303 Chapter 25, Disillusioned

As soon as he landed, little Barty made a sound like howling ghosts and wolves, broke away from Hoffa, and rushed towards the dilapidated building towering in the night, "Master, master! Your most loyal servant is back!!"

A hoarse sound like a broken gong could be heard far away in the night.

Nicole May frowned and looked at the crazy little Barty, and looked around, "Is this where Voldemort is now? It looks like it has been abandoned for many years."

"Otherwise, you think he lives in a five-star hotel," Hoffa shrugged, "It's pretty good to be able to live in this kind of place for so many years."

"I never imagined that the Dark Lord, who was unparalleled more than ten years ago, would have fallen to this point." Nicolas sighed, "I think you may not know how arrogant he was before."

"To what extent?"

Hoffa raised an eyebrow.

"There is no one who can't be killed. In this regard, he is really like his ancestors."

"Slytherin?"

"Including the three Peverell brothers, except for the youngest Peverell, the other two are bloodthirsty guys."

"You know it well?"

"Although I have never seen them, I believe that everyone's alchemy products will bear the indelible brand of their master. And Cadmus Peverell is a legendary master who plays with life and death. "

After a pause, he smiled and said, "It's just that this kind of person is often taken care of by the god of death. I heard that after his death, his soul will be hung on the thorny road of Helheim, and he will never be free."

"The Way of Thorns in Helheim?"

Hoffa asked curiously, "What is that?"

"I've only heard of it."

Nicolas shrugged, "That's a very old legend, no one knows what it means."

At this time, a short figure interrupted their conversation. His head protruded, and with an embarrassed smile flashing on his face, he nodded and bowed to Hoffa and said, "Mr. Babach, master, master invites you in."

"It's you, Wormtail!"

The excited little Barty grabbed Peter Pettigrew's arm, stroked his bald head, and said eagerly and frantically, "Quick, take me in quickly. Take me to see the master, I haven't seen the master for thirteen years The style is great!"

Peter Pettigrew pushed Little Barty's hand away anxiously, "Come with me."

After speaking, he led the three of them to the heights of the Riddle Mansion.

While walking, Little Barty asked, "Where are the others? Lucius, Bella, and Severus. Are they all back?"

"No."

Peter Pettigrew grumbles, "I'm the first, uh. If you don't count this Mr. Bach, you're the second"

"What!?"

Little Barty immediately yelled indignantly.

"Don't those people have a vicious and cruel father, why didn't you come back, and why did you let the master live in such a messy place!?"

Facing his questioning, Peter Pettigrew remained silent and did not answer.

At this time, Youyou's question came from the depths of the castle.

"Is Barty back?"

It was Voldemort's voice, and Barty Crouch Jr. was excited, his face was full of blissful joy, and his feet were running vigorously: "Sure enough, sure enough, Master loves me the most. Sure enough, Master still remembers me"

boom! !

Returning to the burning fireplace hall, Little Barty stood panting at the door of the hall, tears welling up in his eyes: "Master. My respected master, my dear master, your most loyal servant is back."

The numb tone made Hoffa standing next to him feel goosebumps.

"Come here, let me see you." Voldemort said hoarsely, leaning back in the chair.

"Yes, master."

With tears in his eyes, Little Barty knelt down like a pilgrim, and crawled forward.

In front of the fireplace, Voldemort's chair turned around.

Little Barty climbed to the chair and slowly raised his head.

Hoffa on the side kept glancing at this guy, and then he saw a wonderful scene that he would never forget in his life. Before that, he never thought that a person's expression could be so complicated.

I saw little Barty looking at the chair, that crumpled little thing like a monkey fetus.

The expression on his face changed from frenzy and joy to stunned, then gradually cooled down, and turned pale, then gradually frightened, then gradually bewildered, and finally he lowered his head, his body trembling: "Master!? "

"It's me." Voldemort laughed.

Little Barty lowered his head and stammered, "How did you become like this?"

"I am cursed, by a vicious woman."

"Is that so? That's really damn it," Little Barty said, but he didn't mean much to share the same hatred, and his tone sounded only numbness and confusion.

Hoffa couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth.

At this time, the smile on Voldemort's face gradually changed. He leaned back on the wide chair, his short fingers resting on the back of the chair, and his red eyes were a little sinister.

"Why, I make you feel very disappointed."

"I, I, I didn't," Barty Jr. said subconsciously immediately, "You, what are you thinking about?"

"Oh, it's fine if you don't,"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and said slowly, I haven't heard you call me master for many years, I really miss it, call me a few more times now and listen. "

"Master" Little Batty's cheek muscles twitched, and he yelled a little stutteringly.

"Look at my face," Voldemort said quietly.

Little Barty raised his head with difficulty, and Hoffa who was standing aside could see a smile on his face, but that smile was extremely stiff and restrained.

