Snape and Moody weren't the only ones who suddenly wanted to learn hypnosis. They were both thinking the same thing—skills like this were never a burden. The more tools you had, the better.
Only Fudge stood there looking utterly dazed, loudly insisting that this "wasn't magic."
As if that was some kind of revelation.
Arthur had just said it was Muggle hypnosis.
Sure, he'd reinforced it with magic and spiritual power, but at its core, it was still hypnosis.
Dumbledore watched Barty Crouch Jr. finally begin to speak in earnest, and his gaze sharpened.
He went straight to the most important question.
"What is Voldemort's plan?"
Barty's eyes were unfocused, his voice flat as he answered.
Dumbledore's expression tightened. He immediately pressed again.
"And Harry?"
Barty replied, giving Harry's location.
The instant Dumbledore heard it, he turned as if to leave—ready to go after Harry at once.
Arthur stopped him with a hand.
"Relax. Hermione's already followed."
Then Arthur pointed up at the sky.
The images above were still hovering.
Sometime during their interrogation, Hermione had already traced the Portkey's spatial ripple and followed Harry to the Riddle family graveyard.
Normally, Hermione wouldn't have been able to do something like that. Following the residue of a spatial transfer wasn't easy.
But recently, while Arthur had been learning spatial theory from Ranni, Hermione had been listening in as well.
On top of that, Arthur had given Hermione the second droplet of the Golden Tree's condensed [Fusang Trait Dewdrop].
Her talent and understanding in spatial magic had risen dramatically.
When she Apparated into the graveyard, she wasn't discovered at all.
Arthur swept his hand through the air.
The hundred-odd maze feeds vanished at once, leaving only Hermione's viewpoint.
Then he enlarged it until everyone could see clearly.
The scene shifted fully to Harry.
The moment the Portkey spat him out, he looked up—
And his blood ran cold.
A winged Grim Reaper statue stood in front of him, scythe raised.
A cauldron sat at its base.
Gravestones surrounded the clearing.
Thick fog rolled across the ground under a heavy, gloomy sky—Harry couldn't see more than a few steps ahead.
Ignoring the cauldron, the place matched the nightmare he'd seen far too many times.
Then his scar exploded with pain.
No one had to tell him what it meant.
A single thought rose on instinct:
Voldemort is coming closer.
And almost immediately after, footsteps crunched through the mist.
A hunched figure emerged.
Peter Pettigrew.
In his left hand: a wand.
In his right: a bundle.
Not a baby.
Voldemort—still not fully restored.
Voldemort in spirit form could possess living hosts, but the host's life drained quickly.
That was why he'd pursued the Philosopher's Stone in Harry's first year.
This time, he'd possessed a baby's body—but the life had already rotted away.
What remained in the bundle looked ancient and shriveled.
Harry's pain made it hard to focus.
Pettigrew didn't waste the opening.
He snapped his wand up—
And in an instant, Harry's mouth was sealed, his throat clamped by invisible force.
Harry struggled, trying to cast without words—
But the next second, his wand was ripped away.
Then Pettigrew used Transfiguration, shifting the statue's posture and forcing Harry up against it—
Pinned like a sacrifice.
He opened his mouth, probably about to launch into some villainous speech—
But the thing in his arms hissed, impatient and cold.
"Begin. Now."
Pettigrew flinched, then, like he was venting his fear, he yanked the bundle open and dumped Voldemort straight into the cauldron.
As if he were afraid the audience wouldn't understand, Pettigrew chanted as he worked.
"Bone of the father… unknowingly given…"
He swung his wand, tearing a bone from the grave of Voldemort's father—Tom Riddle.
The bone flew into the cauldron and ignited midair, burning without fire.
Back in Hogwarts, Arthur saw it and immediately burst out laughing.
Snape turned sharply. "What are you laughing at?"
Arthur forced his grin down and said, "I remembered something happy."
Snape narrowed his eyes. "What happy thing?"
Arthur waved him off. "Keep watching."
Snape didn't press further and looked back up.
