The atmosphere in the Quidditch stadium, now transformed into a nightmarish maze, was a strange mix of deafening festive music, cheers, and the palpable tension of the spectators.
Hestia and Flora Carrow had strategically positioned themselves at the bottom of the stands, almost at ground level and hidden by the shadows of the Gryffindor banners. From there, they could observe everything without attracting attention.
They saw Cedric Diggory enter first, followed by the heavy figure of Viktor Krum. Hestia and Flora exchanged a glance as they watched him slowly enter the maze, knowing full well who was hiding under that red Durmstrang robe. Then Fleur Delacour's bitch entered, and finally, the insufferable Harry Potter.
The minutes passed very slowly. The crowd murmured and tried to guess what was happening inside the maze and who was in the lead.
Then, the silence of the night was torn apart by a sharp, heart-rending scream, unmistakably female.
A moment later, a stream of red sparks rose into the starry sky from the depths of the maze.
At the bottom of the stands, Hestia and Flora had to cover their mouths with both hands to stifle the laughter threatening to escape their lips.
"That's what she gets for daring to touch our fiancé's hand," whispered Flora with a cruel, venomous smile, her eyes shining with satisfaction at whatever had happened to the Veela. "I hope an acromantula ripped that pretty French face off her."
"She deserved it," agreed Hestia, whispering back. "But that's our signal, sister. Aurelian has surely already intercepted Potter or is about to do so. He'll go with him to witness the resurrection, and the Polyjuice Potion will surely lose its effect very soon."
Flora nodded, her mind working as quickly as her sister's on the next step.
"If the teachers come in and don't find Krum, the alibi will fall apart. We have to move the package, now."
Without wasting a second, the twins turned and slipped like shadows among the ecstatic crowd, who were too busy watching the red sparks and commenting on the fall of the Beauxbatons champion to notice two sixth-year students leaving.
They ran silently through the outer corridors, circling the stadium and going around the castle until they reached the abandoned classroom where they had left the real Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian was still fast asleep on the stone floor, exactly as they had left him.
Hestia raised her wand.
"Mobilicorpus."
Krum's heavy body rose into the air. With Flora keeping watch on their surroundings, they guided the Seeker's floating body through the night mist toward the left side of the maze, away from the main entrance and the stands. With a precise movement of their wands, they opened a gap in the thick branches of the thorny hedges and deposited Krum's unconscious body on a dead-end path. They cast a few spells to tear his red robe a little and smeared dirt on his face to make it look like he had been attacked by some creature in the maze before passing out.
"The alibi is secure," Flora murmured, wiping her hands with satisfaction.
Quickly, they retraced their steps and ran back to the stadium, slipping back into their seats at the bottom of the stands just as the atmosphere at the tournament changed dramatically.
The festive music had stopped completely. Panic was beginning to spread among the spectators.
Hestia and Flora sat silently and looked toward the judges' and teachers' box. What they saw confirmed that Aurelian had succeeded.
Igor Karkaroff was kneeling on the wooden floor of the box, clutching his left forearm so tightly that his fingernails were digging into his flesh, drawing blood. His face was contorted with utter terror as he realized what had happened, sweating profusely and moaning in pain. A few feet away, Professor Severus Snape had also fallen to one knee, clutching his own left arm, his face deathly pale and his eyes tightly shut to endure the agony of the Dark Mark burning his skin red-hot.
The resurrection was complete. The Dark Lord was calling his own, and judging by their expressions, it was clear that he was not entirely pleased.
Down below, at the entrance to the maze, chaos reigned. Cedric Diggory, covered in mud and bruises and looking completely disoriented after being rescued from the depths of the Devil's Snare by the patrolling professors, was being questioned at that very moment.
Albus Dumbledore, wand in hand and wearing an expression of alarm rarely seen on his face, had Cedric by the shoulders.
"Cedric, look at me!" demanded the headmaster, his voice resonating with urgency. "Where is Harry? What was the last thing you saw before the maze trapped you?"
