Harry Potter with Technology System-Chapter 390: Return of the Pigs

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"I—I am willing! I willingly giving my blood!"

Harry, still concealed under his Invisibility Cloak, smirked.

Nigel let out a low chuckle in his mind. "Oh, I see your plan now. That's bloody brilliant."

Wormtail's gaze flickered between the bound Harry-double and the cauldron, uncertainty clouding his face. The ritual was designed to take blood forcibly. The magic of it demanded unwilling sacrifice, something stolen, something ripped away.

But the double had just offered it.

Rookwood's wand hand twitched. "Where did you get this idea, boy?" he asked, voice sharp.

"I—What!?" Wormtail stammered, his already sweaty face turning paler. "He wasn't supposed to—" He cut himself off, glancing at the cauldron, fear creeping in.

The potion, which had been glowing an ominous red, flickered oddly, as if uncertain. A faint pulse ran through the liquid, something unnatural twisting inside it. It was waiting—hesitating, even. Magic had rules, and the ritual was teetering on the edge of breaking one.

The double breathed heavy. He had done his part. Now it was up to Voldemort's precious grand resurrection to deal with the consequences.

Wormtail hesitated only a second longer before looking desperately at Rookwood. "It—it still counts, doesn't it? It's still his blood!"

Rookwood's expression was tight, his mind clearly working through the implications. This wasn't some standard dark ritual where details could be adjusted on the fly. It was ancient, precise, designed to bring back the Dark Lord at full strength.

He didn't answer. Instead, he raised his wand and muttered an incantation under his breath. A thin, shimmering line of dark magic pulsed in the air around the cauldron, reacting to the ritual's energy.

Nothing happened.

No confirmation. No rejection.

Just... silence.

Rookwood turned to the double, his brow furrowed. "Did you fail to recognize him? He is the Dark Lord, Voldemort! The man who killed your parents. Who tried to kill you when you were a baby."

The fake hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "N-not like I knew my parents. I-I don't feel hatred. Voldemort seems like a nice chap."

There was a silence thick enough to choke on. Wormtail looked like someone had slapped him with a dead fish, his bleeding stump forgotten for a moment. Rookwood, who had been expecting defiance or some last-ditch display of bravado, just stared.

The bubbling cauldron pulsed again, the potion shifting erratically. The magic wavered, flickering between colors, hesitating.

Wormtail paled. "You—you're supposed to hate him!"

The fake flinched back. "I—uh, should I?" He swallowed, eyes darting to the cauldron. "I mean, I guess he's done a lot of terrible things, but, uh, I wasn't there. Can't really hold a grudge about something I don't remember, can I?"

Rookwood swore under his breath. "Take his blood, make it hurt."

Wormtail nodded quickly and squeezed a few drops of the fake's blood into the potion after cutting the arm. The liquid flared again—then sputtered. The glow dimmed, pulsing weakly, like a candle struggling against the wind. The magic was off.

Harry had to press a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

Nigel sounded deeply amused. "Oh, you absolute bastard. You actually did it."

Rookwood noticed the instability, his grip tightening on his wand. "What's wrong with it?"

Wormtail, who had just been trying to keep his blood inside his body rather than outside, looked at the cauldron in horror. "I—I don't know!" He frantically waved his wand over it, muttering detection spells. "The magic—it's rejecting something—"

"You fool," Rookwood hissed. "It was supposed to be unwillingly taken! He offered it! The ritual demands an enemy's blood, stolen, not given freely!"

Wormtail stared, panicked. "I—what do we do?!"

Rookwood clenched his jaw, already running through solutions. He needed to act fast—the magic was at a breaking point. The potion wouldn't hold forever.

Voldemort's rasping voice cut through the graveyard. "Bring those two."

Rookwood nodded, vanishing with a crack, only to reappear seconds later with two figures standing beside him.

Harry, still hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, barely stopped himself from reacting. His eyes flickered to the newcomers, taking them in, but his brain struggled for a moment to process what he was seeing.