"Master, master."

Um. Voldemort raised his slender fist, stroked the withered yellow hair of the young man in front of him, and then looked at him weakly and playfully, this action distorted his stiff, stone-like smiling face even more.

Voldemort: "No, call me my lord. Just like when I first came in."

Little Barty: "Respect. Respect, master"

"My dear master again," continued Voldemort.

"Dear . darling, dear lord of . "

Little Barty squeezed out a smile, but his expression was stiff as if he was about to collapse. Hoffa could see the fists on his knees tightly clenched, and the veins on the back of his hands were bulging.

After staring at each other for a while, he finally couldn't take it anymore, bit his lip, lowered his head, and his nails sank deep into the flesh.

"Okay, you go down."

Voldemort waved his short arms, and said indifferently, "Our guest and I still have something to discuss. Wormtail, take him down."

"Yes, master."

Pettigrew Peter, who was hiding in the corner and watched coldly, came forward and grabbed Barty Jr.'s arm. Barty Jr. turned pale, stood up in a daze, and staggered out following Pettigrew Peter. When passing the door, accidentally fell down.

"Mortal, hehehe"

When there were only three people left in the room, Voldemort raised his head, with a trace of desolation and loneliness in his eyes, but that trace of emotion was quickly extinguished by the flame of desire.

He looked at Hoffa and Nicole Flamel: "Which of you two decides?"

Nicole Flamel glanced at Hoffa and was about to stand up, but Hoffa said one step ahead of him: "We are just partners, and there is no one who decides."

"Hmph, you're so smooth, Bach." Voldemort smiled noncommittally, and looked at Nicolas May: "Hey, old man, why do you want Peverell's alchemy, want to change the shell for yourself Is it?"

"You are truly astute, my lord Dark Lord."

Nicole May lowered her posture, "I've had enough of this old and weak body, and now I can't do many things well."

"Then why don't you use the Sorcerer's Stone?" Voldemort sneered: "Four years ago, I asked you to borrow the Sorcerer's Stone, but you not only refused to borrow it, but also carefully hid it."

"The Sorcerer's Stone can barely last, but it can't bring me vigorous vitality."

Nicole May spoke eloquently: "I didn't know at the time that you needed it. Moreover, Dumbledore said hello in advance, and I couldn't refuse. A person of your status must understand."

Hoffa looked at the old man's impeccable lies, thinking that the thicker his face, the thicker he was.

He punched the cotton, and Voldemort, who didn't take advantage of it, quickly lost interest in Nicolas. He waved his hand, "Okay, let's get out. For Bach's sake, I will let you participate Come to my resurrection ceremony, how much you can remember depends on your own ability, but don't expect me to teach you anything."

"Thank you Dark Lord."

Nicole Flamel bent down again, at this moment he looked more like a loyal servant than Batty Jr.

After bowing, he stepped back, closing the door like a good butler, leaving Hoffa and Voldemort alone in the room.

Voldemort looked at Hoffa, and said indifferently: "Next, how do you plan to send Harry Potter to me?"

"I don't have too many ideas, probably sneaking into Hogwarts." Hoffa said honestly: "He is under the protection of Dumbledore, and it is still difficult to send him regularly."

"On that point, I have a suggestion."

Hoffa guessed what he was going to say.

Sure enough, I only heard Voldemort say: "The Defense Against the Dark Arts class in that school was cursed by me. No one has ever been able to sit in office for a full year. I got some wind that they will send that guy Alastor Moody this year. A teacher. I don't know if you've heard of him, he's a retired old Auror, two classes behind us."

"Really?" Hoffa raised an eyebrow.

"You find a way to pretend to be him and sneak in. They will hold some Triwizard Tournament this year. You first let Harry Potter show off a little bit, and then give him a hard blow."

Hoffa shook his head: "I can't pretend, if it's Transfiguration class, I don't mind, I'm not good at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Be less modest, Mr. Bach, with your shape-shifting ability, the simple black magic in those textbooks is nothing more than analogy."

He looked at Hoffa maliciously: "Hmph, besides, didn't you tell me fifty years ago that when Melles retired, you wanted to apply for a position as a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts? What, Now you are living more and more cowardly?"

"I"

Hoffa fell silent, he felt that there was nothing wrong with Voldemort's thinking. It's just that he really doesn't like the feeling that no matter what he does, he can't get out of the shackles of fate, as if no matter what he does, he seems to be walking in the same place, turning around in circles, always returning to the original point, what should happen It must happen.

"You do this first, and when I recover Hogwarts, I'll give you a Ravenclaw headmaster and a transfiguration teacher. Of course, if you want to be the headmaster, that's fine too."

Voldemort skillfully wrote a bad check, not caring about the subtle difference in Hoffa's expression: "Well, my friend is interesting enough. Not only can I resurrect your little girlfriend, but I can also help you reach the pinnacle of life."

