Harry Potter Platinum Glory

"Quickly imprisoned—!" The man in the cloak used magic to conjure up a rope and tied Potter tightly to the tombstone, from neck to ankle. Potter heard rapid, light breathing from inside the hood. He struggled, and the man hit him—a finger was missing from the hand that hit him. Potter knew who was inside the hood, it was Wormtail!

"It's you!" he exclaimed.

There had never been such a moment when Harry was tormented by endless remorse. One second ago, if he could have calmed down and listened to Augustus' reminder, things would not have evolved to this point. Wanting to defeat Augustus head-on in the Triwizard Hegemony, the desire to prove to Qiu Zhang is so strong that he is even blinded by the correct perception in his heart.

Tonight, Furong was inexplicably out of the game, followed by Krum's series of unreasonable actions, Potter also saw it, but unfortunately, sometimes, for human beings, desire is like the coquettish Manjushahua on the edge of a cliff, who knows how to step on it. One wrong step is the abyss, but I still can't help but try.

Potter struggled desperately, but his frail strength was simply not enough to break free from the shackles of grown-up wizard magic.

Augustus saw the remorseful expression on Potter's face, and his mouth was full of a mocking smile. He did remind Potter at the time, but he said it when he knew that Potter would not listen to him. Yes, it's not bad to let this little bug feel the taste of remorse, isn't it?

Wormtail raised his wand and pushed a huge cauldron under the grave with difficulty. The cauldron seemed to be filled with water, enough to hold an adult sitting in it. "Flame 680 is roaring--", Wormtail's wand was a little bit, and a crackling flame burst from under the cauldron. The liquid in the crucible seemed to heat up very quickly. Not only did the surface begin to boil, but sparks erupted as if on fire. The steam became thicker and thicker, and the figure of Wormtail, who was watching the flames, became blurred.

"It's burnt, Master." Wormtail said cautiously. The whole surface of the water was now sparkling with sparks, as if studded with diamonds.

"Quick! Now..." said a grim voice.

Wormtail ripped apart the bundles on the ground, revealing a slimy, ugly, eyeless thing that looked like a crouched baby, hairless, scales on its body, dark, red skin, as if suffering from pain. Injured tender meat. Its arms and legs were slender and soft, and its face—no living child had such a face—was a flat snake face with gleaming red eyes.

Wormtail held it in his hands. Then Wormtail's hood fell off, and Potter saw a look of disgust on his pale, feeble face in the firelight. Wormtail carried the thing to the edge of the cauldron, and for a split second Potter saw the throbbing spray on the surface of the potion illuminate the evil flat face. Wormtail put the thing into the cauldron, with a hissing sound

It sank. Potter heard the soft sound of its limp body hitting the bottom of the cauldron.

Augustus frowned for a while, Voldemort was fighting for his resurrection, and the taste of being in a frying pan would definitely not be good.

Wormtail was talking, his voice trembling, as if he was going crazy with fright. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and said to the night sky: "Father's bones, donated inadvertently, may regenerate your son!

The grave under Potter's feet cracked open, and Potter was horrified to see a small wisp of dust rising into the air at Wormtail's call, falling gently into the cauldron. The diamond-like liquid surface cracked, hissed, sparks splattered, and the liquid turned a bright red-blue, poisonous at a glance.

Wormtail whimpered. From his cloak he drew a long, thin, silvery dagger. His voice turned into a sob of utter terror: "The flesh of the servant--donated voluntarily, may regenerate--your master--".

He stretched out his right hand—the one with a missing finger, and held the dagger tightly in his left hand, swinging it toward his right. With a scream that penetrated the night sky, his right hand fell into the pot, and the potion turned fiery red.

Wormtail gasped and groaned in pain, "The blood of the foe... is forced to give... to revive your foe..." He stabbed the dagger into Potter's body with trembling hands. Arms, blood dripped down the torn sleeves. Wormtail, who was still panting in pain, shivered and took out a small glass bottle from his pocket and placed it next to Potter's wound, and a small amount of blood flowed into the bottle. He staggered towards the cauldron with Potter's blood and poured it into it. The liquid in the crucible immediately turned dazzling white.

Wormtail completed the task, knelt beside the cauldron, slumped on the ground, and gasped and sobbed while holding his bloody severed arm.

Seeing this, Augustus had to say that the level of Voldemort's training of his subordinates was still very high, including Quirrell in the front, Barty Crouch Jr. and Wormtail in the back.

(bhci) The cauldron was about to boil, and diamond-like sparks flew out, so bright and dazzling that everything around them was black velvet.

Suddenly, the spark on the crucible went out. A black vapor rose from the crucible, and then intertwined and transformed in mid-air, gradually forming the black figure of a man, tall and thin, like a skeleton.

Looking at this figure, the light in Augustus' eyes grew brighter and brighter, Voldemort, I've been waiting for you for a long time.

"Cloth me," said the grim voice from behind the steam. Wormtail whimpered and groaned, still protecting his stump arm, and hurriedly grabbed the black robe that was wrapped in the bundle from the ground, stood up, and wrapped it over his Master's head with one hand.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, his face was paler than a skeleton, his big eyes were red, his nose was as flat as a snake's nose, and his nostrils were two slits...

Voldemort is resurrected!

Voldemort looked away from Potter and began to examine his body. His hands were like big pale spiders, and his long, pale fingers stroked his chest, arms, and face; the red eyes were brighter in the dark, and the pupils were two slits, like the eyes of a cat. He raised his hands, moved his fingers, and looked ecstatic.

He was beheaded twice in a row by Augustus, and his vitality was severely damaged. For today's resurrection, he did not know how hard he had to pay, but it was all worth it, because he finally returned with a complete body!

Suddenly a huge snake swam over and hissed around Potter.

Voldemort put his strangely long fingers into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He stroked his wand lightly, too, then pointed it at Wormtail, lifted him from the ground, and threw him onto the gravestone to which Potter was bound.

"Master..." Wormtail choked, "Master...you promised...you promised..."

"Stretch out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh, Master...Thank you, Master..."

He stretched out his bloody broken arm, but Voldemort sneered again, "Not this one, Wormtail."

"Master, I beg you... I beg you..."

Voldemort bent down, pulled Wormtail's left arm, and rolled his sleeve over his elbow. Potter saw something on that skin that looked like a bright red tattoo—a skull spewing a snake out of its mouth, the same pattern that had appeared at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort studied it carefully, completely ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable sobbing.

"It's back, 39," he said softly, "and they'll all notice it...now, we'll see...we'll know..."

He pressed his long, pale index finger to Wormtail's arm, and the imprint turned pitch black. Voldemort straightened up, raised his head, and scanned the dark graveyard. "How many people have the guts to come back after feeling it?" he murmured, glowing red eyes staring at the stars, "and how many people would be foolish not to come?"

The dark clouds in the sky gradually turned into the shape of the Dark Mark!