https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-699-The-Poisonous-Serpent-in-the-Church/13685922/
Chapter 698: This Is the One the Dark Lord Wants
Wade froze, his body drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. His instinct screamed to flee, to run—anywhere—but ReasonDiedDied’s grip on his leg held him firmly in place.
He couldn’t move. One wrong twitch, and he’d be dead.
Forcing himself to stay rooted, he mimicked Harry’s wide-eyed, terrified expression—mouth slightly agape, eyes brimming with tears, body trembling, small hands instinctively clutching at his clothing. Just like a real child, utterly broken by fear.
Little Barty Crouch advanced slowly, wand raised, his skeletal fingers white-knuckled around the handle. The tip of the wand pulsed with a faint, ominous light, as if ready to unleash a fatal curse at any moment. Towering over the two children cowering behind the stone wall, his narrow, shadowed eyes glinted like those of a venomous serpent sizing up its prey.
A slow, eerie smile curled across his lips. “Harry Potter… and Wade Gray?” he said, voice dripping with unnatural calm.
Harry was terrified—deeply, profoundly terrified. But seeing Wade, who looked frozen in sheer panic, he steeled himself and stepped forward, imitating Uncle Vernon’s stiff posture and polite tone. “U-uh… hello, sir. I’m Harry Potter. What… what do you want with me?”
Little Barty Crouch had been frowning, his expression sharp with suspicion as he stared at Wade. But at Harry’s words, he turned his gaze, his eyes locking onto the green-eyed boy.
“Harry… Potter…” He repeated the name like a spell, a strange, ancient smile spreading across his face. “The boy who lived… the famous Star of Salvation… finally fallen into my hands…”
The tone, the look—it was utterly alien, unnerving. Harry felt a chill deeper than any he’d known, even worse than when Uncle Vernon raged. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to shrink back.
He lifted his chin, voice trembling but defiant. “I… I think you’ve made a mistake, sir. I’m not… I’m not some Star of Salvation.”
Little Barty Crouch’s lips parted, as if to speak—but then he closed them again.
He had endured agony beyond measure to bring this boy before Master. He had nearly died more than once, sacrificed everything, even been used—so much so that the Dark Lord had truly died once. And now, here stood a child, barely more than a toddler, barely able to spell his own name, let alone understand any of it.
To vent his fury on such a child would be beneath him. It would be shameful.
And besides—this was the Dark Lord’s chosen.
For the sake of his Master’s cause, he forced himself to forget the holiday he’d once enjoyed, to forget how Wade, alongside the people of Hogwarts, had seen through his disguise and captured him.
With a flick of his wand, thin ropes shot out, binding both Harry and Wade tightly.
“Take them to Master,” Little Barty Crouch said coldly. “Don’t let him wait.”
“Don’t give me orders—we’re not your subordinates!” growled the Scarred Man, snatching the two children up with one hand. He leaned down, his face twisted into a menacing grin. “Be good, little ones. Or I’ll break your arms.”
Harry flinched, instinctively shrinking back—but strangely, a flicker of familiarity stirred within him. This man… he sounded just like Uncle Vernon. The same cold threat, the same tone of casual cruelty.
Wade played his part perfectly, trembling, eyes darting nervously—but his gaze lingered on Little Barty Crouch, searching, calculating. He refused to accept fate, not here, not now. Not in this game, not in this world.
“Wait,” said the Tattooed Woman, halting abruptly. She nudged the unconscious Clementine with her foot. “What about this girl?”
Under the moonlight, the girl’s fine hair was matted with blood, stuck to her pale, lifeless face. She looked close to death.
Little Barty Crouch didn’t even turn. “Annoying. Kill her.”
“Hold on,” said the Scarred Man. “Take her. She’s a wizard. Might be useful—maybe even as a test subject.”
Little Barty Crouch spun around, wand instantly pointed at the Scarred Man’s throat. “You have no right to decide that!”
“Easy, easy,” the Scarred Man said, backing up two steps and raising Harry as a shield. “I’ll ask the Dark Lord myself. Or… are you really going to make a decision for your Master right now?”
The words struck like a whip.
Little Barty Crouch’s face twitched violently. His eyes darkened, colder than before. “Do as you wish,” he hissed through clenched teeth, slowly lowering his wand. “But if you disturb the mission…”
“Don’t worry,” the Scarred Man replied, setting Harry down with a calm air. “We’re not the only ones who serve the Master’s cause. We, too, long for his victory. We won’t ruin it on purpose.”
The Tattooed Woman roughly bandaged Clementine’s wounds, then tossed the girl over her shoulder like a sack. “Honestly, I think we’re the ones who understand efficiency. Heard you spent over a year chasing after a little boy named Harry?”
She glanced sideways at Little Barty Crouch, her meaning unmistakable.
Spending a year on such a trivial task—were you deliberately stalling?
Little Barty Crouch said nothing.
A storm of fury raged inside him. These two—unlike him, they had never given their lives for the Master. They had never endured imprisonment, torture, or faced the most terrifying wizard in history. And yet, they stood here, questioning his judgment, daring to speak to him like equals?
His body trembled with suppressed rage—but his face remained icy, expressionless. He gave them a single, chilling glance, then turned and strode into the monastery.
Wade’s eyes dropped to the cracked bricks beneath his feet, the weeds pushing through the stone. His mind raced.
Dark Lord.
That word—there was no mistaking it.
It was Voldemort.
What was the situation now? Had he been resurrected? Was he already ruling in secret?
But judging by the monastery’s state, Voldemort’s power must still be small—fragile.
And if he used the Dementor’s Kiss on me now… could I resist?
What if he found out about my future… my memories… my origin?
The thought sent a wave of icy fear surging through him. His fingers tingled, his skin numb.
Yet, beneath the fear, something else stirred—faint at first, then growing.
Excitement.
His life was hanging by a thread, and yet… he felt a strange, electrifying thrill.
Fear and anticipation tangled in his chest. His breath came hot, uneven.
(End of Chapter)
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