novelcrest Chapter 429 Durmstrang Ends
Chapter 429 Durmstrang Ends
Chapter 429 Durmstrang Ends
"Peter, you know—I don't like to fail."
Voldemort's wand swung above Peter's head, gleaming with a dark, cold light. Peter felt a sense of oppression envelop him.
He was so frightened that his whole body trembled uncontrollably.
"But—" Voldemort changed the subject, "I'll reluctantly trust you this time, because I need a servant to complete the task I haven't finished."
Peter immediately felt the suffocating pressure on his head dissipate slightly, like a drowning person finally breathing a breath of air.
He immediately knelt down and kowtowed repeatedly.
"Thank you, Master! Thank you for your forgiveness! I will definitely prove my loyalty! I will never let you down!"
From behind the bushes in the distance, Riddle saw this scene and his face showed deep disgust.
He muttered under his breath, "This guy doesn't deserve to live? He's an insult to the magical world."
"Speak," Riddle gripped his wand, abruptly stood up, and prepared to deal directly with that ridiculous and twisted future "self."
However, Sean stopped him again.
"Let's go back."
Riddle turned his head abruptly. "Going back already?!"
Sean smiled and said matter-of-factly, "Of course. We don't even know the location of his seventh Horcrux yet. Killing him here would just mean he'd come back again soon, so it's pointless. Besides, without him, who will cover for us? Keeping him alive is still useful."
Riddle's brow furrowed deeply, as if he wanted to argue back.
But Sean continued, "Besides, look at him now—a dwarf, a pathetic wretch thrown into a garbage dump. Wouldn't you get your hands dirty dealing with him?"
Riddle paused for a moment, looked down at the wand he was holding, imagined the image of the other dying under his wand, and finally slowly put the wand away, letting out a cold snort: "He is indeed not worth my personal attention."
Sean patted Riddle on the shoulder. "That's more like it. Don't rush things. This show has only just begun. Let's see what other funny things he can do next."
Then, he paused, and said meaningfully,
Some failures are worth appreciating repeatedly.
Surrey County, Little Huigkin District.
No. 4, Ligustrum Road.
Harry woke up with a start, sitting up abruptly with a cold sweat on his forehead and a slight ache in his lightning bolt-shaped scar.
He was breathing heavily, his eyes darting around, as if he hadn't completely emerged from that strange dream.
Voldemort huddled in the iron pot, while Peter Pettigrew beside him trembled as he performed some kind of ritual.
Blood dripped, red light shot into the sky, and Voldemort was resurrected from the iron pot... But the scene in Harry's mind suddenly shifted, and the scene that had just been shrouded in oppressive and terrifying atmosphere became strangely... comical.
That terrifying Voldemort rose from the iron pot, only to become a dwarf!
Yes, Voldemort's body was incredibly small; even his wand looked longer than his arm.
He struggled to wave his short arms, trying to cast spells with his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the movements were comical. His angry screams, filled with helplessness and shame, echoed through the cemetery, and even Peter dared not look directly at his ridiculous appearance.
Harry wanted to move but couldn't, and could only watch helplessly as it all unfolded.
He saw Peter kneeling on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly and explaining that the "blood had deteriorated" or that there was "not enough blood."
Upon hearing this, Voldemort's comical dwarf face contorted even more, and he let out a shrill scream: "Peter! You useless fool!"
Harry gasped for breath, completely breaking free from the dream.
"Voldemort... has he come back to life?" he muttered to himself.
But... Voldemort has been resurrected as a dwarf? This scene puzzled Harry.
"This is absurd," he thought, frowning. "How could this be? If Voldemort really came back to life, how could he look like this?"
However, the details of the dream were so vivid, and the oppressive atmosphere and Voldemort's angry screams echoed in his mind again and again.
After thinking it over, Harry decided to tell Professor Phillips and Sirius about the dream.
So he got up, took parchment, ink and quill from his bedside table, sat down at his desk, and tried to recall every detail of his dream. Finally, he picked up his pen and began to write a letter.
To Professor Phillips:
Dear Professor Phillips,
Hello.
