aircannonsinc Chapter 193 Resurrection
Chapter 193 Resurrection
Harry's heart was full of doubts, and his head was hurting vaguely. He didn't know if he fell to the ground and ate it when he was teleported just now. But Tom remained silent, avoiding his eyes intentionally or unintentionally, which made the ominous shadow in Harry's heart continue to expand.
They climbed up to the second floor in a weird atmosphere. The crow flapped its wings and jumped to the front, leading them into a smoky guest room. A stone cauldron that was larger than all the cauldrons they had used at Hogwarts was located in the middle of the room. It seemed to be filled with liquid, and it was making a gurgling boiling sound, constantly spurting out sparks and rich liquid. steam.
Sitting on the chair next to the crucible was a thin old man with gray hair and a gray complexion. His eyes were tightly closed behind his dirty round glasses, and he didn't know whether he was dead or alive. There was a life-size portrait of a blond girl hanging on the wall. The girl in the painting was nervously wringing her thin fingers and looking at the old man with concern.
"Nice to meet you, Dumbledore." The Dark Lord in Wormtail's arms greeted politely.
"This is impossible!" Harry blurted out, "You mean... Dumbledore?" He looked hard at the old man, trying to find something familiar from the wrinkled old face through the long wire-like hair. Mark of.
"Let your friends learn to be polite and quiet," the Dark Lord told Tom indifferently.
"Not that Headmaster Dumbledore." Tom answered Harry's question briefly, "Now, be quiet for a while, Harry."
He spoke to Harry, but still didn't look at Harry.
Harry stared at his profile, hesitated for a moment, and then obeyed.
"I'm not happy to see you." Aberforth snorted, ignoring the weird atmosphere between the two children, and only opened his eyes to answer the Dark Lord's words in a sinister manner.
The Dark Lord smiled indulgently.
"I have always kept my word, Dumbledore," said the Dark Lord, "and I believe we are all tired of sacrificing everything in pursuit of the greater good...especially as the victim...not ?"
"Stop showing off your rhetoric, Riddle." Aberforth didn't fall for his words at all. "I know your true face as well as you do." He glanced at his hands pointedly, Harry Only then did he notice that the old man's hand was pressing on an old book with a black cover.
"If you were really sincere, you wouldn't use these little tricks to trap me here." The old man raised his hand and separated from the old book for a moment. You can see countless thin black threads spreading from the old book, greedily It penetrated his skin, forcibly holding his hand and inseparably adhering to the cover of the old book.
The Dark Lord's answer was even colder: "If I were not sincere, you wouldn't be sitting here alive."
"If you are really sincere, you should let me try it first -" the old man said with a sneer.
The Dark Lord's shrill laughter echoed in the room: "Don't be stupid, Dumbledore." It was as if if Aberforth was allowed to try it first, the old man would not be satisfied and immediately turn around and summon his brother. of.
Whoever believes is stupid.
But you can’t say that. He also hoped that if Albus Dumbledore really arrived, Aberforth would be able to fight with his brother to buy time for his sister's resurrection plan.
After all, the great saint Dumbledore pursued his magnificent righteousness throughout his life. Even though he was extremely eager to resurrect Arianna... No, it was because the more he longed for it, the more self-feared he became, and the more wary and resistant he became. Thanks to Merlin, if Dumbledore hadn't been so determined, Aberforth wouldn't have formed a brief alliance with him - not even with the diary's bewitchment and control.
So the Dark Lord suddenly stopped laughing and changed his tone to appease him: "Let me verify it first, so that you can feel more at ease, right?"
This is not considered to be deceiving him. No matter how well-established the Dumbledore family is, no matter how Aberforth has a world-renowned brother, the White Devil, as a source of information and resources, and no matter how many times the resurrection formula has been verified and calculated, it needs to be done. When he was serious, Aberforth still couldn't help but feel a little worried and afraid.
If the Dark Lord came to be the first experimental subject... The old man moved his eyes to the portrait on the wall. The blond girl shook her head slightly at him, looking anxious. But this only strengthened Aberforth's idea.
The old man lowered his eyes and became silent.
The Dark Lord smiled.
"Wormtail." The Dark Lord called to his servant, "Let's begin."
Wormtail approached the cauldron stiffly, looking dazed. As he approached, a crackling flame burst out under the crucible, and the rich steam blurred Wormtail's figure beside the pot.
