"You lost a hand for me, Wormtail," Voldemort said in a voice like a snake rubbing its scales, "I will now grant you a... a better one."
With a flick of his finger, the silver metal hand, as if alive, flew automatically toward Peter Pettigrew's severed wrist.
The instant they made contact, countless tiny silver threads extended from the edge of the silver hand, and these silver threads, like nerve bundles, suddenly pierced into the flesh of Peter's severed wrist!
"Ah!" Peter Pettigrew let out a bloodcurdling scream, his body convulsing violently and his eyes bulging out.
It wasn't just the pain of physical connection; it was also accompanied by the extreme torment of having one's soul forcibly branded with dark magic.
The silver hand was firmly embedded in his wrist; the metallic sensation and lingering pain intertwined, almost causing him to faint.
But at the same time, a violent and obedient magical force began to flow from the silver hand into his body.
Peter trembled as he propped himself up with his newly acquired silver hands.
That hand was exceptionally dexterous, capable of even making delicate movements, but Peter knew that it did not belong to him; it was a gift from his master, but also an eternal shackle and surveillance device.
At this moment, Peter's eyes as he looked at Voldemort were filled with extreme fear and a twisted, imposed gratitude.
"Thank you so much, Master..." he sobbed uncontrollably.
At that very moment,
"Bang! Bang!"
Two loud Apparition explosions shattered the suffocating silence of the graveyard. Draco and Hermione appeared at the edge of the graveyard, just in time to witness Voldemort bestowing the Silver Hand upon them, and Peter Pettigrew's final, agonizing surrender.
Hermione's gaze swept anxiously across the room, but she didn't see Harry. Her heart skipped a beat, but then boundless anger and chill swept over her.
Because she saw Voldemort again, radiating an evil aura, and felt the suffocating pressure.
This is... the Dark Lord? The truly resurrected Dark Lord? More terrifying than the worst nightmare!
And when Voldemort bestowed a metal hand upon the traitor Peter Pettigrew in that condescending gesture,
Hermione felt a rush of heat to her head, a mixture of nausea, anger, and a deep sorrow.
Is this the essence of Dark Magic?
Enslavement, torture, turning people into pathetic puppets?
Draco's gaze, however, had been fixed on Voldemort from the moment he landed, and he was extremely confused.
Voldemort has really come back to life!
And he looks... in better than ever before?
How is that possible?
The other person's soul had clearly been sealed by the Soul-Sealing Jar.
At that moment, Voldemort slowly turned around, his scarlet snake eyes landing precisely on Draco.
When he saw Draco, a subtle, indescribable change seemed to flicker across his face.
It wasn't just simple hatred or murderous intent; it was more like a sense of apprehension, anger, and... being scrutinized from above.
"Ah... our little Mr. Malfoy."
Voldemort hissed, his voice echoing through the silent graveyard with a playful, cat-and-mouse glint in his eyes.
"You've come at just the right time, just in time for... my new student, and... Miss Granger, the best of the Mudblood, always associated with trouble."
As he spoke, Voldemort's gaze swept over Hermione as if she were an insignificant insect, but the malice contained within it was enough to make the bravest person tremble.
Hermione suppressed her fear and pointed her wand at Voldemort: " Voldemort! What have you done to Harry?!"
This courageous question caused the air to freeze for a second.
Peter Pettigrew shrank back in fright, and even Draco glanced at her, surprised that Hermione would be so direct.
Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
Instead of getting angry, he seemed to have heard a funny joke and let out a chilling giggle.
"What did you do to Harry Potter?" Voldemort repeated, as if savoring the absurdity of the word.
"What a... naive and foolish question, Mudblood."
" Harry Potter... He's my enemy, the key to my resurrection, the most important piece of the puzzle in my great undertaking. Why would I want to do anything to him?"
Voldemort tilted his head slightly, his snake-like face displaying pure cruelty. "However, since you seem so 'concerned' about him, I can tell you... he's not dead yet."
"But that's only temporary. His blood is very useful, and his soul... is quite interesting. Perhaps, before dealing with him, I can let you... say goodbye?"
"After all, you're his friends, aren't you? Just like his foolish parents..."
Voldemort's words were like poisoned ice picks, piercing Hermione's heart. She thought of Harry's parents.
And the monster before them,
It is the root cause and ultimate culprit of all tragedies!
"You!" Hermione trembled with rage, and magic began to gather at the tip of her wand.
But Voldemort's attention was focused on Draco; he ignored Hermione and paid no attention to her accumulating magic.
That dangerous gaze refocused on Draco's face.
"As for you... Draco Malfoy." Voldemort seemed to be considering how to deal with him. " Lucius's son... the glory of the Pure-blood, heir to the Malfoy family."
"We should have stood side by side at the pinnacle of the wizarding world, cleansing those tainted bloodlines and restoring the glory of Pure-blood."
As he spoke, Voldemort slowly took a step forward, and an invisible pressure pressed down on Draco like a mountain.
"But... what did you do?" His voice suddenly turned sharp, filled with the rage of betrayal.
"You used a filthy, eerie power of unknown origin to try to imprison me! To seal me away! To banish me to endless nothingness and darkness!"
"You think... that kind of power can hold me captive forever? Tom Marvolo Riddle?" he shouted.
"You're too naive, kid!"
"The mysteries of Dark Magic are beyond your imagination, and the trajectory of fate is not something you can easily reverse."
"I'm back... in a more perfect form! And you will pay the price for your ridiculous little tricks."
He slowly raised the Yew Wand, its tip pointing at Draco, his scarlet eyes filled with murderous intent.
"Now, let's settle the score, Young Malfoy! For your foolish betrayal, for your laughable protection, and for your family's... wavering loyalty."
The atmosphere in the cemetery instantly plummeted to freezing point!
The cold wind in the cemetery swirled with bits of weeds and debris. Voldemort had just received the Yew Wand, still shrouded in the malevolent aura of his resurrected Dark Magic, when he heard Draco's flippant voice abruptly shatter the suffocating sense of oppression.