Chapter 73 The Rose and the Snake 13
Minister Millicent Barnold's cloudy old eyes flickered between the thorn brand on Abraxas's chest and Voldemort's hand pressed against his heart.
The magic quill wrote frantically on the parchment, and a fanatical gleam flashed in his cloudy eyes.
Clarice covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She looked at Abraxas lying on the ground like a rag doll, and then looked at Voldemort and the terrifying elf with glowing eyes in fear. She completely collapsed.
Abraxas lay on his side, his face pressed against the cold carpet, and every weak breath was frothed with blood.
The dark red thorn brand on his chest pulsated slightly like a living thing, emitting a burning pain.
Inside his body, the fragments of Voldemort's dark magic grew even stronger and colder after absorbing part of Cruciatus' power, like a poisonous dragon entwined in the ruins of magic.
His snake-headed silver staff fell less than a foot away from his bloody fingertips.
Voldemort slowly raised his head, ignoring the lingering pain in his heart. His scarlet pupils were like the coldest ice field, first sweeping over Abraxas who was dying on the ground.
That look was extremely complicated—murderous intent, restrained rage, and a hint of fear of the rules of the Thorn Brand that even he himself was unwilling to admit.
Finally, his gaze, as deep as the abyss, passed through the chaotic crowd and locked onto CC, the old house-elf in the shadowy flowers, whose eyes burned with the same scarlet devil pupils as his, with a determination to destroy everything!
He slowly raised his wand, pointing the tip at CC. A green light that was more concentrated and ominous than any previous one began to gather and compress silently at the tip of his wand!
Abraxas's blood-stained fingers twitched slightly, and he moved slowly and painstakingly towards the nearby silver snake-headed staff...
The fatal green light at the tip of Voldemort's wand, compressed to the extreme, was like the pupil of the god of death, firmly locking onto CC, who was shivering in the shadows, with scarlet yet strangely bright eyes!
In the garden, time seemed to have frozen, leaving only Abraxas's broken breathing and the dark red bloodstains slowly spreading on the carpet.
Abraxas' bloody fingers were only an inch away from his snake-headed silver staff.
His fingertips trembled violently due to the severe pain and exhaustion of magic power. Every slight movement pulled at the burning thorn brand on his chest, bringing heart-wrenching pain.
He could feel the "poison dragon" in his body, which had grown stronger by absorbing the power of the Cruciatus Curse, circling anxiously in the magical ruins. It was cold and hungry, but he could not control it as he was on the verge of collapse.
'Move...' His remaining will screamed, and his gray-blue pupils were fixed on the snake head circling on the handle of the staff.
That was his last hope, a slim chance to disrupt Voldemort's spell!
Just as Voldemort's lips were about to utter the fatal syllable "Avada—" and Abraxas' fingertips were about to touch the cold handle of the wand—
"puff!"
A dull bang!
The figure of the house-elf CC, along with the soil and shadow flowers beneath it that were soaked in dark green blood, disappeared without a trace in an instant, like a bubble that had been punctured!
All that was left was a charred little pit that emitted an aura of space distortion!
Disapparition! And it's a short-distance teleportation unique to elves that ignores anti-Disapparition spells!
The green light of Voldemort's Killing Curse almost brushed past the vanishing afterimage, slamming fiercely into the magical barrier at the end of the garden, exploding into a dazzling green light and ripples of energy! The barrier shook violently, groaning under the weight!
"What?!" Voldemort's roar was filled with rage of being fooled!
The scarlet pupils swept across the entire audience in an instant, and powerful magical perception swept out like an invisible wave.
That lowly elf... actually escaped right under his nose?! How is this possible?
When will it regain its magic power? Who is secretly helping it?!
Confusion and suspicion exploded among the crowd like water dropped into a frying pan.
Millicent's quill was nearly broken, Clarisse's sobs caught in her throat, and the pseudo-Aurors looked at each other, bewildered.
Voldemort turned his head suddenly, and his scarlet gaze was like a poisoned ice cone, once again piercing Abraxas who was crawling on the ground!
Was it him? Was he the one who delayed the time, distracted the attention, and gave the elf a chance to escape?!
However, Abraxas's current condition completely eliminated any possibility of suspicion.
The last bit of strength that was forced to be gathered completely dissipated with the disappearance of CC and the collapse of hope.
The fingers that touched the silver staff slid down weakly, and the whole person seemed to have all the bones pulled out, and completely collapsed in the pool of blood on the carpet.
The gray-blue eyes lost their last bit of spirit, leaving only empty pain and dying dejection.
The thorn mark on his chest beat faintly before he lost consciousness, and the synchronization rate seemed to rise slightly.
"Lord! Mr. Malfoy, he..." A Death Eater disguised as an Auror couldn't help but speak out, watching Abraxas's life force rapidly fading.
Voldemort's murderous intent was like boiling magma, urgently needing an outlet.
CC's escape was a great humiliation, but this half-dead Malfoy in front of him!
The damned brand on his chest, the 55% synchronization rate, and the excruciating memory of the backlash of the Cruciatus Curse last night, like cold chains, bound him tightly against the urge to cast another killing curse immediately.
"Waste!" Voldemort's voice was like the cold wind from the underworld, carrying with it extreme disgust and a hint of barely perceptible fear.
He waved his wand, and a bright yellow magical light, emitting rich life energy but at the same time wrapped in a biting cold (a powerful healing spell mixed with black magic binding), shot towards Abraxas like a poisonous snake, roughly wrapped around his scarred body, and forcibly held on to his last breath.
"Lucius!" Voldemort commanded coldly.
A figure immediately flashed out from the crowd. It was the young Lucius Malfoy. His face was as pale as paper. Looking at his father's appearance, his eyes were full of fear and humiliation.
"Take your father," Voldemort said, his every word like ice shards, "this scoundrel who has brought disgrace upon the purebloods, and take him back to his rat hole! He is not allowed to leave the manor without my permission! Keep an eye on him, and also keep an eye on... the rest of your useless elves!"
His crimson eyes swept across Lucius, carrying with them a thinly veiled warning and anger. "Get out!"
Lucius felt as if he had been pardoned, yet also humiliated. Trembling, he and several other Malfoy servants who had been named carefully used a levitation spell to lift the unconscious, blood-soaked Abraxas.
They didn't dare look at Voldemort anymore, nor did they dare look at the various gazes around them. As if carrying a broken sacrifice, they hurriedly and awkwardly passed through the chaotic crowd and disappeared through the side door leading to the Ministry of Magic's Floo Network.
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