Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

On the clearing, there were only painful gasps and groans, hovering and echoing in mid-air.

Evan opened his eyes and watched all this quietly. It was almost done, just one last step away…

The man staggered up to them. Blood had dyed his black robes red. He ignored it completely, let the blood splash, and the last trace of madness flashed on his face.

“Blood of the enemy … Forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe!” he said coldly, shouting with almost all his strength.

Harry struggled hopelessly at the ropes binding him. Squinting down, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in the man’s remaining hand.

Harry couldn’t move, he could only watch the man’s movements.

The next second, he felt the point of the dagger penetrate the crook of his right arm, terrible pain, and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes.

The man, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry’s cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry’s blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding, viscous white, sending out a foul smell.

The man, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping.

Beside him, the cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright.

“It worked!” Evan stared at the stone cauldron tightly, and Voldemort resurrected with Harry’s blood.

Harry’s mother’s Blood Curse would act on both of them, protecting Harry and becoming extremely powerful!

Suddenly, all the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished.

A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron, and merged with the surrounding mist, hiding everything.

The senses were obscured and the mystery of restlessness grew stronger, which was a creepy feeling.

Through the thick white mist in front of them, they saw the dark outline of a man rising slowly inside the cauldron. He was tall and skeletally thin, pale and weird.

“Robe me,” said the high, cold voice from behind the steam.

The man, who had fallen to the ground, moaning, hurriedly got up, still cradling his mutilated arm.

He scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master’s head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, put on his robes, and stared at Harry with red eyes.

Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake’s with slits for nostrils…

Lord Voldemort was resurrected!!!

Voldemort looked away from Harry without looking at Evan next to him, and instead began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders. His long white fingers caressed his body, inch by inch… his legs, his chest, his arms, his face… His movement was very slow, delicate and gentle. His eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat’s, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness.

After slowly touching his entire face, he held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant.

Voldemort was immersed in the joy of the new body. After so many years, he had finally risen again and returned to the wizarding world. He took not the slightest notice of the man, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which slithered back into sight and was circling Evan and Harry again, hissing.

The atmosphere was weird and quiet, and time seemed to be extremely long.

Evan knew it was time to leave. The purpose of the trip had been achieved. There was no need for Voldemort to kill Harry here.

There were many things that were not ready yet, and he was not interested in staying for Voldemort’s resurrection party.

The Portkey Caresius had given him was in his arm, he had already activated it when he first arrived.

It would be a while before they could leave here. If something unexpected happened during this period, he could use what Dumbledore had given him…

Finally, Voldemort had finished examining his new body and looked quite satisfied. He slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently, too; and then raised it high and made a cold and sharp grin.

“I’m back,” he said softly, “How many people still remember me!”

Voldemort shook his wand and the Dark Mark suddenly appeared in the air, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.

It loomed in the air, becoming more and more obvious, rising higher and higher, and Voldemort carefully looked at it.

“They will all have noticed it… and now, we shall see… now we shall know…” Voldemort’s face was cruelly proud.

He straightened up, threw back his head, and scanned the desolate open space.

“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

He began to pace up and down before Evan and Harry, scanning the open space from time to time.

As for the man who had fallen to the ground, moaning, he did not even look at him, as though he were a useless piece of garbage.

The man stopped the bleeding in a special way, but he was still weak and on the verge of death.

The vampire who turned to Voldemort didn’t seem to expect his new master to be so ruthless, he begged weakly.

Evan stared at all this coldly, calculating time, grasping Harry tightly with one hand.

Suddenly, Voldemort pointed his wand at a pile of things on the ground, and they flew up and down in front of Evan and Harry.

It was his father’s remains, one of the necessities of his resurrection, and it had now completely lost its usefulness.

Voldemort’s gaze fell on Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

“Harry Potter, we meet again!” he hissed softly. “These are my father’s remains… a Muggle and a fool… very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child… and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…”

Voldemort laughed again, as he paced back and forth, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

“My mother was a witch. She fell in love with him… she fell in love with that Muggle. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was… he didn’t like magic, my father!” said Voldemort softly. “Like all stupid Muggles, he left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born.”

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