Harry Potter: I Am a Legend

As soon as he landed on the ground, Little Batty made a crying sound, broke free of Hoffa, and rushed to the dilapidated building towering in the night, "Master...Master! Your most loyal servant is back!!!"

The hoarse voice like a gong spread far and wide in the night.

Nicole May frowned and looked at the crazy little Barty, and looked around, "Is this where Voldemort is now? It looks like...abandoned for many years."

"Otherwise, you thought he was staying in a five-star hotel," Hoffa shrugged. "For so many years, it's a good place to live in this kind of place."

"Unexpectedly, the Black Devil, who was so beautiful more than ten years ago, would have fallen here." Nicole Mai sighed: "I think you may not know how arrogant he was before.

"What's the point?"

Hoffa raised his eyebrows.

"There is no one who cannot be killed. At this point, he really resembles his ancestors."

"Slytherin?"

"Including the three Peverier brothers, except for the youngest Peverier, the other two are bloodthirsty guys."

"You know it well?"

"Although I have never seen them, I believe that everyone's alchemy products will bear their master's indelible imprint. And Cadmus Peverier is the legendary master of life and death. "

After a pause, he laughed: "It's just this kind of person who is often taken care of by the **** of death. It is said that after his death, his soul is hung on the thorny road in Helheim and will never be freed."

"Helheim Way of Thorns?"

Hoffa asked curiously, "What is that?"

"I have only heard of it."

Nicole May shrugged, "That's a very old legend, no one knows what it means."

At this time, the appearance of a short figure interrupted the conversation between the two, his head bulged, his face flashed with a awkward smile, he nodded and bowed to Hoffa and said: "Bah...Mr. Bach, master, master Invite you in."

"It's you, Wormtail!"

Barty, with an extremely excited look, grabbed Peter Pettigrew by the arm, touched his bald head, and said eagerly, "Quickly, take me in. Quickly take me to the master. I haven't seen the master for 13 years. The style!"

Peter Pettigrew anxiously pushed Barty's hand away, "You come with me."

After speaking, he took three people to the heights of Riddle's House.

As he walked, Batty Jr. asked, "Where are the others? Where's Lucius, where's Bella, where's Severus, are they all back?"

"No....."

Peter Pettigrew mumbled, "I'm the first, uh... if you don't count this Mr. Bach, you're the second..."

"what!?"

Little Batty immediately yelled unevenly.

"Do those people have a vicious and cruel father, why don't you come back, and why do you let the master live in such a messy place!?"

Facing his question, Peter Pettigrew remained silent and did not answer.

At this time, a long question came from the depths of the castle.

"Is Batty back?"

It's Voldemort's voice. Barty Crouch Jr. is an agitated spirit, with extremely happy joy on his face, and there is a tiger running under his feet: "Sure enough, the master loves me the most, and the master remembers me... ...."

boom! !

Returning to the fire-burning fireplace hall, Little Batty stood at the door of the hall panting, tears in his eyes: "Master...my respected master, my dear master, your most loyal servant is back."

The fleshy tone made Hoffa who was standing next to him inevitably get goose bumps.

"Come here, let me see you." Voldemort said hoarsely, leaning against the back of his chair.

"Yes, master."

Little Batty, with tears in her eyes, knelt down like a pilgrim and crawled forward.

In front of the fireplace, the chair in which Voldemort was sitting turned around.

Little Batty climbed to the chair and slowly raised his head.

Hoffa, who was on the side, kept looking at this guy, and then he saw a wonderful picture that was unforgettable throughout his life. Before that, he had never imagined that a person's expression could be so complicated.

I saw Little Batty looking at the chair, the crumpled little thing like a monkey fetus.

The expression on his face changed from enthusiasm and joy to stunned, then gradually cooled down, turned pale, then gradually panicked, and gradually lost, and finally he lowered his head, and his body trembled: "Lord... the host!?"

"It's me." Voldemort laughed.

Little Batty lowered his head and stammered, "You...how did you become like this...?"

"I am cursed, by a vicious woman."

"Is that...ha...that's really damn..." Little Batty said, but there was not much meaning to the same enemy, and the tone sounded only numb and unwilling and doubtful.

Hoffa couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth.

At this time, the smile on Voldemort's face gradually changed. He leaned on the wide chair, with short fingers on the back of the chair, and his red eyes were a bit gloomy.

"Why, I make you feel very disappointed like this."

"I, I, I didn't..." Little Batty said subconsciously, "You, what are you thinking?"

"Oh, nothing is fine,"

Voldemort squinted his eyes and said slowly, I haven't heard you call my master in years, and I really miss it. Now ask me to hear more. "

"Lord...Master..." Little Barty's cheek muscles twitched, and he squatted.

"Look at my face." Voldemort said quietly.

