Barty Crouch Jr. dropped to one knee at just the right moment. "Master! I will make sure they are properly kept and ensure they can all fully bring out their due—"
Before he could finish, Gregory Vladimirovich, who had been lying on the ground, let out a groan, and the surging magical fluctuations also calmed.
Gregory Vladimirovich opened his eyes. His slightly hollow brown eyes showed confusion. He turned his eyes with difficulty, as if wondering why he was here.
He strained to prop himself up on his arms, his movements stiff as he tried to sit up. The next moment, his arms gave way, and he crashed heavily back down, landing with a dull thud.
Voldemort still stood with his arms folded, watching the scene coldly, without the slightest intention of helping Gregory Vladimirovich up.
Barty Crouch Jr. read the room, and since this prophet who was about to wake up might also become his future "competitor" and affect his position as "Master's favorite servant," he likewise stood by and did nothing.
Herpo, on the other hand, raised his Wand and aimed it at Gregory Vladimirovich, murmuring an obscure incantation as if making some kind of preparation.
Gregory Vladimirovich—or perhaps he should be called "Carcas"—soon lost the confusion in his eyes. His body was no longer stiff either, and he was finally able to sit up smoothly.
Carcas looked around, and at last his gaze locked onto Herpo. The color drained rapidly from his face, then surged back in an instant until he was flushed bright red.
His eyes suddenly widened, the veins in his neck bulging one by one, and he practically roared the name out. "Herpo!"
"You damned traitor, you faithless scum! I curse your soul to be torn to pieces by a Three-Headed Dog—"
His cursing