Harry withdrew the flames scorching the dark wizard, granting him ample time and space.
Azure flames coalesced behind him, gradually forming a chair composed of Gubraithian Fire.
He sat on the chair, retrieved a crystal ball from his pocket, set an alarm, and said to the dark wizard, "I give you one minute. If you don't answer my questions, you die."
With that, he placed the crystal ball aside.
"Take off your mask!" Harry commanded.
The dark wizard complied, removing the skull mask from his face.
Harry could now clearly see his appearance: a face full of fleshy rolls, a vicious expression, dull features, and a slightly tall stature, though that didn't matter.
"Name?" Harry asked.
"Corban Yaxley," the dark wizard gasped.
"Where is Voldemort?" Harry asked again.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, I cannot say," Yaxley answered cleanly and decisively.
As soon as the words fell, the surrounding flames surged up, enveloping Yaxley.
The scorching sensation devoured his sanity. He watched as the sweeping flames clung to him, re-attaching to the wounds that had just been cauterized.
"Ahhhhhh—" Yaxley could endure it no longer and let out a miserable scream.
Harry watched the screaming Yaxley with interest and said, "Screaming? Screaming counts against your time too."
"No, no, no, Mr. Potter, I'll talk!" Yaxley shrieked. "The Master, the Master is at the Riddle House! He is conducting a resurrection ritual at the Riddle House! Peter is assisting him..."
"What other accomplices?" Harry asked.
"We don't know!" Yaxley said repeatedly. "Anyone who asks about this dies. How would we dare pry into the Dark Lord's secrets? I'm telling the truth, spare me, spare me, Mr. Potter!"
As an outstanding fourth-year student, Harry truly didn't have much of a murderous intent.
He withdrew the fire, leaving only a ring of flames to guard the Death Eater captives, penning them firmly in the center.
He remembered Mr. Septimus's words well: it is best not to stain one's hands with too much blood. He didn't understand why Mr. Septimus said that, but there was no harm in following it.
After confirming the captives wouldn't escape, Harry continued forward, crossing the graveyard to a clump of bushes.
Just then, a short figure walked out of the Riddle House. His face wasn't clear, but the spell he cast was decidedly unfriendly.
A swishing sound, followed by a shrill cry piercing the night sky.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A blaze of intense green light appeared, but the azure flames surged forward and swallowed the spell whole.
Aside from the short wizard in front, there was a voice behind him.
"Impossible!"
A hissing voice sounded from behind him; it was Voldemort's voice.
"Nothing is impossible, my dear Tom." Harry turned his head, smiling beamingly. "I really didn't expect you to show up in Little Hangleton, Tom. Did you reach middle age and suddenly think of your Muggle blood, craving some fatherly love?"
"Sharp-tongued Potter!" Voldemort said darkly.
"I am genuinely curious, Tom." Harry asked leisurely. "Don't you despise your Muggle blood the most? Why would you come to Little Hangleton, to the Riddle House? Let me guess... is it because the resurrection ritual requires your father's bone? How ironic. You hate your father so much, yet in the end, you have to use his bone to be reborn... You're a bit disgusting, Tom. You're acting like a whore who wants a monument to chastity."
"Whore and monument?" Tom obviously didn't know what the phrase meant.
"It means you want to be a whore but also want a monument to your chastity," Harry spread his hands. "Professor Howin taught me that. You probably don't know her... well, a hundred years ago, she was the Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts. Anyway, it's not a compliment."
"Potter, your verbal attacks cannot anger me," Voldemort smiled sinisterly. "I really don't care what you say anymore."
"True, after all, I'm only stating facts. If you got angry, it would just look like incompetent rage," Harry chuckled. "So, are you ready? My dear Tom, are you ready for me to kill you again and send you off to another Horcrux?"
"It seems you already know the secret..." Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes. "But I have completed my Horcruxes. The current me cannot die. Unless you destroy the Horcruxes first, even if I am defeated by your spells, I will be reborn quickly!"
Saying this, Voldemort removed his hood, revealing a face paler than a skull.
Two large eyes were red, his nose flat like a snake's with slits for nostrils... looking just like the electrical sockets Muggles use.
I'm sorry, I am professionally trained and would absolutely not laugh in this situation.
Harry clutched his stomach and burst into laughter.
Sorry, this was just too damn funny.
"Are you done laughing?" Voldemort smiled gloomily, then looked down at the grave Harry was standing on. "Harry Potter, you are standing upon my father's bones... He was a Muggle and a fool... just like your dear mother. But they both have their uses, don't they? When you were young, your mother died to protect you... I killed my father, and look, how useful he is after death..."
"See that house on the hillside, Potter? My father lived there—my mother was a witch who lived in this village and fell in love with him. But when she told him what she was, he abandoned her... My father didn't like magic..."
"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents. I wasn't born yet, Potter. My mother died giving birth to me, and I grew up in a Muggle orphanage... But I vowed to find him... I took revenge on him, that man who gave me his name... Tom Riddle..."
He continued to pace, his red eyes scanning the graves.
It sounded like he was talking to Harry, but Voldemort was actually speaking to the Death Eaters.
"How sweet the taste of revenge, Potter." Voldemort cackled. "True, I do not like my father's filthy Muggle blood, but that doesn't matter. I believe he would be willing to atone for his past—if he had accepted my mother, perhaps I wouldn't have been left to wander, living in an orphanage."