I must report something to you, which may be very important—about Voldemort.
Didn't I tell you last time that he might be resurrected?
He has been resurrected...::... and has become a dwarf.
I know this sounds incredibly absurd, but it's true.
Please don't laugh yet.
When Sean returned to Durmstrang, it was already past midnight.
In the days that followed, the training proceeded smoothly without any major incidents.
Time passed quietly in this peaceful atmosphere, and in the blink of an eye, a month had gone by. As the Quidditch World Cup approached, Durmstrang's "summer camp" gradually drew to a close.
On the morning of the last day, the students gathered outside the auditorium to see Sean and his group off.
Sean left Durmstrang with his own coaching staff, Lupin and Sirius.
On the other side, a humble dwelling.
Harry has moved into the Weasleys' Burrow.
Hermione arrived with him.
The Burrow remained as magical and cozy as ever, with oddly shaped clocks hanging on the walls, a faint aroma of soup wafting from the boiler, and the floorboards occasionally creaking. It was an atmosphere that Harry longed for.
Home, this is the taste of home.
That's what he thinks.
"Hermione, come and try this!" Ron poked his head out of the kitchen, holding a freshly baked cookie. "Mama said it's a new recipe—with some honey and dragon fruit powder!" He grinned smugly. "I guarantee you've never tasted anything so special before. Hopefully, it won't be as 'special' as you said last time." Hermione put down her book, smiled, and went over to take the cookie. She took a small bite. "Hmm! Actually—it tastes pretty good."
"I knew it!" Ron exclaimed, beaming. "Harry, wanna have one?"
"Thanks," Harry said, turning around with a smile as he stood by the window. "But don't tell me there are any 'secret' ingredients, like Galleon ear powder."
"Hey, that was Fred and George's prank!" Ron protested.
At that moment, Molly Weasley came out of the kitchen carrying a large pot, her face slightly sweaty, but her expression still full of busy energy.
"We'll eat in the garden outside," she said, gesturing outside. "There's not enough room for eleven people here. Girls, could you take these plates out? Bill and Charlie are setting the table. Ron, Harry, you two, go get the cutlery!"
After saying that, she pointed her wand at the pile of potatoes in the pool, trying to make them peel off on their own, but she didn't expect to use a little too much force.
The potatoes peeled at an astonishing speed, shooting up like bullets and crashing into the walls and even the ceiling.
"Oh dear!" Molly exclaimed in annoyance, then quickly waved her wand at the winnowing basket beside her.
The winnowing basket immediately jumped up and slid nimbly across the floor, gathering the scattered potatoes one by one.
"Those two!" she said angrily, pulling out pots and pans of various sizes from the storage room. "I have no idea what they'll become! They have no ambition whatsoever, all they do is cause trouble all day!"
Harry knew that the "two guys" she was referring to were Fred and George.
Mrs. Weasley slammed a large brass saucepan onto the table, stretched out her wand and stirred it. As she did so, a thick cream sauce gushed from the tip of her wand, filling the entire kitchen with its enticing aroma.
"They're not unintelligent," she continued, moving the pot to the stove, "but they're using their intelligence in the wrong places! If they don't pull themselves together, they're going to be in big trouble. I don't even know how many whistleblowers Hogwarts sends them—to be honest, more than all the other people combined! At this rate, they'll be in the office of abusing magic sooner or later!"
With a wave of her wand, the knife drawer sprang open, and several knives shot out, rapidly slicing potatoes through the air.
The potatoes had already been emptied back into the sink using a winnowing basket, so this came in handy.
Ron and Harry carefully avoided the flying knives and each picked up their cutlery.
"I really don't understand what's wrong," Mrs. Weasley sighed, putting down her wand and pulling out more cauldrons. "It's been like this for years, one mess after another—oh, wait, something's not right!"
She had just picked up the wand from the table when it suddenly let out a piercing scream and instantly turned into a giant rubber mouse.
"It's their fake wand again!" she shouted angrily. "I don't know how many times I've told them not to leave this junk lying around everywhere!"
She picked up her real wand again, and as soon as she turned around, the cream sauce on the stove began to smoke.
