https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-698-This-Is-the-One-the-Dark-Lord-Wants/13685921/
Chapter 699: The Poisonous Serpent in the Church
Through the collapsed corridor, the group stepped into the main church of the Monastery.
The interior had long since fallen into ruin. The towering dome split open by a giant crack, shards of stained glass scattered across the floor, coated in dust. Pews, warped and leaning at odd angles, stood like broken bones. Candle holders, rusted and blackened, clung to the walls—crimson wax tears, melted and hardened, hung from their twisted metal branches.
The wooden door of the confessional remained shut, but from within came a ragged, uneven sobbing—voices rising and falling, like the stifled cries of someone in unbearable pain, or the dying moans of a wounded beast. At times, it dissolved into incoherent whispers.
Harry’s small frame shuddered. He stared at the confessional, utterly bewildered. He couldn’t comprehend what kind of situation could produce such a terrifying sound.
The Scarred Man tossed the two children onto the stone floor, bowing low. “My Lord, the Dark Lord,” he murmured, “Wade Gray and Harry Potter are now before you.”
Harry’s knees slammed into a stone plaque. Pain flared through him, darkness flashing before his eyes. But he bit down hard on his lip, refusing to cry out.
Wade instinctively turned his head, his eyes darting across the confessional door. His heart clenched.
A narrow crack had opened in the door. Within, a hunched, indistinct figure crouched in the shadows—chains clinked faintly around its limbs. The air reeked of blood, thick and nauseating. The sound of metal dragging across stone echoed softly—someone, burdened by chains, dragging their body through the room.
Then, from the corner of his vision, Wade caught a flicker.
A single, blood-red eye appeared in the crack—unblinking, fixed on him. The gaze held an abyss of agony and despair. To look into it was to stare into the heart of darkness itself.
Wade froze. His spine prickled with cold sweat. He tore his gaze away, face pale, heart hammering.
At that moment, the sound of wood scraping against wood echoed from the front of the church.
Wade glanced up.
A high-backed chair, entirely black as pitch, slowly rotated into view. Coiled upon its back was a serpent—sinister, terrifying.
The serpent was as thick as a grown man’s thigh, its body stretching over three meters, slithering with deliberate, serpentine grace. Its scales gleamed with a greasy, dark golden sheen. Three horned heads lifted high, their amber vertical pupils locking onto the two children. The folds of its neck flared open, and with each breath, it exhaled a hiss so chilling it seemed to freeze the air.
—Cobra!
Wade’s mind flashed. He couldn’t recall exactly when he’d seen a documentary on the subject, but he knew this creature.
In the natural world, venom was typically the weapon of small creatures or insects. Large animals, by sheer size and strength, didn’t need poison—they were lethal by brute force.
But the Cobra was different. It was a rare exception: a large, powerful beast with venom so deadly it could kill twenty people with a single injection.
Yet as his pulse raced, a thought struck him—in this world, the Cobra wasn’t even the most dangerous serpent.
Because here, in the magical realm, there existed serpent monsters—unnatural, hybrid creatures that defied logic.
And the most powerful of them… had been slain by a twelve-year-old Harry Potter.
The realization calmed him, just slightly.
The chair completed its turn.
Coiled in the serpent’s embrace sat a figure—half-man, half-serpent, an ancient, strange infant. His entire body burned crimson. His pupils were thin, red slits. No nose—only two long, narrow fissures on his face, opening and closing with each breath. His neck was unnaturally long, and in his soft, pale hand, he clutched a long, slender black wand.
Yet despite his horrifying form, his head bore a name so ordinary it was almost absurd.
Tom Riddle.
Wade’s breath caught. He looked down, his small body trembling.
As he lowered his gaze, he noticed a large, oval-shaped mirror floating before Voldemort—about the height of a man. Its surface was blank, fogged over, reflecting nothing of the ruined church.
Beside him, Harry seemed dazed. Perhaps the panic had overtaken him. He now seemed to believe everything around him was part of a nightmare—not real. Even seeing the grotesque infant didn’t stir much in his expression.
His eyes flickered toward the serpent, a mix of ancient curiosity and unease in his gaze.
“Master!” Little Barty Crouch’s voice crackled with frenzy. He stared at the infant with unseeing devotion. “I’ve finally brought you Harry Potter!”
Voldemort twirled his wand idly, chuckling in a dry, rasping tone. “Ah, I know. I’ve seen it all…” He glanced at the blank mirror. “You’ve done well, Little Barty Crouch… very well.”
A ruddy flush spread across Little Barty’s face—like a child handed his favorite candy.
The Scarred Man and the Tattooed Woman both glanced at him.
Little Barty Crouch met their stares with a defiant smirk, a thrill of smug satisfaction filling him.
Even if you’ve served the Master for years… the one who truly matters… is still me.
They turned their eyes away, their expressions subtly strained.
Little Barty Crouch assumed it was jealousy.
“Unfortunately,” Voldemort drawled, “the live broadcast was interrupted. Otherwise, we could’ve watched Dumbledore’s face when he realized we’d already taken you.”
“Master!” Little Barty Crouch blurted, eager. “We should perform the ritual now! Otherwise, Dumbledore might—”
“No need to worry,” Voldemort said, lifting his malformed hand with unnatural confidence. “The Priori Incantatem Charm is in place. Dumbledore will never find this place.”
“Truly wonderful…” Little Barty Crouch exhaled, relief washing over him. For a moment, he even felt a pang of shame—had he underestimated the Dark Lord’s caution?
Then, Voldemort’s voice turned icy.
“But… Little Barty Crouch… do you know what that child said in front of the camera?”
Little Barty Crouch’s face paled. His eyes darted instantly to Wade.
To ensure Harry reached the trophy safely—preferably first—Little Barty Crouch had kept a palm-sized streaming mirror, monitoring the tournament’s progress at all times.
So when Wade and Harry stood before the trophy, Little Barty Crouch had been hidden nearby, listening to every word.
His smile froze. His body trembled. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
“Master!” he stammered, desperate. “That boy doesn’t know the truth! Yes, I was captured by Dumbledore—but I said nothing! I escaped quickly, and Ryan Smith—the Master’s spy at Ilvermorny—helped me distract the guards!”
“Calm yourself,” Voldemort interrupted, raising a hand. His voice was soft, almost soothing. “I trust your loyalty. You are my beloved child. But… to ease any doubts, to prove your innocence, you wouldn’t refuse a small test, would you?”
Little Barty Crouch didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees, bowing deeply. “Of course! I’ll accept any test, Master! Whatever you need—I’ll do anything!”
“Then…” Voldemort raised his wand. The crimson eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
“Legilimency!”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