"Oh, give it a rest, Tom." Harry rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what your mother was like. She was just a pure bitch. It was her unrequited love for your father, poor old Riddle, and then she used Amortentia to violate him. He was truly pitiable—not only did he suffer such treatment in life, but he also has to endure your slander in death. Tom, is it so hard to admit your mother was a whore?"
Voldemort gritted his teeth, glaring at Harry; he was truly enraged.
This little bastard, why does he have to touch every sore spot?
But he forcibly suppressed it and continued, "Fine, I will tentatively admit you have a point, but that is no reason for that man to abandon my mother, my mother who loved me deeply..."
"Come off it, Tom." Harry rolled his eyes. "Your mom didn't want you either, you unloved wretch—if she loved you, why did she dump you in an orphanage? Look at your flawed logic. You give the impression that your cerebrum isn't fully developed, and your cerebellum hasn't developed at all."
Voldemort was truly getting triggered.
"Actually, I just had a chat with your mom, Tom." Harry added. "Guess what?"
"What?" Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes.
"Hey, your mom is dead!" Harry laughed loudly and brazenly.
Without warning, he suddenly raised his wand. A spell like a laser cannon shot straight from the tip.
"Avada Kedavra!"
This green spell was so bright that it bathed the entire area of Little Hangleton for dozens of miles in a ghastly green glow.
Voldemort was prepared. He suddenly appeared beside the short man, and the short man was swapped into the path of the Killing Curse.
The short man didn't even have time to scream before he died silently on the spot.
"Oh, Peter," Voldemort said with regret. "Although he was cowardly, he was the servant who found me first... You killed my most intimate servant. I think you owe me a reasonable explanation, Mr. Potter."
Oh, it was Peter Pettigrew...
Harry felt a bit of regret. Letting this traitor die just like that was somewhat of a pity.
Although he didn't particularly want to kill other Death Eaters with his own hands, for a traitor like Peter, especially the one who sold out his parents, Harry really wanted him to die a bit slower.
He should have at least experienced the sensation of a low-temperature slow roast by Gubraithian Fire!
But then again, he hadn't really expected the sneak attack to kill Voldemort; it was just to broaden his horizons.
"Of course, I think it's better to report this to Headmaster Dumbledore, don't you agree?" Voldemort muttered to himself again. "Let him see what kind of students his Hogwarts turns out... attacking an old senior with such a forbidden curse... Judging by the level of the spell alone, your intent to kill is significant, Potter."
"Oh, not necessarily," Harry said to Voldemort. "My situation is unique. I don't need killing intent to cast spells; I just raise my hand and throw them out."
At these words, Voldemort fell silent.
He admitted he was jealous.
No, seriously, why?
It would be one thing if someone else had this talent, but why did such a prodigy have to be his mortal enemy, Harry Potter?
This was incredibly awkward.
"I admit you have some talent, Potter." Voldemort spoke after a long silence.
"I'm glad you can compliment me." Harry smiled.
He was genuinely happy. For one man to acknowledge another's excellence, especially a mortal enemy, only proved the gold standard of Harry's strength.
However, he added another question, "Before I send you away, I have one more question, Tom."
"Speak," Voldemort said calmly.
"How many Horcruxes have you made in total?" Harry asked. "Tell me, aside from the diary that pretended to be a woman... pretended to be your mom to trick children in Slytherin, and the Slytherin locket, how many more?"
"That is classified, Mr. Potter." Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "You don't think I'll just obediently tell you, do you?"
"Oh, how do you know if you don't try?" Harry spread his hands and asked again, "So, where is the 'you' that is causing trouble in America?"
"Still in America. That is the reason I wanted to talk to you," Voldemort said. "So, you don't mind chatting with me, do you, Potter?"
"Of course I don't mind, but..."
Speaking of this, Harry finally revealed his killing move.
While chatting with Voldemort earlier, he had controlled the Gubraithian Fire to burrow underground. After stalling for so long, the fire was fully prepared and ready to strike.
Under his control, the flames erupted instantly, surrounding Voldemort just like the fire cage holding the Death Eaters.
Seeing Voldemort enveloped in the cage of fireballs, Harry nodded with satisfaction.
"This is much better, Tom," Harry said. "This gives me a greater sense of security. I don't have to worry about you slipping away quietly."
Voldemort was silent.
"Can't there be a little trust between people?" he asked.
"Of course there can be, provided I can guarantee you won't slip away." Harry snapped his fingers, and the fire burned even more vigorously. The azure flames reflected in Voldemort's scarlet pupils, looking quite comical.
"You should know, Harry," Voldemort said. "I am not one to be captured without a fight."
If there were others here, they would surely be surprised by the way Harry and Voldemort addressed each other—one calling the other Tom, the other calling him Harry, as if they were old friends for years.
"Is that so?" Harry raised an eyebrow. In his guess, the most Voldemort would do is stage a suicide scene and return to a spirit state; he couldn't die completely anyway.
Voldemort did not speak, simply revealing a grotesque smile at Harry.
Beside them, the air suddenly distorted with popping and cracking sounds—Veratia and Dumbledore appeared nearby.
Just as he wanted to say hello, Harry suddenly felt a chill attack his neck like a maggot attached to the bone.
He saw Veratia's expression turn to shock.
"Harry!"
--
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