"Let's talk about it after you've done it."

Hoffa said dryly: "What about Little Barty, what are you going to do?"

"Let him follow you," Voldemort waved his arms indifferently, and smiled. "If you need a biting dog, he will be very effective. If it is you, I think he will be happy to help you bite."

"Must be?" Hoffa frowned, "I can do well without him."

"must."

Voldemort lowered his head, and said slowly but viciously: "Either you kill him, or you take him with you, as long as you send Harry Potter over before I come back to life, you can do whatever you want."

Hoffa said no more.

After finishing the business, Voldemort looked a little tired. He leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes: "Come on, Bach, I don't think we need to meet again until you send Harry Potter."

When Hoffa returned to the hall of the Riddle Mansion, Nicole Flamel had already waved his wand in the empty hall. The objects in the hall were moved around, and a studio was quickly built. It seemed that he was ready to learn the resurrection technique here.

"Where's little Barty?"

Hoffa asked Nicole Flamel.

Nicole Flamel pointed to the corner, "Look, that's not it."

Looking at Nicolas May's fingers, among a pile of dilapidated wooden boxes, Barty Crouch Jr. was sitting in the corner of the hall like a sculpture, hugging his knees, with a miserable expression of lovelessness.

Hoffa thought it was funny, so he came to him: "Hey, do you want to go with me?"

He was completely unresponsive and seemed deaf.

"Hey, are you going?" Hoffa asked emphatically.

"Uh huh.?"

Little Barty's soul returned to his body little by little. He raised his eyelids, looking at a loss, and didn't hear what Hoffa was saying at all.

That look made Hoffa both funny and a little sympathetic. Peter Pettigrew came to Voldemort because he had been discovered by Harry Potter and Sirius, and he had nowhere to go. But little Barty is not, his father is a high-ranking official of the Ministry of Magic, he is far from having nowhere to go, even if he falls in Azkaban, his father has transferred him out, his needs are not material things at all survival, but spiritual sustenance.

But now this sustenance completely collapsed the moment he saw the weak, weak and extremely ugly Voldemort.

Perhaps Barty Jr.'s thinking is still stuck in the era of Voldemort's infinite glory more than ten years ago, living in the moment when he was extremely powerful, living in his own excessive fantasy.

This made him think of the tragedy of those male netizens in later generations who were deceived by excessively beautiful photos of women, only to find out that the other party was a tiger tank after seeing the real person.

It's just that Voldemort is not an ordinary woman who uses beautiful photos, let alone a mediocre person who cares about appearance. He is a demon with a strong desire to dominate.

Perhaps Barty Jr. was still immersed in disappointment and couldn't extricate himself, and didn't find out. But Hoffa has just read a clear killing intent in Voldemort's eyes, and he can sentence Barty Jr. to death based on this alone.

Perhaps when Voldemort is fully resurrected, what awaits this poor creature is death or endless torture.

However, all of this has nothing to do with Hoffa, and his sympathy quickly evaporated into nothingness. There were thousands of guys living in the dream, and Hoffa felt no obligation to wake them up.

Regardless of whether it was Voldemort's intention to disgust himself, or to kill someone with a knife, since Voldemort had brought little Barty with him in the conditions he set out for himself, he had to bring this guy along for the resurrection technique.

"Let's go." He said coldly.

"where to?"

Little Barty was at a loss: "Mr. Bach, I...can I go back?"

"Go back?" Hoffa grinned with a sneer, "No, you have to follow me."

"We... what are we going to do?"

"Resurrect your master."

Hoffa finished speaking lightly and walked out.

Resurrection Master

Resurrection master.

Resurrection master?

Little Barty was like a dying person grabbing a life-saving straw, suddenly jumped three feet high, showing some kind of ecstatic expression, he hurriedly followed behind Hoffa, breathing fast and expecting: "What, wasn't that my master just now?"

Hoffa: "You don't think so?"

"Of course not. My master is wise and mighty, and everyone surrenders with every gesture. How is it possible?" He looked back at the Riddle House, with a disgusting abomination on his face, and he gritted his teeth: "How could it be that kind of evil?" A monster that is not a ghost."

As he spoke, he seemed to have brainwashed himself, rubbing his hands with a longing look, "That's right. That's right, my master must still be somewhere, not coming back, and waiting for me to rescue him. It must be like this. Bach Sir, is that so?"

"Yes." Hoffa said nonchalantly.

"Great, it really is like this!!!"

Hoffa's affirmation made Barty Jr. even more excited, and he immediately broke away from the state of doubting life: "Tell me quickly, how can I resurrect my real master."

Hoffa sighed secretly, and then pretended to be serious: "If you could bring your real master back, what would you do?"

"I can do anything."

Little Barty patted his chest confidently, "I'm amazing."

Happy Tanabata everyone~