His body was extremely tall yet emaciated, his skin pale as paper, while a layer of gray-black long hair covered his surface. If his upper body still retained some semblance of a human, then his lower body was more like a rotting corpse.
Below the waist, the flesh had decayed and turned black, faintly emitting the stench of death. His body still barely maintained a humanoid shape, but his head no longer resembled a human at all.
His red eyes and orange snake-like pupils needed no further mention. His nose had flattened like that of a snake, with only two thin slits for nostrils. His bald head was covered in scale-like skin, and his temples bulged high, like the horns of a dragon.
Terrified, Aries lowered her head and fetched a wizard's robe, draping it over Voldemort.
"Food. I need to eat." After getting dressed, Voldemort continued issuing orders.
Aries froze for a moment, then immediately brought over their stored provisions.
Voldemort sat cross-legged and, without the slightest concern for appearance, took the food from Aries. He didn't even bother to heat it, devouring it ravenously.
He ate at an astonishing speed, tossing food into his mouth, chewing it a couple of times at most before swallowing. It was as if he had become a snake—he no longer needed to chew at all.
At first, he was still eating normal food like bread, cheese, sausages, and fruit. Later on, he began stuffing flour, dried meat, and even eggs directly into his mouth.
His originally emaciated ribcage began to swell at an astonishing rate, looking as if a ball had been stuffed into his chest.
In an extremely short time, after devouring all the provisions of the four members of the secret order, Voldemort cast a glance at Aries. His eyes were filled with desire, exactly like a predator looking at plump prey.
Aries was terrified.
For a moment, she felt as if Voldemort would pounce on her, tear open her robes, and devour her completely. She had a vague idea of what had happened to Taurus.
But in the end, Voldemort suppressed the desire within him—if he killed the woman before him, his connection with the secret order would be severed.
Although it wouldn't be difficult for the secret order to find him again, it would likely require more explanations, and he had no intention of wasting time on that.
"That Taurus seemed to mention that the British Ministry of Magic will be holding the Quidditch World Cup this year?"
Aries nodded.
"How long until the final begins?"
"Less than a month."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. The World Cup final meant a massive gathering of people.
He smiled. It was time to bring a little shock to the British magical world.
Let this World Cup become the stage for his return.
"I will bring destruction and death! Are you ready? Albus Dumbledore, and—Harry Potter!" Voldemort burst into maniacal laughter, and thick, ink-like shadows spread from beneath his feet, gradually covering the entire cave…
…
"Ah!!!" Harry suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, a tearing pain erupting across his forehead.
His scar was burning.
It took a full minute before Harry recovered from the intense pain. Trembling, he reached for the glasses on his bedside table and put them on.
Even with his glasses, his vision remained doubled. The sharp pain felt as though it were sawing his head apart, and sweat soaked through his pajamas.
With a loud crack, an extremely old house-elf appeared beside Harry's bed.
"Does Master Potter require Kreacher's services?" it asked in a low, hoarse voice. Kreacher bowed deeply, his ugly nose nearly touching the floor. At the same time, he muttered in what he thought was an inaudible whisper, "Brought into the house by that wastrel, defiling the noble House of Black, filthy half-blood…"
When he had first moved in, Harry would get angry at Kreacher's "muttering," but now he had grown used to it.
After a month of living together, he had long since become accustomed to Kreacher's madness. He knew this pitiful house-elf was simply senile and had been filled with too many misguided beliefs.
Of course, getting used to it didn't mean he didn't dislike it. He waved his hand, signaling for Kreacher to leave his bedroom.
To be honest, Kreacher's presence only made Harry more uncomfortable. He always felt as though he was being watched by the house-elf.
Harry wasn't wrong—Kreacher had indeed been keeping an eye on this "intruder" in the Black family home.
Kreacher grumbled as he left, while Harry was now completely awake.
He somewhat regretted not asking Rhys for some calming potion before leaving school.
Lying on the soft bed, he stared blankly at the exquisite crystal chandelier on the ceiling. As time passed, the pain in his scar gradually subsided.
'How long have I been here?' The thought suddenly crossed Harry's mind. He counted it up—it had been about a month.
This had been the happiest period of his life—excluding his days at Hogwarts.
A spacious bedroom, a clean and comfortable bed, three meals a day with as much food as he wanted, and most importantly, no shouting or scolding from Uncle Vernon. Harry had never even dreamed of such a life before.
Thinking back on this month of happiness, Harry's mood gradually calmed. Slowly, drowsiness returned, and he drifted back into sleep.
Early the next morning, Harry saw Sirius in the dining room.
At that moment, he was reading that day's Daily Prophet.
"You're awake? Breakfast will be ready soon. Would you like some tea first? Coffee is fine too." When Sirius suddenly saw Harry sit across from him, he was momentarily dazed. For a brief instant, he had the illusion that Harry looked so much like his father that his memories blurred, and he thought James had come.
Harry poured himself a cup of hot tea.
After hesitating for a moment, he told Sirius about the abnormal change in his scar.
Sirius tossed the newspaper aside and frowned.
"I'll write to Dumbledore and ask."
"Don't—" Harry raised his hand at once. Seeing Sirius look at him in confusion, he quickly explained, "Dumbledore is very busy…"
"This is not a trivial matter." Sirius didn't share Harry's concerns. In his view, whatever "work" Dumbledore had was of lower priority than the change in Harry's scar.
Harry: …
"Don't dwell on it," Sirius said, changing the subject when he saw Harry's low mood. "I remember you made plans with the Weasleys to go watch the Quidditch World Cup?"
Weasleys and Quidditch—Harry's interest was finally sparked.
"Yes!" Harry said excitedly.
In a few days, he would be heading to the Burrow.
____
12 Chaps ahead at Patreon.com/HornyFBI