bioinnovel Chapter 372 Dead or Alive
Chapter 372 Dead or Alive
Chapter 372 Dead or Alive
On the other side, in the cemetery of the small chapel, amidst the overgrown tombstones, the figure of a man slowly rises.
The figure was tall and thin, and looked like a skeleton.
No, his body looked paler than a skeleton, his eyes gleamed with a ferocious crimson light, his nose was flat like a snake, and his nostrils were two thin slits—
Tom Marvolo Riddle, the most dangerous dark wizard of all time, is Voldemort, who is reborn in Little Hangleton.
"Robes." Voldemort's voice was sharp and cold.
Bertha Joggins, kneeling on the ground, trembled as she raised her hands and offered the robe.
Wearing the black robe, Voldemort looked even paler. He raised his large hand and carefully examined his body, his slender fingers stroking his cheeks, chest, and arms one by one.
Thirteen years, a long and arduous thirteen years, Voldemort finally regained a body that belonged only to him, but he was not satisfied.
Because this body was far from what Voldemort wanted, it lacked a crucial element to be perfect.
"The wand." Voldemort's voice carried a hint of disgust.
Bertha Jorkins, kneeling on the ground, raised her hand again, trembling, and the yew wand lay securely in her palm.
Voldemort glanced at Bertha Jorkins, who was kneeling at his feet, with disgust before taking the wand from her and gently stroking it with his unusually long fingers.
His movements were light and gentle, as if he were caressing a lover he had been separated from for a long time.
Then, Voldemort raised his wand and aimed it at the kneeling Bertha Jorkins.
"Extremely painful!"
A flash of red light disappeared in an instant, and Bertha Joggins' body writhed and twisted in agony, but she could not utter a sound.
Voldemort's crimson eyes revealed a look of satisfaction. Although this body was not perfect, it allowed him to feel alive again.
After a while, the agonizing torment ended. Bertha Joggins stopped writhing and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. The mixture of sweat and dirt made her look filthy.
Voldemort gently stroked his wand, then pointed it at Bertha Jorkins again.
"Voldemort will not let those who have helped him go unpunished, Bertha," Voldemort said. "Even if you did not do so willingly—Avada Kedavra!"
The blinding green light instantly entered Bertha Joggins' body, and she died.
No longer subject to the Imperius Curse, no longer to the Crucifixion Curse, Bertha Jorkins is dead.
Voldemort closed his crimson eyes, tilted his head back slightly, and savored the feeling of magic flowing through his body again, savoring the feeling of standing firmly on the ground.
Just then, the giant snake returned, slithering through the weeds, leaving a wide, winding trail on the ground.
The giant snake slithered to Voldemort's side, crouched at his feet, and hissed as it opened its mouth.
"Ah, Nagini, are you ready to welcome our guests?" Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes toward the hill not far away.
On the hill not far away, the dilapidated Riddell Palace was engulfed in flames, with flames shooting into the sky and thick smoke billowing out.
Feeling something, Belvina looked down at the small church at the foot of the hill. The church looked like a ferocious beast that would devour its prey, and the overgrown cemetery looked even more sinister and eerie.
An extremely strong sense of foreboding enveloped Belvina's heart, making her feel as if she had a fishbone stuck in her throat or a thorn in her back.
She realized that the giant snake that attacked her was no ordinary crawling beast; otherwise, how could it have vanished into thin air like a wizard?
She also realized that Voldemort had truly returned this time.
It wasn't a remnant of Quirrell's soul, nor a fragment of his soul attached to the diary, but the real Voldemort.
If it were in the past, Belvina would have already made a run for her life by now, not only to make a quick getaway but also to maintain as much elegance as possible in her escape.
But now, Belvina seemed rooted to the spot, hesitating.
A voice told her: "Don't go there! You're no match for Voldemort. Don't go up there and get yourself killed. Run for your life!"
Another voice told her: Don't go over there. You've done your job. Leave the rest to Dumbledore and Harry Potter!
One last voice told her: You might escape once, but can you escape forever? You only have two shoulders and one head, so why not charge over and explode Voldemort!
Just as Belvina hesitated, Barty Crouch's voice suddenly rang out behind her.
Mr. Crouch's voice was very faint, almost inaudible, masked by the crackling of the intense burning.
"Dumbledore—tell Dumbledore—" Barty Crouch said weakly, lying on the ground, "Only Dumbledore—only Dumbledore can stop him—"
The person who was once high and mighty is now like a tattered scarecrow, speaking haltingly and incoherently.
Barty Crouch was dying; his gaze began to glaze over, his pupils lost their sparkle, and he was barely breathing.
In his final moments, this man who had once bravely resisted Voldemort finally regained consciousness and broke free from the Imperius Curse, but it was all too late.
"It's all my fault—my son—it's all my fault—" Barty Crouch's voice grew even weaker, "I must tell Dumbledore—my son—the Dark Lord—the Dark Lord has grown strong—"
By the end, Barty Crouch had exhausted the last bit of strength in his body, and his eyes gradually became blank, vacant, and empty.
Barty Crouch died, at Riddle Hall, at the hands of Belvina, at the very moment Voldemort rose to power again.
With death comes peace, and Belvina silently stepped forward, reaching out to close Barty Crouch's eyes.
Belvina stood up, waved her wand, and Barty Crouch's body slowly sank into the soil until it disappeared completely, after which a stone tombstone appeared out of thin air.
Then, Belvina waved her wand once more, and the raging fire was extinguished, leaving only a white mist over Riddle House.
More than fifty years ago, Riddle House was the most magnificent building in the surrounding area; more than fifty years later, the once magnificent building is now deserted and overgrown with weeds.
Having done all this, Belvina turned and walked out of the ruins of the Riddle Palace.
She gazed at the overgrown graveyard below the hill, knowing that Voldemort was there, that he hadn't left.
At this moment, Belvina no longer pondered the ultimate questions of life or death, nor did she think about why Dumbledore hadn't yet arrived from Gaunt's old house.
Compared to these meaningless thoughts, Belvina wanted to see Voldemort reborn with her own eyes, and to personally experience just how powerful the most dangerous dark wizard in history really was.
If he were to die at Voldemort's hands, then this unexpected journey should end here.
If she miraculously survives, it means her life is not meant to end, and a wider world awaits her.
Belvina had already made this decision when she buried Barty Crouch's body.
At this moment, Belvina seemed somewhat excited; her body trembled slightly, and it was unclear whether she was afraid, nervous, or excited.
The sky was a clear, bright blue, and the spring breeze was gentle and warm; it would have been even better if there hadn't been rising white steam.
"It's really good weather for the road trip." She looked up at the sky and sighed softly.
Then, Belvina Black walked down the hill without hesitation, humming a tune she had heard somewhere.