Harry Potter’s Natural Villain

"Master, is this here?" A short man in a cloak crouched, holding a bag in his hands, and muttering to himself. The reason he said so was because there was no one in front of him that could be seen. People.

Maybe he was talking to a ghost?

After all, here is a cemetery nearby.

There are desolate, long-uncleaned tombstones, some even broken pieces, showing sharp or sleek corners. Standing here, you can look to the right and you can see a small church behind a tall yew tree. Black outline.On the left is a hill with an exquisite old house on the hillside

"That's right... Peter." A snake neighing sound came from the package, which showed that Peter was not mumbling to himself, but had someone to talk to.

"Master, you will be able to have a body again soon." Peter Pettigrew said excitedly at this time. All his hopes now rest on the strange fleshy mass wrapped in his hands.

The one in the package is naturally Voldemort who has lost his body and is lingering.

For Peter, Voldemort is also his last hope. If something accident happens to this man’s resurrection, he will not be able to flee forever. Sooner or later, he will be caught by those lingering Aurors and be caught. In Zkaban, because his Animagus was also exposed, he was no longer concealed.

"Don't shake your hands." Voldemort said coldly in the package.

"Yes...Yes, Master." Peter Pettigrew immediately controlled his trembling hands with excitement and calmed it down.

"Now you can start preparing... My "medicine" should be on the way now, and it will be here soon."

Hearing that, Peter Pettigrew walked tremblingly toward a fairly flat mound, waved his wand, and quickly deformed into a huge crucible according to local conditions. This crucible looked extremely large, as if it could hold an adult. People sitting in it,

Then Peter took out a package from somewhere, slowly opened it, and then began to add various medicines to the crucible and stir it. Soon, the liquid filled the whole crucible, as if it was about to overflow at any time.

The sound of splashing is endless.

"Hurry up." The person in the package placed on the ground said viciously.

A rather unknown premonition suddenly rose in Voldemort's heart, as if someone was staring at him, and that was someone who made him feel fear.

Peter Pettigrew was stirring the crucible faster and faster, and his sturdy arm was desperately stirring the liquid with the help of tools.

The faint premonition of uncertainty spread more and more in Voldemort's heart, as if to penetrate every corner of his body.

"Go! Get my father's ashes first!" Voldemort in the package suddenly screamed hysterically, and the slender arm lifted from the package, with a strong smell of blood.

"Yes, Master." Peter Pettigrew panted, threw away the branches in his hand, and then dragged his chunky body to the direction Voldemort pointed.

He lifted the tombstone board, waved the magic wand, and took some powder from it.

"Master, got it." Peter Pettigrew walked back, bent down, and said respectfully.

"Well, I felt a scent of shame." After seeing the ashes of old Tom Riddle, Voldemort's mood eased a little, but he didn't care at all and began to mock his father.

There seems to be a strange feeling between the father and the son. Even after many years of death, for Voldemort, there is still a faint connection with his father's ashes.

As for some of the things mixed in, he has no time to care.

"Go ahead, Wormtail." His lips moved.

"But Master, the boy hasn't come yet. I still need to be responsible for bringing him over. He will definitely resist." Peter Pettigrew looked a little hesitant.

"Are you questioning Voldemort's decision?" A cold voice came from the package.

"No, not at all, my respected master." Peter said respectfully and fearfully.

"It's not suitable for staying here for a long time, so we need to prepare in advance. Or, are you doubting my ability? Even if I look like this now, do you think I can't even deal with that kind of kid who only depends on luck? Crouch is always more useful than our savior, isn't it?" Perhaps because he was afraid that this useless man would mess up his own business again, Voldemort rarely explained his intentions and dispelled the doubts of his men.

"We prepared everything and just waited for the boy's arrival." Voldemort said rationally. He would immediately regain his physical body, regain his strength, and then kill the boy logically.As a sign of washing away their shame and a symbol of declaring their return.

Everything is so perfect.

Voldemort thought, fantasizing, a twisted sense of satisfaction on the snake's face.

Wormtail tore away the baggage from the ground, revealing what was inside.

A slimy, ugly thing without eyes—no, it's more terrifying than this, a hundred times more terrifying.The thing Wormtail held looked like a curled up baby.It has no hair, it seems to have scales on its body, and its skin is dark and red, like wounded tender flesh.Its arms and legs are thin and soft, and its face—no living child has such a face—is a flat snake face with sparkling red eyes.

The thing looked completely incapable of taking care of itself. It raised its thin arms and held Wormtail's neck.Wormtail took it in his hands and walked towards the cauldron.

Wormtail hugged the thing to the edge of the cauldron, and the splash of water on the surface of the potion illuminated the evil flat face.Wormtail put the thing in the cauldron, and with a hissing sound, it sank.

The soft body hit the bottom of the crucible with a soft noise.

Wormtail was talking, his voice trembling, as if frightened and confused.He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and said to the night sky: "Father's bones, accidentally donated, can make your son reborn!"

The ashes spread out with the black cloth rose into the air at Wormtail's call, and gently fell into the cauldron.The diamond-like liquid surface burst, hissed, sparks splashed, and the liquid turned a bright red blue, which was poisonous at first glance.

The ugly thing in the crucible screamed sharply: "Quick, next step, I can feel our savior is coming soon."

Wormtail was whimpering.He drew a long, thin, silver dagger from his cloak.His voice suddenly turned into a sob of extreme fear: "The servant-the meat-from... voluntarily donated, so that-your master-rebirth."