"He... he was right beside me, Professor," Cedric stammered, shivering from shock and cold. "We ran toward the cup. I fell into the Devil's Snare and... and then I asked him for help. He looked at me, smiled, and kept running... then... then I heard a thud, and I didn't hear from him again."
Dumbledore closed his eyes, the weight of the world falling on his shoulders as the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in the worst possible way.
From the shadows of the stands, Hestia and Flora held hands and intertwined their fingers. They leaned back against the wooden seats, breathing in the cold night air, watching the growing terror on the faces of the students, the teachers, the Minister of Magic, and everyone else in that place.
There was no fear in them, only a dark and somewhat comical amusement. Chaos had begun, her future husband's father had returned to life, and her beloved Aurelian was about to become the most dangerous wizard of this new era.
Aurelian, still leaning against the cold stone of the tombstone, watched his father. The Dark Lord walked slowly across the damp grass of the cemetery, testing the solidity of his steps, flexing the fingers of his newly formed hands. A smile of pure, dark satisfaction graced his aristocratic face.
Noticing his son's gaze, Voldemort turned toward him. He walked over to stand in front of Aurelian and, in a gesture of paternal affection that would have terrified anyone who knew Voldemort, placed both hands on his shoulders.
"You have done an exceptional job, my son," Voldemort said, his deep voice resonating with genuine pride, accompanying his words with a small, rare smile.
Aurelian held his gaze, unperturbed by the overwhelming presence of his father's magic, and returned a crooked smile.
"It was nothing, Dad."
A few feet away, tied to the statue of the Angel of Death, Harry Potter blinked weakly. The blinding pain in his scar had subsided enough to allow him to hear. As he processed the exchange of words, Harry's green eyes widened, bloodshot and filled with horror at the sight before him.
"Son!" Harry blurted out, spitting a clot of blood from his broken nose. "Father!"
The last of the Potters began to writhe frantically against the statue, ignoring the pain of his wounds. Fury and hatred consumed him.
"I always knew!" Harry shouted at Aurelian, his hoarse voice tearing through the silence of the cemetery. "I knew you were scum, Gaunt! You were the enemy from the beginning! You're a disgusting monster, a piece of trash who..."
The torrent of insults stopped short. Aurelian raised his right hand and snapped his fingers boredly.
Harry continued to scream, his mouth opening and closing forcefully, the veins in his neck bulging with the effort, but not a single sound came out of his lips. He had become completely mute. Harry stopped, surprised and terrified, trying unsuccessfully to bring his hands to his throat.
"You look much better silent, Potter," Aurelian commented coldly, lowering his hand.
Voldemort let out a soft, velvety laugh.
"Well done, Aurelian. The boy has always been annoying," said the Dark Lord, turning to pay attention to his followers.
He walked over to Peter Pettigrew, who was still curled up on the floor, moaning and cradling the bloody stump of his left wrist.
"My wand, Wormtail," demanded Voldemort, extending a hand.
Peter stumbled to his feet, sobbing, and with his intact hand pulled the wand from his robe to offer it to his master with a trembling bow. Voldemort took it, twirling it between his long fingers.
"And now... extend your arm, Peter," Voldemort ordered softly.
Pettigrew's tearful eyes lit up with a spark of hope. A small smile spread across his face as he extended the bloody stump of his left arm, hoping to receive a new hand for his sacrifice.
Voldemort's smile disappeared, replaced by a grimace of disgust.
"Not that one, you idiot! The other arm, Wormtail!" Voldemort shouted, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.
Seeing the look of disappointment and terror on the rat's face, Barty Crouch Jr., who was watching the scene from the side, couldn't help himself and let out a mocking laugh. Unfortunately, Barty's laughter was short-lived. Nagini raised her hand and gave him a gentle but firm tap on the back of the head.
"Silence, Barty. The Lord is working," Nagini reprimanded him with a placid smile. Barty rubbed his head and nodded, falling silent again.
