On the other side of the tent, Mr. Weasley bandaged Harry's wound.
"It's just a simple cut, no magic remains..." Mr. Weasley gave Harry a simple inspection while bandaging it.
It's interesting to say that many people present were injured, but what Mr. Weasley cared about most was not his children, but Harry, and his children took it for granted.
After all, that was Harry, the Boy Who Lived.
"But why do you need Harry's blood?" Charlie took care of his wounds at this time and repaired the torn shirt.
"Maybe it's for curses or something. I heard from my colleagues that some curses require blood as a medium..." Bill was helping everyone analyze the possibilities.
"Well, there's something I don't know if I should say." Harry thought of what the kidnapper said when he was taking blood. It felt a little scary to say it, but if he didn't say it, he would be in trouble if he missed the real thing.
.
"Tell me." Mr. Weasley handed Harry a cup of hot chocolate and looked at Harry with encouraging eyes.
"That's it..." Harry repeated what the mysterious man said when he took the blood.
"The blood of your enemy, if you are forced to give it, can make your enemy...resurrection?" Mr. Weasley said this sentence again, and his expression suddenly changed.
Who is Harry's enemy? Which of his enemies needs to be resurrected? The answer is already there.
Mysterious man.
He is Harry's old enemy and is currently preparing for a comeback.
The smarter people around me also guessed this possibility.
Mr. Weasley tried hard to stabilize his emotions, "That person is probably an accomplice of the marching group, but his efforts are destined to be in vain - maybe it can still come true in his dream."
The surrounding tension suddenly dissipated a lot. Yes, this is to resurrect a mysterious man. How can ordinary wizards achieve this level of magic?
"I'll write back and ask Dumbledore to see if there are any curses that require blood as a medium. Don't worry, Harry, no one will hurt you." Mr. Weasley smiled.
Everyone felt relieved when they heard Dumbledore's name. Then everyone tacitly ignored the topic.
"Who is marching tonight?" Harry took a sip of hot chocolate and felt much better. Even his arms didn't hurt so much anymore.
"Death Eaters." Bill explained for Harry, "That is, followers of You-Know-Who."
"How is the Roberts family?" Hermione was more concerned about the situation of the victim's family than the strange behavior of the Death Eaters.
"It's not very good. It's very exciting for them tonight. It's difficult for them to forget about it. Their family may behave a little weird next." Mr. Weasley sighed with sympathy.
said in a tone of voice.
Hermione took a sip of chocolate, "Then will they get compensation?"
"Compensation?" Mr. Weasley was a little surprised. It seemed that he had never considered this angle. "The Ministry of Magic should not give compensation. There is no precedent for this."
After all, it's too lazy to care, it's just a Muggle family. The Ministry of Magic doesn't want to compensate, so it can come up with a thousand excuses.
Hermione and the Grangers fell into silence, taking swigs of the hot drinks in their hands.
At this time, the slightly relaxed atmosphere in the tent became even stiffer. Even Delis closed his mouth and held the tea cup quietly as the background. Mr. Weasley stood up and showed his influence as the head of the family.
The authority drove everyone back to their respective beds.
If you go to bed now, you can still sleep for a few hours before dawn, and when you wake up, you can take the door key home.
Harry climbed back into his bed, his head buzzing. He tried hard to fall asleep, but couldn't sleep all night. After turning over in bed countless times, he finally fell asleep.
Harry had a very strange dream. In the dream, he seemed to have turned into a baby and was carried to a cemetery.
The person holding him seemed very unprofessional and made him feel very uncomfortable, but somehow, Harry always felt a feeling of ecstasy deep in his heart. He couldn't explain why, he just wanted to laugh loudly.
.
Finally, "Harry" stopped in front of a tall marble tombstone. He could vaguely see the name on the tombstone: Tom Riddle.
Harry felt "himself" being placed on the ground, and now he saw clearly the face of the person holding "himself".
It's Wormtail!
Harry was so shocked that he almost felt like he was waking up.
Wormtail dragged a stone cauldron as tall as a person from somewhere, and Harry felt a sense of excitement in his heart.
Wormtail squatted beside the crucible and drew with his wand, and finally a flame rose under the crucible. Generally speaking, it would take a long time to boil such a huge pot. But the pot was obviously not filled with water, but
It's some kind of magic potion.
The liquid in the pot boiled very quickly, with large jets of steam coming out, and countless sparks bursting out.
Harry felt "he" being picked up by Wormtail, and then getting closer and closer to the crucible.
"Wait, wait -" Harry himself panicked: This liquid looked very hot. Did Wormtail throw "himself" into it to torture and kill this little life? And what's even weirder is, ha.
Lee felt that he, or in other words, himself in the dream was very happy. The two emotions of fear and excitement were intertwined, which was an extremely complex experience.
Sure enough, Wormtail threw himself in.
Gulu gulu...
Harry didn't feel the pain of being scalded to pieces by boiling water, nor did he feel the suffocation of being submerged in water. He seemed to have returned to the fetal stage, back to the warm amniotic fluid.
It was really comfortable, and Harry almost fell asleep, but he couldn't fall asleep because he was still awake in the dream, like an audience or a spectator.
Through a layer of liquid, Harry could still clearly hear Wormtail's voice outside.
"Unintentional donation of your father's bones can regenerate your son!"
A small wisp of black stuff was thrown into the crucible.
"The flesh of your servant, a voluntary donation, may bring about the rebirth of your master."
A hand missing one finger also fell in, and Harry could not wait to take a breath. How could Peter Pettigrew be so cruel? Just cut off his own hand?!
Across the water and late at night, Harry couldn't see clearly. If it was under bright light, he would find that the hand didn't seem as fresh as if it had just been cut off.
While Harry was in a daze, a wisp of blood merged into the liquid in the crucible.
Harry felt that it was daylight.
Everything around him turned dazzling white, the liquid was rolling rapidly, and Harry felt itchy all over his body...