Little Batty raised his head with difficulty, and Hoffa, who was standing aside, could see a smile on his face, but that smile was extremely rigid and restrained.

"Lord...Lord, master."

Ok. Voldemort raised his thin fist, stroked the young man's yellow hair, and then looked at him weakly and playfully. This action made his stone-like smile even more distorted.

Voldemort: "No, call me my respected master. Just like when I just came in."

Little Batty: "Respect... Respect, Master..."

"Call my dear master again." Voldemort continued.

"My dear... my dear, my dear master of..."

Little Batty smiled, but his expression was stiff as if he was about to collapse. Hoffa could see the fists on his knees clenched tightly, and the veins on the back of his hands violent.

After looking at each other for a while, he finally couldn't stand it anymore, bit his lip, lowered his head, his nails sinking into the flesh.

"Okay, you can go down."

Voldemort waved his short arm and said coldly, "I have something to discuss with our guest. Wormtail, take him down."

"Yes, master."

Peter Pettigrew, who was hiding in the corner and watching coldly, walked forward and grabbed Batty’s arm. Batty’s face was pale and desperately stood up, staggering to follow Peter Petty and walked out. When I passed the door, I accidentally fell.

"A mortal...huh..."

When there were only three people left in the room, Voldemort raised his head, and there was a trace of depression and loneliness in his eyes, but that trace of emotion was quickly extinguished by the flame of desire.

He looked at Hoffa and Nicol LeMay: "Which one of you is in charge?"

Nicole LeMay glanced at Hoffa, and was about to stand up, but Hoffa said before him: "We are just partners, and no one is the master."

"Hmph, you are so smooth, Bach." Voldemort smiled non-committal and looked at Nicole May: "Hey, old man, why do you want Peverier's alchemy? I want to change myself into a shell. Huh?"

"You are so insightful, Lord Dark Lord."

Nicholas Lemay put his posture very low, "I have had enough of this old and weak body, and now many things are unable to do well."

"Then why don't you use the Philosopher's Stone?" Voldemort sneered: "Four years ago, I asked you to borrow the Philosopher's Stone. Not only did you not borrow it, you also hid it carefully."

"The Sorcerer's Stone can barely last, but it can't bring me vigorous vitality."

Nicholas Lemay talked eloquently: "I didn't know you needed it at the time, and Dumbledore said hello in advance. I can't refuse it. A person of your status is definitely understandable."

Hoffa watched the old man tell a lie without leaking, thinking that his face became thicker and heavier.

With a punch on the cotton, Voldemort, who didn't take any advantage, quickly lost interest in Nicole May. He waved his hand, "Okay, go out. For Bach's face, I will let you participate. Come to my resurrection ceremony, how many things you can write down depends on your own ability, but don’t expect me to take the initiative to teach you anything."

"Thanks to the Dark Lord."

Nicole LeMay bends down again, at this moment he looks more like a loyal servant than Barty Jr.

After bowing, he backed away, closing the door like a qualified butler, leaving Hoffa and Voldemort alone in the room.

Voldemort looked at Hoffa and said lightly: "Next, how are you going to send Harry Potter to me?"

"I don't have much thoughts, maybe I got into Hogwarts." Hoffa said honestly: "He is under the protection of Dumbledore, and it is still difficult to send him regularly."

"On this point, I do have a suggestion."

Hoffa guessed what he was going to say.

Sure enough, I only heard Voldemort say: "The defense against the Dark Arts class at that school was cursed by me. No one has ever been able to sit on the tenure for a full year. I got some news. This year they are going to send the guy Aristo Moody to go. Be a teacher. I don’t know if you have heard of him. He is a retired Auror, two terms lower than us."

"Really?" Hoffa raised his eyebrows.

"You think of a way to pretend to be him and get in. What triwizard tournament will they have this year? You first let the Harry Potter kid show the limelight, and then smash him severely."

Hoffa shook his head: "I can't pretend. If it's a transformation class, I don't mind. Defense against the Dark Arts, I'm not good at it."

"Don't be humble, Mr. Bach, with your ability to transform, the simple black magic in the textbooks is just an analogy."

He looked at Hoffa maliciously: "Huh, besides, didn't you tell me fifty years ago, when Melos retires, do you want to apply to be a professor in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class? What? Now it's getting more and more frustrating?"

"I......"

Hoffa was silent, he felt that Voldemort's idea was okay. It’s just that he really doesn’t like the feeling that no matter what he does, he can’t escape the shackles of fate. It seems that no matter what he does, he’s just stepping on the spot. He keeps turning in circles, always returning to the original point. It should happen. It will happen.

"You do this first. When I regain Hogwarts, I will give you a dean of Ravenclaw and a transformation teacher. Of course, if you want to be the principal, you can."

