A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 488: Felix's Death and Return (Ten Thousand Words)

Howling winds and swirling colors enveloped Harry, Ron, and Hermione, dragging them forward until Harry's feet touched solid ground once more. They found themselves in a completely unfamiliar place.

It was a graveyard.

Seated on the ground, the three felt deeply shocked.

"Where are we?" Ron asked. "I don't see anything familiar. Are we in a graveyard?" Weeds grew around, black stone slabs stood erect all around. Harry shook his head, scanning around. Behind a tall sequoia, he spotted the outline of a building.

To the left was a hill. Harry could make out a quaint old house on the slope.

"Looks like something went wrong with the trophy's transportation," Harry said, searching around. The trophy lay several yards away from them.

"Would the Ministry make such a basic error?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"Oh, Harry, look over there!" Hermione pointed anxiously in a direction.

"It's people, pick up your wands," Harry said decisively. They tensely squinted into the deep darkness as three figures made their way toward them between the graves. Were they nearby Muggles? Harry pondered, but quickly dismissed the idea; they were all wearing wizarding cloaks.

"Halt! Who are you?" Harry shouted at the approaching figures.

Laughter fragmented on the wind; this was not a friendly sign. Harry raised his wand, but they halted at a distance of a dozen feet, reaching up to remove their hoods. Harry, Ron, and Hermione relaxed a bit. Harry noticed the person in the middle had unnaturally pale skin, almost like someone suffering from a dreadful disease.

The person on the far left revealed his face. "Barty Crouch Jr.!" Hermione shrieked. Harry was startled, forgetting about the person in the middle, shifting his gaze leftwards. Memories from a Christmas night half a year ago flooded his mind. "It's really you!"

"Potter," said the younger Crouch, grinning widely, "you should call me 'Professor.' After all, I taught you so much."

Ron beside him tugged on his sleeve. "H-Harry—"

He didn't need to say it. Harry also noticed a pair of eyes brimming with malice, emanating from the person in the middle. As he removed the cloak, his nose flattened like a snake, with nostrils as narrow slits... Harry felt a sense of familiarity in this appearance; the person used unnaturally pale, elongated hands to touch his forehead, revealing crimson eyes.

Not a trace of warmth in those eyes.

"Voldemort?" he shouted aloud.

"How dare you speak the master's name!" Barty Crouch Jr. angrily drew his wand, but a hand stopped him. A chilling, sharp voice followed, "They are my guests, brought back by me. Barty, I permit their rudeness this time," said Voldemort.

"Master, shall I handle those two nuisances?" Yaxley humbly asked, bowing his head. "I emerged from the maze castle to offer my help."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't recovered from the immense shock. The night air felt like piercing ice, a chilling sensation spread from their lungs to their whole bodies.

However, Voldemort showed no reaction to Yaxley's words. His eyes, red and unable to discern pupils from whites, lingered on Harry, exuding greed, hatred, and a hint... of fear?

Standing on the far left, Barty Crouch Jr. returned to his gentlemanly facade, lazily playing with his wand, casting a disdainful glance at Yaxley—what did he know, wanting to replace his position? Crouch licked his lips, displaying a sickly smile.

"So, you're back?" Harry stepped forward, shielding Ron and Hermione behind him, bravely locking eyes with Voldemort. He needed to attract the attention, create an opportunity for Hermione and Ron to escape, inform the professors, inform Headmaster Dumbledore.

But his heart sank, plunging as though into an abyss. A voice told him, the chances were too slim. A year ago, Crouch was stronger than all three of them combined, not to mention Voldemort, who was now resurrected.

Harry stared into Voldemort's eyes, trying to display his fearlessness. Yet, his scar unexpectedly flared up violently, more intense than ever before. His head felt like it was about to explode. One hand clutched his scar, while the other gripped his wand tightly. The excruciating pain made him convulse on the ground, a nauseating turmoil surged through his stomach, even suspecting he might die any moment.

He heard Ron and Hermione shouting something, followed by sharp whistling sounds and bodies hitting the ground heavily.

Then, a sudden coolness spread through his brain, swiftly alleviating his agony. It was Occlumency.

"Tsk, tsk... your friends are quite concerned about you," Voldemort said, devoid of any emotion.

Harry opened his eyes, seeing stars, his vision blurred, remnants of intense pain lingering. It took several seconds to focus on Voldemort's face so close—almost a corpse's color, bone-white. He had no hair on his head, vivid red eyes appearing sinister in the darkness, pupils regressed to two slits, like snake's eyes.

What did he just say? My friends? Harry had a dreadful suspicion, no... absolutely not... he struggled to get up, each movement piercingly painful, yet he didn't release the wand in his hand.

If Ron and Hermione... he dared not entertain the possibility, his stomach churned again, fingers cut by the stones from gripping the wand tightly. Harry gritted his teeth, the pain providing some relief. Struggling to rise, he glared at Voldemort with eyes full of hatred.

A cold, sharp, mocking laugh responded to him.

He staggered to his feet, shook his head vigorously. Voldemort silently stepped back two paces, still glaring at him with those loathsome eyes.

