Chapter 700: Voldemort's Hatred
Voldemort’s cold voice echoed in the clearing, and Evan and Harry listened in silence, their bodies taut.
The scar on Harry’s head kept hurting, as if to tear him apart, and he gritted his teeth to protect Evan behind him.
He thought Evan was Gabrielle getting caught in this mess because of him.
Harry was determined to take Gabrielle back alive, no matter what happened…
Voldemort continued to pace up and down, seeming to be in a good mood, remembering his past.
“My father abandoned us. My mother died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage… but I vowed to find him…” said Voldemort. “I revenged myself upon him later, that fool who gave me his name… Tom Riddle…”
Speaking of the name, there was a hint of chill and aversion in his tone.
“This is a name I am ashamed of, it belongs to that man!” said Voldemort, his voice softened and the cruel smile on his face became more obvious. “But it will come to an end. This disgrace of a father who left me was destroyed by my own hands. Ha ha… Harry Potter, you are honored, listen to me, reliving family history… Ah, I am growing quite sentimental… but look, Harry! My true family returns!”
His voice had just fallen, and the air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks.
In the weeds, behind every dead tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward… slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes.
Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.
With a plop, one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.
“Master… Master …” he murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Voldemort, Evan, Harry and the man moaning and gasping on the ground.
Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people.
Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
“Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. “Thirteen years … thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?“
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.
“What smell is this? I smell guilt,” he said. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.
“I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact… such prompt appearances! … And I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?! “
No one spoke, no one dared to move.
“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, pacing slowly around the inside of the circle. “They must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment…”
“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?” His voice was long, and he looked extraordinarily gloomy.
“And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… perhaps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”
At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads.
Voldemort ignored them, and his expression became colder and colder.
“It is a disappointment to me… I confess myself disappointed…”
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet.
“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”
Voldemort sneered and raised his wand.
“Crucio!”
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; the voice came from the soul.
Voldemort’s power was stronger than that of any Dark wizard. His evil thoughts made the Cruciatus Curse extraordinarily cruel and extremely unbearable.
Evan clenched his wand. It wasn’t time yet for the damn Portkey.
More than ten minutes later, Voldemort finally raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.
“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness?! I tell you, I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you.”
Voldemort looked around the Death Eaters, as though looking for the next target.
“I think you must be wondering how I came back,” he said softly. “I did get help from a few vampires. Although they were not obedient, they still helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…”
He raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand’s wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon the man’s bleeding wrist.
It was now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove.
The man tried to flex the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
“My Lord,” he whispered. “Thank you, merciful Master!”
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes.
“Lord Voldemort rewards those who are loyal to him. You deserve it, Durand!” said Voldemort. “You are welcome to be a Death Eater. According to the agreement, I will help you get back what should belong to you.”
Watching the vampire join the circle trembling, Evan recorded what he looked like.
He had replaced Peter Pettigrew for Voldemort and got the cursed arm.
It was true that his performance was much better than Peter’s.
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