Voldemort grabbed Peter's right arm roughly, pushed up the sleeve of his robe, and pressed the tip of his wand directly onto the Dark Mark.
Peter let out a muffled cry of pain. Within seconds, the mark turned black as coal.
In the night sky, clouds swirled, blocking the moon, and an unnatural cold descended on the graveyard. Seconds later, the air began to crackle with multiple sharp cracks.
One by one, hooded shadows wearing silver masks began to appear, materializing in a wide circle around the graves. They walked cautiously, hesitating, as if they couldn't believe their eyes.
As the Death Eaters took their places, one of the tall figures in the circle, who had removed his mask to reveal a face, raised his hand and greeted Aurelian with great familiarity.
Aurelian recognized him immediately. It was Alaric Carrow, the father of Hestia and Flora.
Aurelian returned the greeting with a slight nod and took a couple of steps toward him.
"Oh, Aurelian, how nice to see you here," Alaric greeted him quietly, his eyes shining with devotion and curiosity, without taking his gaze completely off Voldemort. "How have you been? And my daughters?"
"Everything has been perfectly fine, Mr. Carrow," Aurelian replied respectfully. "They are safe. They continue to learn and seem very content and happy."
Alaric smiled and chuckled softly, patting the young man on the shoulder.
"Don't be so formal, lad. We'll be family soon enough. Just call me Alaric, all right?"
Aurelian nodded, smiling back.
The reunion was interrupted when Voldemort stepped into the center of the circle. His mere presence caused all the Death Eaters to fall to their knees and bow their heads.
"Welcome, my friends," Voldemort greeted them, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling figures. "Thirteen years... thirteen long years have passed since we last saw each other."
Voldemort began to walk slowly around the inside of the circle, his footsteps inaudible on the grass.
"Thirteen years in which I was reduced to less than a spirit. And in all that time... no one came looking for me. No one tried to find me. All of you, who swore eternal loyalty to me, simply returned to your comfortable lives, pretending that I had been a mere mistake from your past."
He stopped and turned toward Aurelian. The fury in his voice disappeared, giving way to a tone of pride.
"As is customary, I have found that the only thing that can truly be trusted in this world... is blood," declared Voldemort, pointing to his son. "My own son, my flesh and blood, a young man of only sixteen, not only sought me out. He found me, sheltered me, helped me regain my body and restore my power in its entirety. That is why, seeing you here, kneeling before me, I feel nothing but deep disappointment towards all of you."
Voldemort stopped in front of one hooded figure in particular, whose platinum blond hair peeked out from under the robe.
"Rise, Lucius."
Lucius Malfoy stood up, trembling like a leaf. He removed his mask, revealing an already pale and terrified face.
"My Lord..." Lucius stammered, taking a step back. "I... I was always loyal. I maintained your influence in the Ministry, I..."
"Silence!" hissed Voldemort.
A shockwave of pure, raw, oppressive magic burst from the Dark Lord, hitting Lucius with such force that the blond fell backwards to the floor, unable to breathe from the pressure.
"We'll talk about your... oversights... another time, Lucius," Voldemort warned coldly, his eyes gleaming with the promise of torture for the diary incident. "Be thankful I'm in a good mood today."
Voldemort turned away from the terrified Malfoy and spun on his heels, his robe flowing elegantly. He walked until he stopped in front of the statue of the Angel of Death.
Harry Potter, trapped, speechless, and bloodied, looked at him with terror he could no longer hide.
Voldemort tilted his head, observing the boy with a mixture of unhealthy curiosity and contempt.
"And now," Voldemort murmured aloud, breaking the tense silence of the graveyard, "what shall we do with little Potter?"
----------------------------
I have a Patreon account. If you would like to support me, I would greatly appreciate it. You will be able to read up to 15 more chapters, listen to all chapters as audiobooks, and view images of the characters in the story for free. Thank you very much for reading my story :D
patreon.com/Daoistrg