Chapter 707: Fury Like a Tide
The Death Eaters all stood silent, staring at Voldemort, then at Harry, trying to fathom what extraordinary power the boy might possess. After all, from the previous Tournament, he hadn’t seemed any stronger than the other competitors… though the courage to defy the Dark Lord face-to-face was truly rare.
But to the Death Eaters, that wasn’t a sign of power—it was the most foolish thing a boy could do.
Voldemort seemed to sense their confusion. He spoke patiently:
“As I said before, I cannot touch him. Nor can the servant I possessed…”
“Four years ago, Harry Potter was so weak I could have killed him with a single finger. But when we seized him, unimaginable agony tore through our connection. I was forced to break free, and the servant died shortly after.”
He sighed, almost mournfully—like a man lamenting the loss of a loyal servant.
The church fell utterly silent. The Death Eaters trembled, their robes fluttering faintly with each shudder.
Harry wanted to strike, to act—several times he nearly lunged—but the eyes that locked onto him, the crimson gaze of Voldemort, made it clear: now was not the time. Every second delayed was a victory. So he kept his mouth shut, silent as stone, only occasionally glancing toward Wade’s situation.
Unnoticed in the shadow of a broken horn, Clementine, lying on the ground, suddenly twitched. Her fingers stirred. A faint moan escaped her throat.
Beyond a shattered window, a single green eye suddenly appeared—pale, cold, and watching. It lingered on Clementine for a moment, then snapped toward Wade.
Just as everyone expected Voldemort to speak of his third failure again, he suddenly raised his hand.
Harry felt an irresistible force seize him—his legs left the ground, and he was yanked forward with brutal force. He struggled desperately, but all strength had vanished from his limbs. He couldn’t even lift his wand. All he could do was watch, frozen in horror, as a hand like a spider’s gripped his throat.
Voldemort extended a bony finger, its icy tip brushing gently against the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead.
Harry convulsed. Pain exploded from the scar, searing through his nerves like fire.
Voldemort chuckled softly, then withdrew his finger.
To Harry, the voice sounded distant—drifting from the bottom of a dark abyss:
“See? Now I can touch you, Harry Potter.”
He sneered. “The weakness that once defeated me is gone. This… is why I must use your blood to resurrect myself.
Your mother’s blood will live on in me. You will help make me stronger… perfect.”
With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort flung Harry forward. The boy crashed to the floor, clutching his head, too weak to rise. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.
Voldemort paced before him.
“Look at yourself, Harry Potter… powerless, weak, foolish. Without your mother’s protection, what do you have left in my eyes?”
Suddenly, he kicked out, sending Harry rolling across the stone floor. The boy gasped in pain, but Voldemort only grew more smug. The Death Eaters burst into cruel laughter.
Voldemort turned to the others.
“You’ve seen it now. How absurd it is to think this boy could surpass me. That he escaped my grasp at all was pure luck.”
His voice turned colder. “Now I’m certain… my third failure had nothing to do with you, Harry Potter.”
His face darkened. He whispered, his voice like a blade scraping stone:
“That night, at the Quidditch World Cup… my foolish servant was tricked. A man who had been transformed into Harry Potter led him astray—mistaking the boy for my target. He brought him to my temporary hiding place.”
Little Barty Crouch bowed his head so low he seemed to wish for death—anything to erase the shame of being used twice by the enemy. His voice was a rasping whisper, thick with hatred and fury.
“While I was weak… that man, wearing Harry Potter’s face, attacked me again… by surprise!”
Voldemort snapped his hand forward. Harry, who had just staggered to his feet, was thrown back with a crash. The Dark Lord strode toward Wade, his eyes sharp and merciless. In the boy’s wide, terrified gaze, he ripped the badge from his chest.
Voldemort stared at the robin pendant. His pale face loomed large in the camera’s view, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk.
“Dumbledore… the world sings your praises. But tell me—do those who admire you know you’re such a cowardly traitor?”
“Hiding behind your students, forcing a child—still underage—to bear my wrath… then striking when I was weakest!”
“Wasn’t that how you defeated the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald? Using the same trick?”
In truth, Voldemort wasn’t certain who had attacked him that night. But in his mind, the suspicion had already settled—no matter the lack of proof.
If not Dumbledore… then someone close to him.
Far away, at Hogwarts, Dumbledore remained silent.
The weight of countless eyes upon him felt real—like needles pricking his skin. Even the terrifying image of the serpent’s face on the screen seemed insignificant compared to the pressure bearing down on him.
And in the stands, another man—unamused, unlaughing—clenched the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes blazed with cold fury, as if he could incinerate everyone in the room with a single glance.
The air froze.
An invisible force gripped the hearts of every spectator. They held their breath, their veins pulsing in their throats.
No one knew where this fear came from—but it crept up their spines, raising every hair on their bodies.
Eyes that had been watching Dumbledore shifted away. Even Madam Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons, and the various Ministers of Magic from around the world fell silent, their expressions carefully neutral—perfect masks of disbelief.
Fudge, barely revived minutes ago, suddenly felt suffocated. He clutched his chest, gasping for air. He waved weakly behind him, signaling Percy to come. Then, in a strained whisper:
“He’s back… Merlin above… how can someone like me still sit in the Minister’s office?”
Percy stiffened. For a moment, he forgot the Dark Lord’s threat. His eyes locked onto Fudge, his throat working hard.
“Minister… you mean…?”
(End of Chapter)
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