HP:BSG - Chapter 704: Shrinking and Expanding

“Clack!”

Up in the stands, Lucius Malfoy’s brand-new silver serpent cane fell to the floor. His face—always kept proudly impassive—had completely lost all color at this moment, and his eyes were fixed rigidly on the figure of the man shown on the screen.

Narcissa’s slender fingers clenched the armrest violently, and her perfectly manicured nails carved deep scratches into the expensive wood.

Sitting beside them, Draco reacted the most visibly. Like a frightened young creature, his grey eyes widened in terror, and fine droplets of cold sweat beaded across his forehead.

When he saw the young Harry Potter bound at the side of a resurrected Voldemort, his Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably, and his face turned deathly pale.

Amid the screams and frantic flight of the entire audience, the reaction of this family did not appear particularly out of place. If anything, compared to the chaos around them, they were almost calm.

Lucius bent down and slowly picked up his cane. As he straightened, he quickly swept his gaze around at the people nearby and lowered his voice for a rapid warning: “Remember what we talked about, Draco.”

“But Father…” Draco blurted out in a panic, the pain he’d felt from his father’s previous disappearance suddenly welling up again from deep within his heart.

Narcissa pulled her son closer, and her cold fingers covered his eyes. With a gentle voice she said, “No matter what happens, we will stay together as a family.”

She looked toward her husband, silent understanding passing through her gaze.

“I’m fine, Mother.” Draco pulled her hand away, and said with a trembling voice. “I… I want to watch.”

Lucius took his wife’s hand and said quietly, “No matter what happens, I will protect you both.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together and nodded slightly, her eyes filled with an unspoken, inexpressible worry.

Beside her, Lucius looked toward the front. Whether by coincidence or not, Dumbledore’s gaze swept across that direction at the same moment.

The two men met eyes briefly, then looked away.

…

Voldemort had absolutely no idea that his meticulously planned resurrection ritual was currently being witnessed live by audiences all over the world.

In the Dark Lord’s mind, even if the sudden disappearance of two contestants caused fear and concern among the spectators, most people’s attention would fall on the safety measures of the tournament. 

The British Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore would bear most of the resulting pressure.

After that, even if Dumbledore tried to act, Fudge—desperate to calm the situation as quickly as possible—would do everything in his power to suppress the incident.

He would explain the disappearance of the two as a “portkey malfunction” or “a miscast spell by underage wizards, causing interference in spatial transport; landing point unknown; the Ministry will spare no effort in rescue,” gradually minimizing the impact.

And he, the great Dark Lord, would gather strength in the shadows, summon his followers, create more inferi—and when he reappeared, the entire world would tremble before him!

“Ha… ha… hahaha…”

Voldemort burst into triumphant laughter. His snake-like face twisted with pride, and his narrow red pupils contracted into thin slits from excitement.

“Master! Master!”

Barty Crouch Jr. instinctively fell to his knees, trembling with excitement from head to toe. His mutilated wrist was still dripping blood, yet he seemed oblivious to the pain, clutching tightly at the hem of Voldemort’s robes with his other hand.

“You’ve finally returned! We have waited far too long for this moment!”

Voldemort extended his pale, slender fingers to stroke Barty’s head, then raised his wand and began to move it through the air.

The tip of the wand traced a streak of silvery-white light, bright as moonlight. It twisted and writhed in the air, forming the shape of a human hand before descending and attaching itself neatly to Barty Jr.’s wrist.

Barty stared obsessively at his new hand. His fingers opened and closed smoothly, without the slightest resistance, as though it had always been a natural part of his body.

“Beautiful! Master, it’s truly beautiful!” Barty clutched Voldemort’s robes with trembling hands, and kissed them with reverent devotion. “Thank you… thank you… I would give you everything! My life, my soul!”

“I trust your loyalty will remain as steadfast as ever,” Voldemort said, satisfied.

“Of course… of course it will, my master…” Barty choked out with tears and snot streaming down his face.

“Extend your arm,” Voldemort commanded.

Barty immediately thrust out his left arm without hesitation, pulling the sleeve up past the elbow to reveal a bright red symbol—the Dark Mark.

Voldemort pressed a long, pale finger onto Barty’s arm.

In an instant, Barty let out a muffled groan, pain twisted his features, and the mark on his arm turned pitch black.

At the same time, Harry cried out in agony as a sharp pain stabbed through the scar on his forehead.

It was as if Voldemort suddenly remembered Harry’s presence. He turned toward the boy dangling from the scarred man’s grip, a trace of cruel amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Restore him,” Voldemort ordered. “After all… he is tonight’s most important guest.”

Wade’s eyes flew wide open as he stared unblinkingly at what they were about to do.

The tattooed woman walked toward Harry, and took out a golden kettle. She kept a cautious distance, and then stretched out her arm so the spout hovered above Harry’s head before tilting it down.

Golden mist poured over Harry like flowing sand, covering him from head to toe. His eyes widened as he watched it happen, forgetting even to blink.

Soon, the boy began to moan and convulse in pain within the mist. Wade was certain he was about to expand—only for the opposite to occur.

Harry shrank.

His body grew smaller and smaller, his limbs shorter and shorter. The ropes slipped off him entirely. His black hair receded into his head, and his cheeks grew round and chubby.

“Waaah—!”

With his tiny mouth open wide, he let out a sharp, clear cry.

Wade’s jaw dropped.

Harry had turned into a baby!

Just when Wade began to wonder if the plump infant would continue shrinking into a fertilized egg, Harry popped—and instantly returned to normal size.

The tattooed woman quickly flipped the kettle upright, and the mist whooshed back into it until it had all vanished.

The fourteen- or fifteen-year-old Harry sat on the ground, panting heavily. The robe-like garment he had worn earlier hung crookedly off his body, and his glasses were nowhere to be seen.

He shook his head hard, trying to clear his mind, still seemingly unsure of what had just happened.

“Welcome back, Harry Potter.”

Voldemort’s voice carried a chilling delight. “Unlike that ignorant little child, this you is the one worthy of speaking to me.”

He waved a hand, and the scarred man stepped forward, tossing Harry’s glasses, wand, and the clothes he’d dropped earlier onto the ground in front of him.

Harry’s arms trembled weakly from the transformation, but he hurriedly dressed and put on his glasses. The world finally snapped back into focus.

The moment he gripped his holly wand, a warm current spread from his palm through his entire body.

His memories returned completely.

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