"It's ready, Master," Wormtail said in a fervent voice, as if he had suddenly become a fanatical follower of the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord wiggled his nose and sniffed. "Wait a little longer," he stared at the flames at the bottom of the pot, "to ensure the purity of the firewood..."
Aberforth snorted a sneer from his nose: Purity? As if someone in this room really wanted him to be resurrected!
Wormtail muttered as he circled the cauldron, poking and scratching underneath with his wand. After a while, Tom could keenly feel that there seemed to be some subtle differences in the flames. Even the pale and dull face of the Horcrux on his knowledge robe twitched slightly, as if there was something vaguely present. The devout prayers and calls are trying to connect every soul of the Dark Lord.
And Harry felt that the scar was getting more and more painful, as if something was beating in his head, trying to get out.
Now the entire surface of the pot was sparkling with sparks, as if it were studded with diamonds.
"Quick!" the Dark Lord ordered.
Then Wormtail respectfully lifted his master, carried him to the edge of the cauldron, muttered some inaudible prayers, and placed him into the cauldron.
Oops, Dark Lord Fresh Hot Pot?
Even when he first saw the crucible that was big enough to hold an adult, and even when he found the three-point resurrection technique of bone, flesh, and blood based on the knowledge in the robe of knowledge, Tom thought I didn’t see this scene, but I still felt quite happy when I saw it with my own eyes.
With a hissing sound, the Dark Lord sank, allowing the diamond-colored liquid to completely submerge him.
Let it drown, Harry thought, an uncontrollable wave of malice rising in his heart. His scar burned almost unbearably, and there was a vicious, unidentifiable voice in his head that burned with the pain. It reads like words on it: Please...let it drown...
He started talking silently, but no one in the room noticed. All eyes were nervously turned to the huge crucible.
Wormtail was talking, his voice trembling, as if he was insane, and he seemed to be crazy with excitement. He pushed open the window and made sure that the moonlight was shining on the crucible. Then he raised his wand, closed his eyes, and prayed to the night and the moon: "My father's bones, accidentally donated, can make your son reborn!" "
The crow kicked off the package on the table, and a small handful of bone fragments floated into the air at the call, and fell gently into the crucible. The diamond-like surface of the liquid burst, hissing, sparks flying, and the liquid turned a bright red-blue color that was clearly poisonous at a glance.
Wormtail whimpered wildly, both in fear and anticipation. He pulled out a long, thin, shiny silver dagger from the cloak, stretched out his right hand towards the pot with a messy gasp, then held the dagger tightly with his left hand and swung it towards his right hand.
"Your servant's flesh - voluntarily donated - can make - your master - reborn!" He screamed miserably and finished the spell.
The potion turned fiery red, bursting with dazzling light. 7K妏揩
Wormtail sobbed, clutching his remaining half-severed arm and gasping in pain repeatedly. But he didn't know where the strength came from to support him, and he didn't let him roll on the ground in pain without reason.
"Resent, curse..." Instead, he staggered towards Harry, "You will contribute to the resurrection of the Dark Lord..."
The black-devil-king!
Harry's mind buzzed.
An overwhelming resentment swept over him.
When he himself couldn't identify the vicious and vulgar curses he blurted out, Wormtail had already arrived in front of him, slit his chest with the dazzling silver dagger, and caught it with a small glass bottle. A small amount of blood.
"The blood of your enemies... forced to be given... can make your enemies—"
While Wormtail staggered and poured Harry's blood into the cauldron, he shouted the last two words: "——Resurrection!"
The liquid in the crucible immediately turned dazzling white. Wormtail completed his task and collapsed beside the cauldron, clutching his still bleeding broken arm and crying.
The crucible was about to boil, and diamond-like sparks splashed out in all directions, so bright and dazzling that everything around them turned the color of black velvet.
Hopefully it had drowned, Harry came to terms with the vicious voice in his scar for the first time, and hopefully it wouldn't...
Suddenly, the spark on the crucible went out. A stream of white steam rose up from the crucible, and a sheet of white steam filled the entire room. In the white mist, a black figure of a man slowly rose from the crucible. He was tall and thin, like a skeleton.
"I'm back!" The figure spread its arms in the steam, announcing his return to the world.
"Put on some clothes," Crow said.