Then, Harry heard a faint moan. It was Ron! Harry felt a surge of joy; he hadn't died, thank goodness! But what about Hermione? He couldn't hear any movement from her position on his left; it was deathly silent. Harry didn't dare turn to confirm.

"You've been too heavy-handed, Yaxley, that girl could've died," Voldemort spoke softly, "Barty did well."

"Ma-Master...?" Yaxley lifted his head, puzzled, while Barty Crouch Jr. sneered silently beside him.

"I have use for all three of them," Voldemort spoke softly, his eyes still on Harry, "but those two... not only are they the best friends of the 'great savior' Harry Potter, but also—according to Barty—they're both close to Felix Harp?"

"Yes, Master," Barty Crouch Jr. said deferentially, "especially that Muggle girl. She became Harp's assistant in her second year."

Voldemort sneered twice.

"Pure-blood families have fallen completely. Their descendants have become useless, allowing vile Muggle blood to rise above them."

He started pacing, back and forth in front of Harry. Harry stood, eyes fixed, gripping his wand tightly. If he used a spell now against Voldemort, then summoned the trophy with

the Accio charm... but no, both Crouch and the Death Eater were watching him.

Harry was frantic. Voldemort had spared him temporarily, not out of kindness, but with a more sinister plan in mind. Harry's mind raced; surprisingly, even in his weakened state, the Occlumency was still working, preventing him from falling into despair.

"I've been eagerly awaiting this, meeting with the 'great savior' Harry Potter..." Voldemort softly said. Harry's peripheral vision followed his slender, pale fingers, loosely holding a wand, as if any Disarming Charm could make the wand slip away.

Harry was itching to act.

Voldemort was too arrogant, considering himself completely defenseless. Could this be his vulnerability?

"...I've been looking forward to being reborn through his blood, breaking free from the prophecy's bonds, and then killing him. But my plan failed," Voldemort regretted, bare feet trampling over soil and grass, rustling faintly, "Hogwarts is more dangerous than thirteen years ago, besides that Mudblood and the Muggle's protector, Albus Dumbledore... there's also Felix Harp, more radical, more proactive than the elderly Dumbledore..."

"I had to abandon the best plan—after almost losing my only loyal servant," Voldemort stopped, his snake-like eyes narrowing as he spoke unpleasantly. Harry tried to keep his focus on Voldemort's hands without making it too obvious.

"So I settled for the next best thing... You have no idea how frustrated I was, Harry Potter. I tasted defeat once again."

"Besides, you're wi—" Harry shouted, but Voldemort abruptly waved his hand.

"Crack!"

The wand fell to the ground. Harry widened his eyes, unable to follow Voldemort's movement. His reaction was too quick, as if he had been anticipating it. Voldemort slowly turned, stared at him for a few seconds, and raised his wand murmuring, "Crucio!"

Harry felt every bone in his body burning. His head felt like it was splitting along the scar, his eyes bulging, ready to burst under immense pressure. His body contorted in the opposite direction, as if it would snap in two. He wished for it to stop... wished to pass out... wished for it all to end...

Then, Harry felt a slight reduction in the pain, a warmth from his pocket. Two forces were shielding him: one was Occlumency, the other was the knot gifted by Nona. Though both were weak, they were effective.

Voldemort's serpent-like face twisted into a cruel, satisfied smile. His wand remained pointed at Harry, but time seemed indefinite.

The torment finally ceased.

Harry felt completely drained, sweat soaking his back, breathing heavily. His head still against the ground, he sensed Voldemort's delight. Why did torturing him make him so happy?

Harry couldn't grasp this emotion, but he was certain of one thing—he hadn't made a mistake—especially since he felt no joy in himself.

"Bind them," Voldemort softly commanded.

Someone approached. Harry's face was in the mud, the wand nearby but out of reach, a rope entangling him as he was dragged along the ground. He caught sight of Ron and Hermione similarly restrained—Ron's leg unnaturally twisted, his face pale, Hermione limp, as if lifeless.

Then, they were hoisted up by the ropes, their backs against a cold surface—Harry realized it was a black tombstone. He saw the person before him, Barty Crouch Jr., one hand adorned with a silver glove.

"Recognize this, Potter?" Crouch nervously licked his lips. "This is the reward from the Dark Lord to me." Harry glared, but Crouch remained unaffected. The ropes wound around Harry relentlessly, from neck to ankles.

Crouch departed.

"Extend your arm," Voldemort lazily said. Yaxley and Crouch simultaneously extended their left hands, revealing a vivid red tattoo. Voldemort pressed his long, pale finger on Crouch's arm, turning the mark pitch black. Crouch emitted a faint gasp.

Voldemort straightened, scanning the dark graveyard.

"How many had the courage to return after sensing it? How many were foolish enough not to?" he murmured.

Voldemort resumed pacing, occasionally glancing at the graveyard. Harry didn't know what was happening, but he sensed trouble. He struggled to think of a way out—Apparition? Impossible without a wand, especially with two others by his side.

