Charles picked up the Poké Ball and released Voldemort's body once again.
Then, he pulled out an Everstone and stuffed it into Voldemort's mouth, forcing him to swallow it.
The Everstone's purpose was to suppress the spores growing on his body, preventing them from continuing to reproduce and expand. If Voldemort were to turn into a Parasect that massive, it would be an even bigger problem. Walking around with such a giant mushroom on his back—Voldemort or not—he'd be a laughingstock.
Charles hadn't gone through all this trouble to obtain Voldemort's body just to turn him into a joke. His goal was to use it to intimidate the International Confederation of Wizards and the American Ministry of Magic—not parade a fungal clown through the streets.
As for the smaller mushrooms, a simple black robe would do well enough to hide them.
Next, Charles took the cracked wand from Voldemort's hand and destroyed it without hesitation. Then, he slipped his own Destruction Wand into Voldemort's hand.
"All right then… your turn to rise again, Voldemort."
At his command, "Voldemort," whose limp arms had hung lifelessly just moments ago, suddenly lifted them once more. His movements were stiff and strange, his pupils vacant as he blinked around in confusion. But soon enough, his motions grew more natural—eerily natural—until the imitation was almost indistinguishable from the real Dark Lord himself.
Charles nodded in satisfaction. The performance was flawless.
In truth, the spores had been carefully modified by him. Normally, the parasitic spores of Parasect could only survive on members of its own evolutionary line—Paras or Parasect—and were unable to infect any other living being. But Charles had altered them to succeed where nature had not. They had managed to parasitize Voldemort.
Still, there was no need to worry about the spores spreading uncontrollably. They could only reproduce through the laying of eggs, and unless someone else attempted resurrection from an infant state—like Voldemort just had—the infection could never take hold again.
Even now, if these spores ever did spread further, they could only infect the descendants of this particular host.
With everything in place, Charles judged that the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic were likely on their way. He quickly staggered back a few steps and collapsed onto the ground, feigning serious injury.
From nearby, Karkaroff stared in stunned disbelief, utterly unable to comprehend what Charles Gold was doing.
But one thing had become painfully clear to him: this man was terrifying. Even the once-invincible Dark Lord had fallen into his hands and become nothing more than a hollow puppet. Watching Voldemort's body move with alien precision, Karkaroff felt pure dread fill his heart.
What fate awaited him now?
That man had saved him from the Killing Curse—surely he wouldn't turn around and kill him now… right?
Desperate hope flickered in Karkaroff's eyes.
But before he could even breathe relief, "Voldemort" raised his wand and began advancing toward him step by step.
Just as despair took hold—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Several sharp cracks echoed through the graveyard as multiple figures appeared, spinning into place like rubber snapping back into shape.
"Drop your wands!"
"This is the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic! You're under arrest!"
"Don't move!"
Kingsley Shacklebolt led the group, followed by several younger Aurors who—brimming with reckless courage—stepped forward immediately, wands raised and ready to strike.
But Kingsley, the most powerful among them, froze mid-sentence.
The shadow standing amid the graves was too familiar—too nightmarish. The sight of that serpentine visage sent a shiver of recognition down his spine.
"...The Dark Lord?" Kingsley breathed, his mouth hanging open as if he'd seen a ghost.
No… impossible.
Had he just woken up too fast?
The Dark Lord had been dead for over a decade!
Kingsley's voice made the others falter. Their earlier bravado vanished at once. The younger Aurors stumbled backward, hands trembling as their wands shook in terror.
Then "Voldemort" slowly turned his head toward them. The gleam of his reptilian eyes reignited the nightmare buried deep in their memories.
A chill ran through Kingsley and his team like a flood of ice water poured down their backs.
And before anyone could react—
"Voldemort" suddenly hissed:"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light streaked through the air, striking Karkaroff dead where he stood.
Charles had "saved" Karkaroff earlier precisely for this moment—so the man could serve as a blood sacrifice for the false resurrection of the Dark Lord. After all, what was a terrifying revival without a death to mark it?
Let the Aurors witness it firsthand, Charles thought. Let them remember that fear. It would make his later intimidation plans that much easier.
The Aurors stood frozen, staring at the corpse in horror, unable to process what had just happened. Only Kingsley snapped back to his senses, firing a spell in retaliation—
—but it was effortlessly deflected.
"Voldemort" turned toward him with contempt. The Destruction Wand in his hand flared with unnatural power, unleashing a wave of dark energy that blasted Kingsley and the others off their feet.
It was another gift of the parasitic fungus: every ability of the host—like the Parasect's powers—could now be used at will by the spores' controller. And through his telepathic link—Legilimency—Charles issued the final command.
"Voldemort" erupted into a swirling storm of black smoke, soaring into the night sky before vanishing into the clouds.
All that remained were the bodies—the dead and the dazed—strewn across the desecrated graveyard.
"Are you all right?"
The voice came gently. Charles's voice.
Kingsley, still trembling from the aftershock of fear, turned to see him.
"I— I'm fine… you're Charles Gold—"
There was hardly anyone in the Ministry who didn't know that name now, but Kingsley had no time for formalities.
Clutching his aching chest, he rose unsteadily. "The Dark Lord—he's back? Did you see how he was resurrected?"
"I noticed Karkaroff performing some kind of ritual," Charles said with a look of guilt. "But I didn't realize at first that he was trying to bring Voldemort back. By the time I did, it was too late to stop him."
He glanced around at the devastation the duel had left behind. "I fought him for a while, but I lost. You saw what happened—he killed Karkaroff, the very man who revived him. Honestly… he deserved it."
"That doesn't surprise me," Kingsley sighed. "Karkaroff betrayed many of the Dark Lord's followers just to reduce his Azkaban sentence. You've got nothing to blame yourself for, Charles. The fact you could even fight the Dark Lord alone for that long… that's braver and stronger than most could ever hope to be."
He straightened, still grimacing in pain. "I'll need to report this to the Minister immediately. Excuse me."
"Wait—let's go together. Fudge is still at the school with Dumbledore."
Kingsley nodded.
(End of Chapter)