Even Nigel muttered in disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned."

Standing next to Rookwood, alive and well, sneering at the bound, Polyjuiced double with open disgust, were two people Harry hadn't seen or even thought about in years.

The last time he laid eyes on them, they been slamming the door behind them, storming out of Privet Drive with their luggage in tow, abandoning Petunia and leaving him behind without so much as a glance. They hadn't resurfaced. They hadn't written. And as far as he was concerned, they ceased to exist.

And yet, here they were. Vernon and Dudley Dursley.

Unlike the last time Harry seen them, they didn't look shocked or out of place. They weren't afraid, weren't recoiling from the sight of Death Eaters or Voldemort's monstrous form. No, they stood with their shoulders squared, faces twisted in something between contempt and satisfaction, as if they'd been expecting this. As if they belonged here.

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Harry let out a slow breath. Well, that's interesting.

Vernon's piggy eyes darted to the Polyjuiced double, narrowing. "Look at him," he spat. "Pathetic little brat."

Dudley, taller than the last time Harry had seen him, smirked. "We learned everything, little cuz. You used your magic to turn Mum against us, but it was a good thing in the end. The Dark Lord promised us magic."

Harry stared at him, unimpressed used Muffliato to speak from Double's mouth. "Did he now?"

Vernon puffed up beside Dudley, his face just as red and bloated as ever. "That's right, boy. No more of your freakishness keeping us down. The Dark Lord is generous to those who serve him." His beady eyes gleamed with satisfaction, like he just won a prize at some meaningless office function. "We won't be looked down on anymore. We'll have power, real power."

Harry tilted his head. "And you actually think he's going to keep that promise?"

Dudley's smirk faltered for a second before he scowled. "You're just jealous. The Lord said you would try to twist things."

"Uh-huh," Harry said. "So, let me get this straight. You two, who have spent over a decade hating magic, calling it unnatural, throwing fits every time I so much as existed—suddenly, you want magic. And instead of doing anything remotely intelligent, you ran to Voldemort. The man who kills Muggle-borns for sport."

Vernon's jaw clenched at the name, but he powered through. "He values loyalty. We proved ourselves."

Harry raised a brow. "By doing what? Running your mouth?"

Dudley sneered down at the Polyjuiced double, smug and self-important. "We did more than that. We helped," he said, puffing up his chest like he actually mattered. "The Dark Lord was cursed with your filthy blood. Yours and your whore mother's. Unfortunately, I share a bit of that blood too. The same blood that protected you against him. But with my help, he'll be reborn immune to it."

He strode toward the cauldron, rolling up his sleeve with a dramatic flourish, like he thought he was about to make history. Pulling a knife from his belt, he sliced his forearm, letting the blood drip into the potion below.

"Blood of the unwilling enemy, forcibly taken," he declared, his voice steady, as if he wasn't just parroting words someone else fed him. "Take Lily Evans' blood and be reborn, Dark Lord!"

The moment Dudley's blood hit the potion, the change was immediate—and violent. The liquid didn't just shift color; it screeched, an inhuman wail erupting from its depths. The cauldron convulsed, cracking at the rim as tendrils of black lightning burst from the surface, scorching the ground in jagged lines. The graveyard trembled, the air thick with something rancid, something... wrong.

Wormtail staggered back, cradling his bleeding stump. He shot a nervous glance at Rookwood, who was watching the ritual with narrowed eyes. Something wasn't right. Even he could tell.

Harry, still hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, raised an eyebrow as he observed from the sidelines. Well, well. This was truly interesting.

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Just a little reminder:Using Muffliato to speak from another place isn't new, or some last-minute plot device. Harry has been using his own variant of Muffliato since the beginning.

He developed this technique while preparing to face the Basilisk—creating a virtual duplicate of himself by combining:

Optics to project a light-based copy

A modified Muffliato to generate fake sound and speech

As for Vernon and Dudley appearing next to Voldemort—that's not out of nowhere either. I've been dropping hints across 390 Chapters, here and there.

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