A thick fog blanketed the cemetery as night fell. Nearby, an ancient mansion stood silhouetted against the gloom. Its age was evident, and it was unclear if anyone still resided within its crumbling walls.
Click.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a young man entered, carefully cradling what appeared to be an infant.
...
Inside, a motley collection of hardened wizards awaited him. Some were ancient, practically knocking on death's door, while others were in their prime. Yet, without exception, they were all Death Eaters who had refused to bend the knee to Tom Riddle.
Their refusal stemmed from an excess of "loyalty," so absolute that any deviation from their image of Voldemort—no matter how slight—marked the offender as an imposter.
Therefore, Tom, who possessed both hair and a nose, was deemed a "false" Dark Lord, despite his obvious power.
They recognized only the bald, noseless Voldemort.
In short, they were stubborn fools, though undeniably competent. After all, Tom's Death Eaters had already eliminated most of the dissenters. Besides this group, only a scattering of old-timer Death Eaters remained, scattered and on the run.
However, these "old-timers" had no interest in joining forces; they merely wanted to escape Voldemort's reach. Recruitment was out of the question. The sorry group gathered in the mansion represented the last dregs of the Voldemort (remnant soul)'s forces.
Click.
All eyes turned to Barty Crouch Jr. as he entered the room. Barty swiftly masked his disdain for these "idiots who rejected the true Voldemort," as he gently placed the Voldemort (remnant soul) on a sofa.
"Great Master," Barty said, perfectly feigning fear and guilt. "I am so sorry, but for now, you will have to stay here."
"..."
The old Death Eaters risked furtive glances at the figure on the sofa.
The Voldemort (remnant soul) was a pathetic sight: withered and shrunken to the size of an infant, pale, wrinkled skin stretched over bone. Yet, the trademark bald head and "ashamed to show its face" nose were unmistakable.
Ah…there it was! The glorious bald head! Nostrils utterly devoid of extra parts!
There could be no doubt! This was the esteemed Voldemort!
Though the Voldemort (remnant soul) appeared on the verge of death, possessing less than one percent of his former power—easily the weakest person in the room—the Death Eaters knelt without hesitation, chanting, "Great Master!"
"Hmm…"
A flicker of satisfaction flashed in the Voldemort (remnant soul)'s eyes. He wasn't about to address these fools just yet, instead focusing his gaze on Barty Jr.. "You have done well."
Just as Barty had promised, these men remained loyal. Had Barty not sworn a life oath, the Voldemort (remnant soul) wouldn't have dared to meet them.
"It is my honor, Master," Barty replied, kneeling on one knee.
"You will have everything you desire."
The Voldemort (remnant soul) skillfully painted a rosy picture for Barty, then turned his attention to the kneeling relics. "You too. When the time is right, I will lead the Death Eaters to glory once more!"
"Yes! My Master!"
The simpletons had no doubt that the Voldemort (remnant soul) could lead their decrepit ranks to victory over Tom and his vast army of Death Eaters.
But what fueled their unwavering confidence?
It was nothing more than an absolute faith in "No Nose," an irrational conviction that defied understanding.
Just as the Voldemort (remnant soul) was basking in the fawning display...
"Um, Master," one Death Eater, noticeably cross-eyed, spoke hesitantly. "The Death Eaters, er, have already achieved great things."
"..."
The Voldemort (remnant soul) seethed at this idiot's untimely interjection, wishing to strike him down. But with his forces so depleted, he couldn't afford the loss.
Suppressing his rage, the Voldemort (remnant soul) settled for a verbal reprimand. "Are you questioning me?"
"No… I wouldn't dare!" The man cowered, lowering his head once more.
Voldemort ignored the blunderer and turned to Barty Jr.. "Proceed according to plan. But be careful around that other me; do not get too close."
Precisely: "Do not get too close." The Voldemort (remnant soul) placed implicit trust in Barty Jr.. Even he, in his prime, would have struggled to see through the man's disguise, as would that meddling old fool, Dumbledore.
As for Tom… what a joke! Even if he was stronger, how much stronger could he actually be? If he couldn't tell the difference, what chance did Tom have? Did Tom even have any hair?
The Voldemort (remnant soul) was confident that, so long as Barty Jr. avoided direct contact with Tom, the mission would proceed without a hitch.
"Yes!"
Yes, alright, Barty Jr. thought, inwardly cursing the Voldemort (remnant soul). To call yourself "another me"?!
The Voldemort (remnant soul), however, felt reassured by Barty Jr.'s response and offered no further instructions. Instead, he looked towards the corner of the living room. "Bellatrix, come here, pick me up."
As soon as he finished speaking, Bellatrix emerged from the shadows.
The Voldemort (remnant soul) was taken aback. Her hands were covered in cracks, stained red with blood, and hung uselessly at her sides.
"Yes…"
Bellatrix seemed to want to raise her hands, but the excruciating pain prevented her from doing so.
"..."
The Voldemort (remnant soul) was stunned for a moment, but then asked, "Never mind... what happened to you?"
"I encountered some traitors earlier and was injured… I'm sorry, Master! It's my fault!"
One had to admit, when it came to Tom, Bellatrix's acting skills rivaled those of Barty Jr..
Everyone in the room, except Barty Jr., believed her performance, including the Voldemort (remnant soul).
"Hmph! Those traitors… just wait, they won't live much longer!"
The Voldemort (remnant soul) turned toward the kneeling Death Eaters… Damn! All enormous men! And each older than the last!
Having no other choice, he did the best he could, selecting the youngest of the decrepit bunch. "You, come and lift me up."
"Yes!"
The huge man looked delighted and quickly got to his feet, taking a few steps forward before carefully lifting the Voldemort (remnant soul) into his arms.
"…"
The Voldemort (remnant soul) was incredibly annoyed. The man reeked of stale sweat and unwashed flesh. The stench was simply… tolerable. Fortunately, mini-hamburgers' training had hardened him.
Witnessing the Voldemort (remnant soul) nestled in the giant's embrace, Bellatrix felt a surge of disgust.
She wouldn't let anyone other than Tom touch her.
Even Barty Jr. had to acknowledge that the crazy woman was utterly ruthless—even to herself.
That's right, she had deliberately injured her own hands.
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