"Let's go," Ron quickly grabbed a set of cutlery from the drawer and whispered to Harry, "Let's go help Bill and Charlie."
The two quickly slipped out of the kitchen, went through the back door, and arrived in the garden.
They had only taken a few steps when they saw Hermione's ginger, bow-legged cat Crookshanks chasing something around the garden.
The bottle brush of Crook Mountain held its tail high, eager to hunt.
The thing was covered in mud and looked just like a potato with legs.
Harry looked closely and immediately recognized it as a goblin. The goblin was only ten inches tall, but its legs were like two small horns, allowing it to run very fast.
It trotted across the garden and plunged headfirst into an old Wellington boot near the door.
Crookshanks, not to be outdone, reached his claws into the boot and grabbed at the goblin. Harry heard the goblin's maniacal, cacophony laughter coming from inside the boot.
Just then, a deafening crash came from the other side of the house.
They turned around and saw Bill and Charlie using their wands to make two dilapidated tables collide in mid-air.
The tables shook violently, each trying to knock the other to the ground.
Fred and George cheered excitedly, Ginny laughed so hard she almost fell over, while Hermione stood by the fence, both nervous and amused.
"Bang!" Bill's table slammed into Charlie's table, knocking off one of its legs.
Just then, a crisp thud came from above. Everyone looked up and saw Percy sticking his head out of a third-floor window.
"Can you guys keep it down?" Percy yelled angrily.
"Sorry, Percy!" Bill grinned from ear to ear. "How's the bottom of the crucible?"
"This is terrible!" Percy said irritably, slamming the window shut.
Bill and Charlie exchanged a glance, grinned, and with a gentle wave of their wands, placed the tables back steadily on the grass.
Bill casually used his wand to put the broken table leg back together, then conjured a tablecloth and covered the table.
By 7 p.m., the table was piled high with Mrs. Weasley’s lavish dinner—roast chicken, ham pie, boiled potatoes, salad, and other delicacies, making it almost impossible to breathe.
The Weasley family of nine, plus Harry and Hermione, all sat down in the garden to enjoy the feast. The deep blue night sky was clear and cloudless, the stars twinkled, and the air was filled with the aroma of food.
For Harry, this meal was like heaven.
He had been filling his stomach with almost stale cakes all summer, and now he was able to enjoy such a feast—it was simply too extravagant.
At first, he was so focused on getting his hair done and eating that he didn't pay any attention to talking.
"Harry, you seem to have grown taller," Ginny said, looking up at him with her bright eyes.
"Really? Maybe Dudley didn't steal my bread at my last meal before I left," Harry replied half-jokingly.
"I heard Ireland's Seeker is incredibly strong this time," Ron said excitedly, stuffing a large piece of beef into his mouth. "Their captain, Callahan, is as fast as a rocket! I bet they'll win this time!"
“But Bulgaria has Krum,” Hermione retorted, putting down her spoon and showing interest in the game discussion. “The world’s youngest Seeker, his performance could change the outcome of the entire game.”
"But he's one man against an entire team!" Ron said, his mouth full of food, spitting out some breadcrumbs. "Those three Irish chasers could easily overwhelm Bulgaria!"
"Krum isn't just an ordinary Seeker; his skills are top-notch," Hermione said seriously. "We read about him in The Wizarding Weekly before; his Quidditch tactic is called 'Bandit Meteor,' a kind of unconventional flying technique."
"It sounds like you're already a fan of Krum," Ginny teased Hermione, giving her a wary look.
Hermione's face flushed slightly, and she was about to retort when Fred suddenly interrupted her: "You're all too naive. The highlight of this World Cup isn't Krum or Ireland's Chaser."
"Oh?" Harry asked with interest, "What's that?"
George leaned closer and said mysteriously, "A fireworks show! Rumor has it that the Rich family's new creation will eclipse the stars in the sky, and there's even a giant fire dragon flying through the air, made entirely of magical fireworks!"
"Speaking of dragons, Charlie, do you know any inside information?" Ron turned to look at his older brother.
