The giant snake slowly slithered forward, its rotting body dragging across the rough floor with a spine-chilling rustle.
As it drew closer, the putrid stench of its festering wounds assaulted Harry's senses, nearly making him gag.
"Ah, we meet again... Harry Potter!"
The voice was laced with mockery.
"It seems that you, like me, cannot escape the entanglement of fate."
The giant snake stretched its decaying head towards Harry, and the putrid smell grew even stronger.
"How ironic. The famous Boy Who Lived... came to die!"
Harry's pupils contracted, and his breath caught in his throat.
Although he had already suspected the truth from the way Barty addressed him, seeing it with his own eyes still plunged him into an icy abyss.
This dying giant snake before him was Voldemort!
In a sudden flash of realisation, Harry recalled what had happened during his first year in the chamber containing the Philosopher's Stone.
Voldemort could peer into other people's thoughts.
Harry's heart tightened.
He was in trouble!
But it was already too late.
"The ring!"
The high-pitched voice suddenly shrieked.
A dull grey light flashed.
Barty's Severing Charm struck with perfect accuracy, slicing off the finger on which Harry wore the Portkey ring.
Excruciating pain shot through Harry's entire body like lightning. He watched helplessly as his severed finger, along with the life-saving ring, fell to the filthy floor, rolled several times, and finally came to a stop.
"Did you think I would make the same mistake twice?"
Voldemort's voice was filled with cruel triumph.
"Now, before we stop the bleeding, let us discuss more important matters..."
Blood continued to pour from Harry's severed finger, staining the dust beneath him dark red.
He gritted his teeth and refused to let out even a single groan, while clearly realising that Barty had not merely severed his finger, but also his last chance of escape.
Wormtail timidly closed the dilapidated wooden door, and the faint green firelight inside flickered.
The giant snake's narrow pupils first settled on the bound Harry, and an almost greedy gleam flashed within them.
Then its gaze shifted to Barty, lingering particularly on his dishevelled appearance and the wounds on his face. The greed in its eyes was quickly replaced by a faint trace of displeasure.
"My loyal servant..."
Voldemort's cold, high-pitched voice echoed through the cramped room, seeming to resonate directly in everyone's minds.
"You arrived earlier than we agreed. And in quite a hurry, without the slightest composure."
His original plan had been for Harry to win the trophy before everyone, then be taken away by the Portkey at the height of his glory, allowing Voldemort to announce his return with a grand and dramatic ceremony.
That plan had clearly been ruined.
Barty Crouch Jr. immediately bowed deeply. Although his body trembled slightly from pain, his voice was filled with fanaticism and reverence.
"My Lord! Please forgive me for disrupting your perfect plan! But the situation was critical, and I had no choice but to act!"
He hurriedly explained, "We were exposed! That Greengrass... he was testing me, so I had to begin the plan early and bring Potter here!"
At the mention of the name "Greengrass," the giant snake's eyes narrowed slightly, and the dark aura permeating the room seemed to grow heavier.
"...Sagres Greengrass."
He repeated the name, his tone betraying no emotion.
"He also went to see Barty Crouch Sr."
Voldemort continued in a cold, decisive voice, "I could not risk that old man revealing any secrets to Sagres. So... I allowed him to depart quietly."
Barty's body trembled slightly, but there was no sorrow on his face, only awe for his master.
He immediately lowered his head.
"Your decisiveness has once again saved us from a dangerous situation, my great Lord!"
The faint displeasure in Voldemort's expression seemed to fade somewhat in the presence of the "prize" before him.
His gaze once again fell upon the now-pale Harry, and at last, a chilling note of appreciation entered his high-pitched voice.
"You did well, Barty."
Although Voldemort was speaking to Barty, his cloudy snake-like eyes never left Harry.
"In a crisis, you displayed extraordinary decisiveness and courage. You thwarted the schemes of Dumbledore and that Greengrass, and brought before me the person I needed most!"
His voice gradually rose, filled with fanatical excitement.
"So what if the plan had to be moved forward? So what if the ritual must be simplified? The result is what matters! You, Barty Crouch Jr., are my most capable and loyal servant! Far superior to those cowards who only know how to grovel at my feet!"
Wormtail, kneeling nearby, immediately shrank back in fear upon hearing this, though a fleeting trace of jealousy crossed his face.
Barty, on the other hand, trembled with excitement at the sudden praise. His wounds seemed to stop hurting altogether as he choked out, "For you, my Lord! I am willing to give everything!"
"Very good..."
Voldemort murmured in satisfaction, his gaze fixed on Harry, the malice within it almost devouring him.
"Then... let us begin the preparations."
The giant snake let out a hoarse laugh before his voice turned cold again.
"Wormtail, are the cauldron and ingredients ready?"
"Y-yes... my Lord," Peter Pettigrew stammered.
"Then let us go. To my father's grave."
Wormtail hurriedly agreed, his hands trembling as he began gathering the necessary things.
Barty roughly hauled the blood-weakened Harry to his feet and dragged him mercilessly by his robes as he pushed open the door and walked outside.
The giant snake followed closely behind.
Peter Pettigrew struggled along carrying a huge cauldron, inside which the knives and wizarding robes needed for the ritual had been piled haphazardly. He stumbled after the two men and the snake.
The three of them passed through a dark, dense birch forest, its bare branches reaching out through the night like ghostly claws.
Harry felt the ground beneath his feet gradually turn muddy, while withered weeds brushed against his trouser legs with a soft rustling sound.
Enduring the pain, he tried to memorise every feature along the way: the twisted shapes of the trees, the outlines of the rocks, anything that might help him identify the place later.
Finally, they stopped before a tall gravestone bearing the clearly carved name "Tom Riddle."
Barty roughly threw Harry onto the cold, damp grass. Harry gasped and looked up, immediately recognising the place.
It was exactly where they had first Apparated. The moment he raised his head, he saw the distinctive spire of the distant church.
"Wormtail, prepare the cauldron!"
Barty Crouch Jr.'s voice cracked through the silent graveyard like a cold whip.
While keeping Harry firmly restrained, he continuously scanned the darkness with his fanatical gaze, refusing to overlook even the slightest rustle.
His wand was pressed tightly against Harry's temple, the painful pressure making it perfectly clear that any rash movement could have fatal consequences.
Wormtail flinched at the sharp command. He fumbled as he set down the enormous stone cauldron, metal scraping against stone with an unpleasant grating sound.
From a filthy cloth bag, he pulled out various oddly shaped containers: twisted horns, dull crystal vials, and moss-covered wooden boxes.
They contained all kinds of potion ingredients.
Finally, Wormtail placed the cauldron directly in front of Riddle's gravestone like an altar.
Then, with trembling hands, he poured several viscous and clear liquids into the cauldron before raising his wand and attempting to ignite the firewood beneath it.
But his magic was nearly exhausted, and after several attempts, he managed to produce only a few feeble sparks.
"Useless."
Barty forced the word through clenched teeth, casting him a contemptuous glance.
He did not even move the wand pressed against Harry. He simply waved his free hand, and with a whoosh, scorching flames erupted beneath the cauldron, burning steadily and fiercely.
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