Harry tutted and began to lecture. "You can't just stop in the middle of the ritual! It's too late now! You've approached the crossroads. You have to make your deal. Death is waiting. Well, not literally, I kinda know it, not to brag - but metaphorically, or something. Death's magic is here. If you don't finish the ritual, all of us might die!"
Barty looked green.
"Well what are we gonna do if I can't have yer blood? Won't that end the ritual early?"
Harry hadn't considered that. Damn.
"Bartemius Crouch! What is happening over there!?" Voldemort screamed. He was being rather impatient, honestly.
"Your name is Bartemius?" Harry gasped. "Oh gods, that's awful! No wonder you're evil!"
"Bartemius the Second," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, I murdered the shite outta my dad for that one!"
"That's fair to be honest. Look, take some of my blood - but don't you dare cut my arm off. And then when you go to cast the final incantation, stand on the northern point, not on uruz, okay?"
"Blood of the enemy!" Barty tried again, and a faint trickle released from Harry's neck.
Harry's three drips of contribution splashed into the cauldron with great fanfare.
The man straightened and beamed at his success. He continued around the circle to the northern part. The full moon, not quite at its apex but close enough to provide suitable dramatic lighting, cast its glow over the cauldron.
Barty added a variety of items to the elixir. Some human hearts, a large hunk of rock, a whole gallon of innocent frogs tossed in alive and ribbeting. You needed everything to craft a body, was the crux of it, down to every mineral and vitamin necessary to keep that body running. That would explain the carrots - peeled and finely chopped which were added alongside some Ashwinder eggs and foxglove. Last to enter the cauldron was baby Voldemort who was unceremoniously dropped in.
Hazy electric green mist began to boil out from the cauldron. It was thick as smog and made Harry's lungs very displeased. Their forms now reduced to obscured figures, magic flooded the circle and coated the roof of Harry's mouth with a cloying iron taste. The mist shimmered and spun under the moonlight.
With a final swell of violent green light, the cauldron began to ooze thick tar-like sludge, erupting into the air and cascading black bubbles that boiled the ground beneath into arid gray earth. The outline of a figure emerged from the cauldron, arms raised in dramatic fashion, cackling fervent, inhuman laughter. All that was missing was a rising orchestral swell of music and a clash of lightning behind the figure as the sludge settled and revealed the figure of Lord Voldemort.
Well, something rose from the cauldron, scaly and noseless and eyes of red ruby blood. And naked. That was the part of this evening that would traumatize Harry the most. There were no words to describe such horrors.
Voldemort laughed villainously for a long while, put some clothes on, and turned his monstrous face toward The-Boy-Who-Continually-Defeated-Him.
"Harry Potter!" He said. "I've struck you speechless, haven't I?
"What the hell happened to you!?" Harry screamed in terror. "Holy hell. You're hideous! You're so ugly! Damnit Barty, do you believe me about your shitty ritual now? Look what you've done! It took your nose!"
Voldemort conjured a mirror and gazed at his reflection. He rubbed a hand over his bald head and poked his gaunt, leathered cheek. The prideful Lord felt horror trickle up his spine. He was hideous!
"All according to plan!" He bluffed. "I am no longer mortal! I am beyond."
"Uh huh," Harry said. He was very grateful Death had not disfigured him like this.
"Silence, boy! Barty, your arm!"
Barty held out an arm and Voldemort revealed his Dark Mark. Harry was uncomfortable at the flirtatious look Barty sent Voldemort as the man fingered the tattoo. With a resounding crack, the edge of the salt circle was surrounded by cloaked figures.
Their bone-carved masks stood stark against the night sky. They stood at attention, wands in firm hands; the Dark Lord's army.
"Ah, my friends!" Voldemort said and began to monologue. He went on for a good while. Harry tuned him out. Was he supposed to wait for a specific cue? Was Death expecting him to kill Voldemort now or should he wait? How was he supposed to get back into contact with Death anyway? Should he make another attempt at summoning it?
"Well, Potter," Voldemort said. "I have heard they've trained you up. Rumor has it you can conjure fiendfyre hm? Would you care to demonstrate?"
"Sure," Harry said. There was his dramatic cue!
"One of you! Fetch the boy's wand," Voldemort said, a feral grin on his snake-like face.
"Oh no need," Harry said politely. The Elder Wand was buzzing with excitement as it tore through the ropes binding him and smacked into Harry's waiting palm. He stepped forward, twirling it between his fingers. The Hallows trilled and Harry ripped the darkness into his grasp.