it was with his help that he had moved towards resurrection, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Harry believed he saw a faintly mocking smile curl at the corner of Voldemort's mouth, not one of approval.
"Your performance tonight is somewhat unsatisfactory, Barty --"
He said quietly,
"Fortunately, no one else was here tonight, Barty -- if they had seen that farce of a duel, people would say what? A Loyal Death Eater of mine, the Dark Lord himself, was defeated by three underage children from Hogwarts. Oh, if this became public knowledge, where would my face be?"
Barty's face was almost in the dirt. He dare not defend himself; in the presence of the Great Dark Lord, all excuses were hollow. The only way he could express his mortification at having brought shame to his master was to submit so humbly.
"Get up, Barty --"
He said lazily,
"I have said that I will reward you when all this is done. The Dark Lord is a man of his word, especially with those who have been loyal to him. Get up. Among those who will lose their lives tonight, you are not one of them."
Barty finally raised his head. Dirt clung to his forehead, and his eyes brimmed with gratitude.
Seemingly understanding that Barty might die from excessive blood loss if things continued as they were, Voldemort raised his wand, twirling it in the air. The tip of the wand sliced through the air, creating a shimmering silver light band that at first did not take any form but then twisted and contorted into a hand with a silvery sheen, which was attached to Barty Crouch Jr.'s amputated arm.
The pain stopped immediately. Barty's expression of surprise seemed as if he had not expected his master to heal him, but had instead received an unexpected reward.
"Your kindness is beyond words, my lord!"
"This is your due reward, Barty, as compensation for the injustice you have suffered over the years, of course. Of course, there will be more honors to come to you, but I think..."
Voldemort bent down and grabbed hold of Barty's arm, pulling his sleeve up to his elbow.
Harry had thought that Voldemort's first act upon his resurrection would be to kill him. He was not afraid, and even eagerly anticipated the event.
All is ended, that's how it is for him.
When Ron and Hermione fell, Harry felt that the magical world had come to an end for him. However, Voldemort did not seem eager to take his life. He left him alone, as if he didn't exist.
A red tattoo - a skull with a serpent hanging from its mouth - that night in the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, it was the image that appeared above the box where they sat.
"--publicly commend your loyalty and conviction. Come on --"
Voldemort's pale cheeks showed a smile.
"Surely they have noticed. Now, let's see. They will see"
He pressed his long, pale index finger against Barty's arm, and as the bright red mark turned to pitch black, he revealed a cruel, triumphant smile.
"How many would have the courage to come back after feeling it, and how many would be foolish not to?"
"I will always follow you, my lord!"
The excessive bleeding made Barty feel dizzy. He stood with difficulty, but every cell in his body was singing with adoration for Voldemort.
And Voldemort did not respond. He walked around the fallen cauldron, turning circles, breathing deeply and enjoying the fresh air. Suddenly, at one moment, he stopped in his tracks and looked at Harry with a fierce hatred in his eyes, revealing a cruel smile.
"Bring them to me, Barty. I mean Harry Potter's friends. Let him look at them again before he can't anymore. The little girl who you killed... She would make a good meal, Nagini will like her. And Nagini..."
Voldemort raised his hand towards Nagini, who was coiled around a haystack, hersing with excitement upon hearing his words.
"We'll wait a bit. Until they all come. Oh, don't forget your father and Shiney. Oh, I really do like your house's house-elf. Compared to the forests in Albania, having her around is so much more comfortable. Ah, and our old friend. How could I forget him? I must be the gift from Cleopatra. I didn't ask her to do so, of course. It must have taken her a lot of trouble, but I must say, I quite like this gift. Therefore, I can be a bit more lenient with her for her earlier impoliteness."
Barty bent low and then sprang into action, summoning everyone from the graveyard to come to the spot.
"Harry Potter."
As Barty left, Voldemort's blood-red gaze fell back onto Harry's face, and he whispered softly.
"I know you're puzzled. I'll explain, but be patient. I can tell you a bit now. You're standing on the bones of my father. A stupid, incorrigible Muggle, just like your mother. But they all have their uses, don't they? When you were little, your mother died protecting you and I killed my father. Look at what good use he's been put to after death."
"Even Harry could see how excited Voldemort was. He paced back and forth."
"See the house up on the hill, Potter? This is where my father lived. My mother was a witch who lived in this village and fell in love with him. But when she told him who she was, he left her. My father didn't like magic."
Harry was somewhat drawn by Voldemort's story, but when Barty Crouch Jr. came back with Ron and Hermione over his shoulder, and roughly threw their bodies onto the ground, Harry's emerald eyes turned stormy with veins of crimson. He strained against the ropes binding him, howling with a piercing scream, his heart aching like a knife had been plunged into it!
"He left her, went back to his Muggle parents, I wasn't born yet. Potter. My mother died in childbirth while giving birth to me. I was raised in a muggle orphanage. But I vowed to find him and take revenge on him, the person who gave me the same name as him. Tom Riddle."
After Barty left, Voldemort continued, his red eyes scanning the graves but Harry could no longer bear to listen. He was weeping, struggling for breath.
Barty Crouch Jr. had Shiney fetch his father, who seemed not to be dead but just a breath away from it. The loyal little house-elf was sobbing, but dared not treat the old man or take him away, either because of Barty Crouch Jr.'s orders or out of fear of the Dark Lord.
Karkaroff was brought over still under the Petrific Charm, but he was shivering all over. Harry had never seen someone under the spell move, and he could only imagine how terrified Karkaroff must be. Harry understood his fear; Sirius had shared some of what Karkaroff had done.
Last was Gabrielle, the first person to die that night in the graveyard. Looking at the three bodies, Harry no longer feared death. He wanted to die; he wondered how he could go on living if he survived.
After leaving Gabrielle behind, Barty Crouch Jr. stopped. He smiled at his father's face lying on the ground, filled with blood and breath, and then sternly ordered Shiney to be quiet, lest it disturb the owner who was deeply moved.
"Listen to me, listen to me reminisce about our family history," Voldemort took a deep breath and whispered, "Ah, I feel a bit sentimental. But look at them, Harry! My real family is back."
Shadows swirled down from the sky, settling over this hell.
(Chapter ends)