"Flesh of the servant… willingly sacrificed…"
Pettigrew put away his wand, drew a knife—
And chopped off his own right hand.
He dropped it into the cauldron.
He didn't even bother stopping the blood. Instead, he stumbled toward Harry.
Cowardly as he was, the man could be terrifyingly ruthless toward himself.
"Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken…"
Pettigrew slashed Harry's wrist and collected his blood.
"The Dark Lord shall rise again!"
Harry's blood hit the cauldron.
Flames erupted.
Harry's scar screamed like it was being split open.
The fire roared higher and higher until it swallowed the cauldron itself.
A silhouette formed in the blaze—
Voldemort.
The black smoke twisted, reshaped by Transfiguration into a robe that draped over his body.
He lifted his hands, slow, savoring the feel of flesh.
A long, hungry sigh.
Rebirth.
But as his fingers traced his face, Voldemort froze.
Something was wrong.
He had…
A pig's snout.
And when he tried to step forward, he pitched—hard—like a man who'd forgotten how to walk.
He hit the ground.
Voldemort stared, horrified.
Because he didn't have legs.
From the waist down, his body was a serpent.
Arthur saw it and absolutely lost it.
He laughed so hard he couldn't stop.
And the moment the crowd caught on—
The whole stadium exploded into helpless, roaring laughter.
The air that had turned heavy with dread only seconds earlier was shattered by pure, uncontrollable amusement.
Snape's mouth twitched, his eyes brightening with the answer.
He glanced at Arthur with unmistakable suspicion—and a hint of delight.
"When did you do it?"
"Last summer," Arthur said, grinning openly now. "I mixed pig and snake bone into his father's bone. Didn't expect it to suit him this well."
He laughed again, eyes shining.
"My newest magical creature. What do you think?"
Arthur spread his hands as if presenting a masterpiece.
"Let's call it a Pig-Nosed Serpent."
That did it.
Even Snape finally cracked.
Back in the graveyard, Voldemort scrambled upright and rounded on Pettigrew.
"What is this?" he hissed. "Wormtail!"
Pettigrew dropped to his knees, trembling. "I—I don't know, my Lord!"
Voldemort stared at him, disgust curling like smoke.
There was no point asking further.
"Give me my wand."
Pettigrew, shaking, offered it with his remaining hand.
Voldemort snatched it and jabbed himself twice.
His pig snout flattened into a more human shape.
His serpent lower body twisted, forced into legs.
But it was only a temporary solution.
A Transfiguration patch.
When the spell faded, the truth would return—snout and tail and all.
With his "appearance" stabilized, Voldemort turned his cold attention back to Pettigrew.
"Hold out your hand."
For one hopeful second, Pettigrew's face brightened.
He actually thought—
That Voldemort might restore what he'd sacrificed.
Then Voldemort's voice cut like ice.
"The other one."
Pettigrew's hope died in his eyes.
But he didn't dare refuse.
He extended his left hand.
Voldemort seized it and pressed his wand tip directly to the Dark Mark burned into Pettigrew's arm.
Green light flared.
Above the graveyard, the clouds twisted into a massive Dark Mark.
And one by one—
Figures Apparated into the circle.
At Hogwarts, Karkaroff felt it too.
The summoning.
He tried to resist—because he'd betrayed them once, selling names in a courtroom to save himself.
But Voldemort's call wasn't something you simply refused.
Those who resisted suffered.
Karkaroff clutched his arm, screaming, face warped in agony.
Then he looked up—
And saw Snape.
Standing there calmly.
No pain.
No reaction.
Karkaroff's eyes went bloodshot with shock and fury.
He hissed at Snape, "Why are you fine?! Why aren't you feeling anything?"
A terrifying thought struck him.
Could Dumbledore have been right all along?
Was Snape truly a spy?
But even if he was—
The Dark Mark was still there.
He shouldn't be untouched.
Unless…
Unless Snape had a way to remove it.
Karkaroff's breathing turned frantic.
He didn't even wait for an answer.
"You have a way, don't you?" he pleaded, voice cracking. "Help me! Quickly!"
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