"Treat me as food?" Voldemort's face instantly darkened, and he felt insulted intolerably.

The man simply waved his pale hand, and an invisible barrier blocked the front of the group of fruits, which stopped in mid-air in disobedience, and then fell to the ground, rolling in chaos on the sand.

Just as Voldemort was about to turn away, the fruits suddenly bounced restlessly and frantically, and a stream of hot air burrowed into the two slits of Voldemort's nose, which could barely be called his nose.

A series of explosions came from not far away, and the dazzling light that followed seemed to pierce people's eyes, as if the entire island was shaking with this series of explosions.

"Damn. Voldemort was nearly knocked down by the sudden explosion, and he frantically waved his wand against the sand and stones flying in all directions.

After that was not a long journey, Voldemort had to deal with the strange and endless strange creatures, one moment the fist-sized and the scale of the waves of the mighty ants attacked him like an army, and the next moment a black manic bird flew not far from the sky, roaring and screaming. A tireless charge towards him.

Even if Voldemort didn't care about their threat in the slightest, he couldn't help it.

There were even a few pieces of the black robe that were damaged by the explosion just now.

The gray face is the most appropriate way to describe Voldemort at this time.

But now his mood has calmed down, leaving behind the irritability that he had no reason at that time.

Calm thinking is a prerequisite for a great wizard.

Especially when he's not at his peak.

He couldn't afford to lose.

Voldemort became more and more cautious, he slowly stepped up the stone steps, cautiously guarding against triggering any trap, Lucius was delaying time for him, pestering Dumbledore, the hateful old man coming at any moment.

It seems that all the traps have been exhausted, and there is no more obstacle on this stone step.

Voldemort dragged his robes and walked to the stone door made of a single piece of granite, and attached his long, pale palm, like a dry bone, to it, chanting a soft incantation.

With a "rattle", the stone door opened, and a rotten smell suddenly overflowed.

The magical creatures that were active in the outside world just now were in stark contrast to the lifeless cells in between.

Voldemort stepped inside, and without hesitation, the tip of his purple wand glowing faintly, illuminating the way ahead.

Some of the prisoners saw him through the railing, but as if they didn't see him, stupid and dumbfounded, while others were asleep, as if the dreams brought by sleep would allow him to escape from everything.

This is the after-effect of being tormented by the Dementors.

Voldemort didn't worry about his men, they were the craziest dark wizards, and their spirits might be languishing because of the Dementors, but they would never completely break their will.

He had to find his men first, and he could deal with these potentially useless prisoners later, and if he released them, he would definitely be able to make Dumbledore anxious for a long time.

"Who are you, and you were caught there?"

Voldemort continued to dig deeper, only to realize that someone had actually maintained consciousness and stopped him.

It was a stout, bald young man, with black skin, who did not look like he was British, and had a strange accent, as if he was from Africa.

"Aren't you affected?" Voldemort's scarlet eyes flashed with a cruel glint that had been so rude to him for a long time.

However, he still held his breath and asked in a cold tone.

"Oh, I don't know, all I know is that as soon as I came in here, they were like this. The man laughed, unaware of being a prisoner, and seemed a little happy that the newcomer had entered.

"It's so boring here. The man said. "Are you new here? didn't the Aurors take you?" he asked curiously.

"I can send you on a great adventure, and it must be fun. ”

A green glow flashed in the dark hallway.

He's dead.

Voldemort kills people for no important reason.

Voldemort slowly walked deeper, the man's words just now seemed to give him some hints, but he still couldn't deduce anything from that bit of information, as for the dementor's thoughts, he didn't want to waste time on it for the time being.

"Antonin Dolokhov. Voldemort's pale face showed a happy smile, and he muttered to himself that he had found one of his best men.

The man sat in the cell, he had a long, pale, distorted face, and was somewhat close to Voldemort in temperament, but his large body and waist diluted this feeling.

He was arguably one of Voldemort's most powerful dark wizards, having teamed up with several other Death Eaters to kill Molly Weasley's two older brothers, Fabian and Gidion Prewit.

His eyes were closed at this time, and he seemed to be asleep.

"Resuscitation!" the cold voice of the spell echoed through the cell.

Hearing this, Dolokhov opened his eyes.

The eyes had lost all the emotion that represented the color, and there were only endless hollowness, palpitations, and the man seemed to have lost his soul.

Voldemort felt his inner twitch, an emotion called anger spreading through his chest.

He gritted his teeth and said hatefully, "Dumbledore!"

Voldemort left the small cell, and he quickened his pace and went deeper.

Suddenly, his bony hand trembled slightly.

He saw a woman sitting on a tattered wooden chair, her sleek, jet-black hair now knotted together, extending into many bifurcations that seemed to be brittle enough to shatter at the touch.

She stared blankly at the man in front of her, as if he were air or some other transparent substance.

Who is she?

Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the three sisters of the Black family.

If it was usual, she would have crawled over with even the slightest scenity, shouting his name and kissing his toes.

The man licked his somewhat dry lips, his pale face fell into a violent mood, his scarlet eyes began to become bloodshot, and a blood-like light flickered in the snake's pupils, and Voldemort used his dementor on him, the most fanatical admirer.

A blank slate, a blank sheet of paper.

Voldemort's ten pale fingers instantly twisted together with a sound of joints.

"Good. He muttered to himself, no one knew what kind of emotion he was feeling in his heart.

She's alive, but she's dead

With a low sigh, Voldemort flicked his wand, and an eerie green light flashed through the prison.

The woman sitting in the seat was hit without the slightest resistance, leaned back, slammed into the wall, and then slid down weakly.

The woman died, this time in every sense of the word.

But perhaps it was a relief for her.

"Voldemort will avenge you and make them pay the price they deserve. The man said with a frantic look on his face, as if the whole castle was beginning to tremble violently with fear from his anger.

Azkaban.

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