He couldn't escape alone.

Wait... Professor Snape? Harry's eyes widened as he desperately grasped at that glimmer of hope, thoughts racing to anything related to Snape... He finally remembered—the Sign of the Deathly Hallows.

In his third year, Snape had mentioned that their Hallows were specially charmed to contact him proactively, a precaution against potential Animagus Peter.

But Harry's hopes faded; he didn't have the Hallows on him. Yet... someone else might.

He strained to look left—Hermione remained unconscious.

"Hermione..." Harry whispered, but the gap between them was too wide. He was tightly bound, and his struggle drew Voldemort's attention.

"Concerned for your friend, Potter?" Voldemort softly spoke, pacing closer. "Though just a mere Mudblood, her use is greater than you imagine..." His gaze swept over Hermione, Ron, and Harry, mockingly adding, "Muggle-born, half-blood, and pure-blood—a dramatic ensemble!"

"Revive her!" He pointed his wand at Hermione. She weakly opened her eyes, seeing Voldemort nearby, her body recoiling, aggravating her injuries and eliciting a painful moan.

Voldemort, however, disregarded her agony, turning his attention back to Harry.

"I believe letting your best two friends witness your demise would be fitting," he said cruelly, a savage smile on his face. "After that, shall it be the pure-blood killing the Mudblood, or the Mudblood killing the pure-blood? Or perhaps, both at the hands of this little boy... I haven't decided yet, but I'm sure it'll make quite the spectacle."

"You're... dreaming," Ron grimaced.

Voldemort turned to him, sneering. "Weasley? A disgusting family... Crucio!"

Ron screamed in agony.

"No—"

"Don't—"

Harry and the just-awakened Hermione yelled, but Voldemort's smile grew wider. "I relish this feeling, the power over life and death..." He continued to torment Ron with his wand, yet this time, the torture was shorter. Voldemort stopped of his own accord, scanning around.

The air suddenly filled with rustling cloaks. Figures emerged from every shadowy corner—wizards in hoods, faces concealed. Carefully they approached, Voldemort stepping forward, silently waiting.

A Death Eater knelt, crawled to Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his robes.

More Death Eaters followed suit, including Crouch and Yaxley. Only Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort calmly spoke, delivering a speech on his return. Harry wasn't paying much attention, instead signaling Hermione subtly. She hadn't noticed; injured—

"I sense guilt... no one sought me out proactively... didn't you all know I had taken measures to prevent my death?" Voldemort's voice echoed. "Perhaps you thought a stronger power overcame Voldemort, overcame your master... like hiding behind that old man at Hogwarts? Or the seemingly lucky boy in front of you?"

The kneeling Death Eaters trembled when they looked at Harry, gasping collectively.

"Lucius, surprised? I heard your son and Harry Potter were in the same year?"

"M-Master," Lucius Malfoy's voice emerged from the sea of Death Eaters, "the Malfoy family has always been loyal to you. Draco and Potter are enemies at school! Like me, he hates Muggles, hates Potter, hates Dumbledore."

Lucius raised his head. "Master, your return is a relief—"

"Lucius," Voldemort lazily said, "my cunning friend, hypocrisy runs in your veins. Like everyone else, you never tried to seek me out... But your performance at the Quidditch World Cup was intriguing. I believe... you still enjoy leading in the torture of Muggles? Despite your earlier disappointments... I hope you'll serve me more faithfully."

"Of course, Master, of course... Your generosity, thank you—"

Voldemort proceeded to name others, even those absent. The kneeling Death Eaters awaited their fate. Harry continued to communicate subtly with Hermione. He succeeded

, seeing a faint nod from her.

"Weasley... isn't it curious?" Voldemort hissed, slowly approaching Ron, whose breaths were ragged. "Being the youngest of your siblings... most expendable, perhaps?"

"Leave him!" Harry's voice trembled. "You've done enough!"

Voldemort chuckled, but before he could speak further, a distant rumble echoed. The ground trembled beneath their feet. The Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances.

Voldemort raised his wand, commanding his followers to stay put. But the tremors intensified. The ground cracked, a fissure forming, rapidly expanding. A blinding light emerged from the crack, engulfing Voldemort and his followers.

Chaos erupted. The Death Eaters struggled, attempting to escape the escalating pandemonium.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, frantic.

Harry strained against the ropes, desperation in his eyes. The ropes loosened, giving him enough space to move his hand. He reached for the wand, uttering, "Diffindo!"

The ropes snapped. He turned to Ron, freeing him next. The fissure widened, swallowing the Death Eaters one by one.

Hermione joined Harry and Ron, her wand already in hand.

"Confringo!"

The tombstone exploded, debris flying in all directions. Harry, Ron, and Hermione ducked, shielding themselves. The ground continued to quake.

Then, as swiftly as it started, the light and chaos vanished, leaving the graveyard eerily silent.

Harry looked around, finding himself, Ron, and Hermione alone, the Death Eaters vanished. But Voldemort? He was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did they go?" Ron panted.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, scanning the horizon. "But we need to find out."

>

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