Entitled

Chapter 67

You can feel the tension thrumming through your body as you make your way to the Dark Lord's estate, your fox form granting you the speed and stealth you need to get far enough from Hogwarts before apparating. The morning of the final Triwizard Tournament has filled you with an unsettling mix of dread and determination.

Severus had been worried, you could see it in his eyes, but there had been no other choice. You whispered your reassurances to him, trusting he would convey your support to Harry. "Tell him I cannot be there, but remind him how capable he is. I will be rooting for him."

The dark whispers of Voldemort had been relentless, compelling you to his side under threat of Wormtail's intervention. And so, you find yourself standing at the edge of a desolate cemetery beside the estate, the air heavy with an oppressive chill. The Dark Lord, still frail but radiating malevolence, stands before you with Wormtail hovering nearby, his eyes darting nervously.

"Today, I will complete my transformation," Voldemort hisses, his voice dripping with malice. "And I will kill Harry Potter."

You force yourself to remain composed, though your mind races with the implications. "How do you intend to accomplish this?" you ask, keeping your voice steady.

"The ritual is prepared. Wormtail will assist me. The blood of my enemy will restore me to full power," Voldemort explains, his voice dripping with malevolence.

The moments stretch into an unbearable tension as you wait. Then, with a sudden, blinding flash, the Goblet of Fire appears, disgorging Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. 

Horror seizes you as Cedric is instantly struck down, his lifeless body crumpling to the ground. Harry is restrained, his struggles futile against the bonds of dark magic.

You pull your hooded cloak tighter, the mask hiding your features. Your heart pounds as the ritual begins, Voldemort's voice chanting incantations that seem to draw the very essence of life from the surroundings. Wormtail, trembling, follows the Dark Lord's instructions, a grotesque combination of fear and reverence in his eyes. He harvested a bone from an unwilling father, a hand from a willing sacrifice, and Harrys blood, from an enemy.

The air vibrates with malevolent energy as Voldemort's frail form is engulfed in a dark, swirling mist. When the transformation is complete, he stands tall and powerful, his red eyes glowing with unholy light. The sense of dread deepens as you witness his rebirth, his cruel smile twisting his features.

He raises his wand, a sinister gleam in his eyes, and the Dark Mark burns bright in the sky, summoning his Death Eaters. The cemetery fills with the sudden apparitions of cloaked and masked figures, their loyalty evident in their swift response to the call.

You stand among them, your own cloak and mask concealing your identity. The weight of the moment presses down on you as you watch Harry struggle, bound and helpless before the Dark Lord.

The tension in the cemetery is palpable as the Death Eaters, their identities concealed by their masks, bow before Voldemort one by one. Each name he calls is met with a flinch or a grimace, and then a reverent bow. You stand on the sidelines, your heart pounding, trying to blend in, almost paralyzed by the fear of intervening.

Voldemort's voice echoes with a cruel edge. "Welcome, my friends. Thirteen years it has been, and yet... here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

He tears the mask off Crabbe, then Macnair, then Goyle, each name punctuated with venom. The men bow low, their fear evident. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Voldemort approaches Lucius. The man's arrogance is unmistakable, even through his mask. Lucius bows deeply, his silver cane gleaming in the moonlight.