Harry Potter’s Natural Villain Chapter 262: Before the resurrection

"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 who could People who are visible.

Maybe he was talking to a ghost?

After all, there 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 tall yew tree behind. Black silhouette of small church. On the left is a hill with an exquisite old house on the hillside

"Yes...Peter." A serpent's neighing sound came from the package, which showed that Peter was not mumbling to himself, but had someone to speak.

"Master, you will be able to have a body again soon." Peter Pettigrew said excitedly at this time, and 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 happens to this man’s resurrection, then he will not be able to flee forever. Sooner or later, he will be caught by those lingering Aurors. Caught among Azkaban, because his Animagus was also exposed and no longer had concealment.

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

"Yes...Yes, Master." Peter Pettigrew immediately controlled his hands that were shaking with excitement and quieted it.

"Now you can start preparing...My "medicine" should be on the way now, and 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 To accommodate an adult sitting in it,

Then Peter took out a package from nowhere, slowly opened it, and then began to add various medicines to the crucible, stirring, and soon, the liquid filled the entire crucible, as if it was about to overflow at any time general.

The sound of splashing is endless.

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

Voldemort's heart suddenly rises with a rather unclear premonition, as if someone is staring at him, and that is someone who can make him feel fear.

Peter Pettigrew is stirring the crucible faster and faster, and his sturdy arm is desperately stirring the liquid in it 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 branch in his hand, and then dragged his pudgy body in the direction Voldemort was pointing.

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

"Master, I 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." Pettigrew Peter 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, don’t you think I can even deal with that kind of kid who only depends on luck Nope? Old Crouch is always more useful than our savior, isn't it?" Maybe 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 have everything ready, just wait for the boy's arrival." Voldemort said rationally, he would regain his physical body, regain his strength, and then kill the boy logically. As a sign of washing one's shame and a symbol of declaring one's return.

Everything is so perfect.

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

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

A slimy, ugly thing without eyes--no, it's more terrifying than this, a hundred times more terrifying. The thing Wormtail was holding 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 gleaming red eyes.

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

Wormtail hugged the thing to the edge of the cauldron~IndoMTL.com~The water splash on the surface of the potion lit up the evil flat face. Wormtail put the thing in the cauldron, and with a hissing sound, it sank.

The soft sound of the soft body touching the bottom of the cauldron.

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

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 is whimpering. He drew a long, thin, silver dagger from his cloak. His voice suddenly turned into a sob of extreme fear: "Servant—the flesh—self.....voluntarily donate, so that—your master—rebirth."