Voldemort skillfully wrote a bad check, and didn't care about the subtle strangeness of Hoffa's expression: "Well, my friend is interesting, not only can you revive your little girlfriend, but also help you reach the pinnacle of life."

"Wait until you do it."

Hoffa said dryly, "What about Batty, what are you going to do?"

"Let him follow you," Voldemort waved his arm indifferently, and smiled, "You need a biting dog, he will be very powerful, if it is you, I think he will be happy to help you bite."

"It must be either?" Hoffa frowned. "I can do well without him."

"must."

Voldemort lowered his head, slowly but viciously said: "Either you kill him, or you take him, as long as you send Harry Potter over before I come back, you can do whatever you want."

Hoffa said no more.

After dealing with the affairs, Voldemort looked a little tired. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes: "Come on, Bach, I think we don't need to meet again before you send Harry Potter."

......

......

When Hoffa returned to the hall of Riddle's Mansion, Nico Lemay had already waved his wand in the empty hall. The objects in the hall moved around, and a studio was soon built. It seemed that he was ready to learn the resurrection technique here.

"Where is Batty?"

Hoffa asked Nico LeMay.

Nicol LeMay pointed to the corner, "Look, that's not it."

Following Nicole May's fingers, among a pile of dilapidated wooden boxes, the young Batty Crouch was sitting in the corner of the hall like a sculpture, hugging his knees, with a miserable expression of impossibility.

Hoffa felt funny, so he came to him: "Hey, do you want to go with me."

He didn't respond at all, as if he was deaf.

"Hey, are you leaving?" Hoffaja asked in a heavy tone.

"Uh...huh...?"

Little Batty's soul returned to his body a little bit, he lifted his eyelids, looked at a loss, did not hear what Hoffa was saying.

That appearance made Hoffa both funny and a little sympathetic. Peter Pettigrew came to Voldemort because he had been discovered by Harry Potter and Sirius and had nowhere to go. But Batty is not. His father is a high-ranking official of the Ministry of Magic. He is far from reaching the point where he has nowhere to go. Even if he falls in Azkaban, his father has contracted him out. What he needs is not material at all. Survival, but spiritual sustenance.

And now this pinning was completely collapsed when he saw the weak, weak and extremely ugly Voldemort.

Perhaps the thinking of Barty Jr. still stayed more than ten years ago, in the time when Voldemort was infinitely beautiful, living in his incomparably powerful moment, living in his own excessive fantasy.

This made him think of the tragedy of later generations of male netizens who were deceived by women's excessive beauty photos. After seeing the real person, he found that the other person was a tiger tank.

It's just that Voldemort is not an ordinary woman who uses beauty photos, let alone a mediocre person who cares about appearance. He is a demon with a strong desire to dominate.

Maybe Little Batty was still immersed in disappointment, unable to extricate himself, and didn't find it. But Hoffa had just read the clear killing intent in Voldemort's eyes, and on this alone he could pronounce Barty Jr. to death.

Maybe when Voldemort is completely resurrected, death or endless torture is waiting for this poor bug.

However, none of this has much to do with Hoffa, and his sympathy quickly disappeared into nothingness. There are thousands of guys living in dreams, and Hoffa feels he has no obligation to wake them up.

Whether it was Voldemort to disgust him or to kill someone with a knife, since Voldemort provided him with a small Barty in the conditions, then for the resurrection technique, he also had to bring this guy.

"Let's go." He said coldly.

"where to...?"

Little Batty was at a loss: "Mr. Bach, I...may I go back?"

"Go back?" Hoffa grinned and sneered. "No, you have to follow me."

"We...we...what are we going to do?"

"Resurrect your master."

Hoffa finished speaking lightly and walked out.

Resurrect the master....

Resurrect the master.

Resurrect the master?

Little Batty was like a dying man grabbing a life-saving straw, and suddenly jumped three feet high, showing a certain ecstatic look. He walked hurriedly behind Hoffa, breathing in expectation: "What, wasn't that my master just now?"

Hoffa: "Don't you think so?"

"Of course not, my master is wise and martial. Ten thousand people surrendered, how could it...how could it..." He looked back at Riddle Mansion, with a certain disgusting disgust on his face, gritted his teeth: " How could it be the kind of monster that is neither human nor ghost."

As he said, he had brainwashed himself, rubbing his hands with a look of longing, "Yes...Yes, my master must be still somewhere, not coming back, waiting for me to save him, he must be That's it...Mr. Bach, is it so?"

"Yes." Hoffa said indifferently.

"Great, it really is like this!!!"

Hoffa’s affirmation made Batty even more excited, and he immediately broke away from the state of doubting life: "Hurry up and tell me how to resurrect my true master."

Hoffa sighed secretly, and then pretended to be serious: "If you could get your real master back, what would you do?"

"I can do anything."

Little Batty slapped her chest swearingly, "I'm amazing."