Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 853 - 224: Resurrection

"Vid Gray."

The infant slowly turned his deformed head, his snake-like red eyes locking onto Vid. In his voice was a bizarre gentleness:

"Your poppet... showed astonishing battle prowess in the tournament. Pledge allegiance to me, and I will allow you to stand at my left hand in the future..."

Barty Crouch Jr looked at Vid with envy. Although his own position seemed more important, how many years did it take for him to climb to his current status? And what did this child do?

Vid raised his head as if petrified by Voldemort’s appearance, asking blankly and bewilderedly, "Wha... what?"

Voldemort let out a sharp, light laugh, raising his arm slightly: "You don’t understand now... but it doesn’t matter. Watch carefully; this is the power of your future master!"

"On the path of immortality, I have ventured further than anyone! As long as you pledge allegiance to me, I will bestow upon you the same glory!"

His finger slashed the air, and Vid’s small body was lifted by an invisible force, lightly falling onto a bench prepared for the chapel’s followers nearby.

Then, the handrails of the bench twisted and transformed into a few curved iron rings, binding Vid’s hands and feet, rendering him immobile.

In a flash of insight, countless thoughts raced through Vid’s mind.

——Poppet? What poppet?

Is that my ability when I grow up?

But how could I let myself fall into this situation?

I’m not native to the Magic World; I didn’t know Barty Crouch Jr tampered with the Triwizard Tournament trophy...

Besides, why is Barty Crouch Jr here? Wasn’t he supposed to transform into Moody, wait for the master’s next order at Hogwarts, and then get caught by Dumbledore?

If I intentionally touched the trophy, replaced Cedric, and got teleported here with Harry... If it was all part of my plan...

Then what was "I" trying to achieve?

——Seize the chance to defect to Voldemort?

Impossible!

There were more suitable opportunities to become a Death Eater in the first year... and why would anyone want to join a noseless loser?

At the same time, Vid didn’t think he could accept Voldemort’s way of treating his subordinates, having heard that Death Eaters had to crawl down and lick his toes to show submission and loyalty...

If not to defect... then I should think in reverse...

When I’m grown, how would I plan this event?

Some unfamiliar terms mentioned by a few people flashed through Vid’s mind—

TV broadcast, communication pea, poppet...

As well as those things not in his memory—

Green leopard, strange golden teapot, king cobra that replaced Nagini, altered resurrection location, mirrors that couldn’t reflect in front of Voldemort...

If these are all butterflies effect caused by him, the transmigrator... what exactly did he do to turn the world of "Harry Potter" into this?

A few scattered images seemed to flash across his vision, yet were shrouded in fog, unclear and indistinct.

But Vid glanced at that mirror and suddenly had a faint realization.

...

Voldemort no longer focused on Vid who was placed aside.

No matter how many amazing inventions this child might create in the future, even if he could rival an army alone, at this moment he was just a five or six-year-old boy, not worth the Dark Lord’s too much energy.

He was also disinclined to delve into Vid’s mind.

In this state, Voldemort’s magic power wasn’t abundant. And a child’s mind, what valuable content could there be? Aside from thoughts of parents and playmates, there were probably only thoughts of eating, drinking, and toys left.

The Dark Lord looked at Harry, his emotions actually more turbulent than Barty Crouch Jr’s beside him.

But the audience he had planned had yet to arrive, and he was not in optimal condition. He had waited too long to prepare for the perfect resurrection.

Thus, Voldemort didn’t waste words, merely waved an arm, saying, "Begin."

"Yes."

Barty Crouch Jr responded immediately, waving his magic wand to bring over a stone cauldron from the corner, filled with liquid. As soon as it was set, flames leapt up under the cauldron, and the liquid inside quickly began to boil, sparking and steaming vigorously.

Voldemort let out a sharp laugh, urging, "Now, quickly!"

Barty Crouch Jr respectfully picked up infant Voldemort, placing him into the cauldron.

A sharp cry escaped Harry.

The baby sank silently to the bottom, as if melting into the pot.

Barty Crouch Jr gestured with his wand, saying, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, can re-spawn your son."

Pale grey bone powder flew from a jar in the corner, falling into the cauldron.

The liquid turned a vivid blue, hissing, sparks bursting forth.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, can renew your master!"

Barty Crouch Jr stretched out his left hand, unhesitatingly slicing it off, the severed hand falling into the cauldron amid spurting blood.

He groaned in pain, yet the smile on his face grew increasingly twisted.

The potion turned fiery red once more, emitting a strong, intense light.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, can resurrect your foe!"

Harry struggled desperately, yet was still lifted over by the scarred man, suspended above the cauldron.

He thought he too would be boiled, closing his eyes in despair, unable to utter a sound.

Soon after, the boy’s arm ached—Barty Crouch Jr slit his wrist with a dagger, a stream of bright red blood flowing into the cauldron.

The scar-faced man moved the bound boy aside, still holding him, eyes fixed firmly on the cauldron ahead.

Liquid became dazzlingly white, an intensely bright light filling the entire church instantly.

Vid instinctively let out a low cry, closing his eyes.

For some reason, his subconscious thought this white light must be extremely hot and warm, capable of reducing black creatures to ashes.

Yet the reality was not so.

Though the sparks from the cauldron spurted like fireworks, its glow was cold, even the thick mist rising from it not hot but rather carrying a shivering chill like fog on an autumn or winter morning.

In the misty steam, a tall, black silhouette rose slowly, spreading its arms as if peering down at itself, with a flick of the fingers.

A black robe flew over, wrapping around him. He stepped out of the cauldron, the mist dissipating rapidly, the man’s appearance finally growing clear—

Skeletal, his pallid skin clung tightly to his bones, his nose flattened like a snake’s, his red eyes slowly sweeping around.

As he opened his mouth, his voice was colder and more piercing than before:

"I am back."

...

Though they had already had some guesses, witnessing the scene firsthand plunged the entire grandstand into a deathly silence, mouths agape staring at the screen, silently screaming, faces drained of color.

Soon, the stadium erupted in deafening screams and chaos, timid spectators fleeing, some collapsing because their legs buckled, Minister Fudge fainting outright, younger children crying in terror, and students left shock-stiffened.

While the entire venue fell into panic, Grindelwald remained leisurely seated, his slender fingers lightly tapping the armrest. Amid cries and screams, he couldn’t help but tilt his head slightly upward, taking a deep breath.

"Such a nostalgic sound..."

He murmured, looking up at the screen, at the man reveling in his own rebirth, a subtle arc tugging at the corner of his lips, undisguised disdain in his gaze.

"Look." Grindelwald turned, speaking with a smile to the person beside him, "This is the Dark Lord."