Charlie, who was leisurely sipping a butterbeer, smiled upon hearing this: "Well, I can't reveal too much—but I can tell you, those weren't ordinary fireworks. The wizard who designed the dragon model borrowed inspiration from a dragon breeding base in Romania, and the effect is said to be quite stunning."
"Borrowed inspiration?" Fred grinned mischievously. "Sounds like you secretly brought back some real dragon scales."
Upon hearing this, Molly immediately glared at him: "Don't spread rumors! Children, eat your food! It won't taste good if it gets cold."
After dinner, the Weasleys' living room gradually became lively.
Everyone moved chairs around the fireplace and discussed the Quidditch World Cup the next day.
Harry noticed that, despite the slightly muggy weather, the flickering firelight from the fireplace seemed to be an integral part of the house, making the entire Burrow feel even more cozy.
Fred and George looked energetic and started whispering to each other in the corner right after they finished eating.
They held a rolled-up piece of parchment in their hands, which looked like some kind of plan or blueprint.
Ginny leaned over for a peek, but they quickly pushed her away with their elbows.
"What are you two up to now?" Ginny asked, hands on her hips, staring at them suspiciously.
"A secret project," George replied seriously, but a mischievous smile played on his lips.
"You absolutely can't tell anyone, not even your dearest sister," Fred added, winking at her.
Ginny snorted, turned around and went back to the sofa, sitting between Harry and Hermione, muttering, "It must be some idea that's going to make Mom angry again."
"Mom's angry?" George exclaimed, feigning surprise. "Ginny, we're making magical history! How many people will scramble to buy our 'Weasley's Special Colorful Firecrackers' when the World Cup audience sees them tomorrow!"
"As long as they don't blow anyone up," Hermione said calmly, with a hint of warning in her tone.
"Hermione, you still don't understand our talents," Fred said with a smile. "Our firecrackers won't hurt anyone."
It will also allow them to witness magical sights unlike anything they've ever seen before!
"For example—" George continued, "a giant hat that can dance, or a unicorn that emits rainbow smoke."
"Alright, you two." Charlie shook his head and leaned back in his armchair. "Don't blow your fingers off."
"Charlie, you underestimate us," Fred said, feigning displeasure.
Molly Weasley, having finished cleaning up in the kitchen, frowned upon hearing this: "If you dare cause trouble at the World Cup tomorrow, especially in front of the Minister of Magic, just wait and see! I don't want to receive another complaint letter about you!"
"Don't worry, Mom," George agreed quickly, but a sly glint flashed in his eyes. "We are the pride of the family."
At that moment, Ron and Harry were fiddling with a World Cup schedule and discussing Ireland's starting lineup.
Hermione, holding a book, would occasionally chime in to correct Ron's mispronunciation of the contestants' names.
"Harry, you know what?" Ron suddenly looked up, his face beaming with excitement, "Dad's taking us to the scene tomorrow in a port key!"
That's way faster than Floo Powder! And I heard the World Cup venue is the world's largest magic arena!
"Portkey?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing slightly. "It's just an ordinary item that's been enchanted, capable of instantly teleporting you to a location," Hermione explained. "It's very convenient, but you need to catch it precisely at the designated time."
"I've never used a door key before," Harry said, somewhat curious.
"Don't worry," Ron patted Harry on the shoulder, "you'll like it. Just a little dizzy, though."
"Huh?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Ron just lost his balance and fell," Ginny joked with a laugh. "The first time he used the key, he spent ages crawling on the floor looking for his shoes."
"That's because—" Ron blushed and was about to retort when Hermione couldn't help but chuckle.
Just as everyone was chatting and laughing, a low rumble came from outside the window.
Harry looked up and saw a green light flash across the night sky before disappearing into the distance.
"What is that?" Harry asked.
Charlie got up and walked to the window, squinting at it for a while: "It should be a shooting star. I heard from others that there seems to be a meteor shower recently, and wishes made from shooting stars are especially effective. I hope everything goes smoothly in tomorrow's Quidditch match."
"I hope so," Harry said softly, a mix of anticipation and inexplicable unease stirring within him.
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