HP:BSG - Chapter 698: The One the Dark Lord Wants

A chill ran through Wade’s entire body, and his heart pounded violently in his chest.

Instinct told him to step back — to turn and run — but reason gripped his legs like chains.

Don’t move. One wrong move, and he might die.

He forced himself to stand still, copying Harry’s confused and frightened expression — his lips slightly parted, eyes brimmed with tears, body trembled faintly, and his small hands nervously clutched his clothes.

He looked exactly like a terrified child.

Barty Jr. advanced step by step with a wand in hand. His pale, thin fingers were tense and white at the knuckles and the wand’s tip glowed faintly, ready at any moment to unleash a deadly curse.

He loomed over the two children huddled behind the stones, his gloomy eyes glinting like a serpent sizing up its prey.

Then, Barty Jr. smiled — a slow, chilling smile — and said deliberately, “Harry Potter… and Wade Grey?”

Harry was terrified, but when he glanced at Wade — who looked too scared to even speak — he gathered his courage and stepped slightly forward, imitating Uncle Vernon’s overly polite tone.

“H–Hello, sir. I’m Harry Potter. Is there something you wanted with me?”

Barty Jr. had been glaring dangerously at Wade, his brows furrowed, but upon hearing Harry speak, he shifted his gaze to the green-eyed boy.

“Harry… Potter…”

He repeated the name slowly, then broke into a twisted grin. “The Boy Who Lived… the famous savior… finally caught in my hands…”

His tone and expression were so strange that Harry felt a wave of dread wash over him. Even compared to Uncle Vernon at his angriest, this man was far more terrifying. Harry had to fight not to shrink back.

Lifting his chin, he stammered, “I–I think you might have the wrong person, sir… I’m… I’m not some kind of savior…”

Barty Jr.’s lips twitched. He wanted to say something — but didn’t.

To deliver this boy before his master, he had endured countless dangers and nearly died more than once. The hardships he had suffered defied description — and worse, he had been used and tricked, leading to the Dark Lord’s fall once again.

But what could this child, this boy who had been rewound through time, possibly understand? He probably didn’t even know how to spell his own name yet.

To vent his anger or complain to such a small child — even Barty found the thought humiliating.

He lost all interest in speaking to Wade Grey as well—

Threatening or bullying a child like this was meaningless.

Besides—this was someone the Dark Lord himself wanted.

For the sake of his master’s cause, no matter how much he longed to tear Wade into pieces, Barty Jr. could only force himself to let go of past grudges—to forget that Wade, together with those at Hogwarts, had once seen through his disguise and captured him.

With a flick of his wand, several ropes shot from its tip, wrapping tightly around Wade and Harry.

“Take them to see the Master,” Barty Jr. said coldly. “Don’t make him wait too long.”

“Don’t order me around. We’re not your subordinates!”

The scar-faced man grumbled as he grabbed the two children, lifting them easily off the ground. He looked down at them with a sinister grin. “Behave, kids. Otherwise, I’ll snap your arms.”

Harry shrank his neck in fear, though something about the man’s words felt disturbingly familiar—it reminded him of Uncle Vernon, who often threatened him in almost the same tone.

Wade also pretended to be frightened, flinching slightly, though his eyes flicked toward Barty Jr., studying him carefully.

He was desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Whether this was a game world or the wizarding world—no one was going to make him just accept his fate.

“Wait.”

The tattooed woman suddenly stopped walking. She nudged the unconscious Clementine on the ground with her boot and asked, “What about this girl?”

In the moonlight, the girl’s fine hair was matted with blood against her pale face. She looked as though she were already on the brink of death.

Barty Jr. gave a cold laugh without even turning around. “A nuisance. Kill her.”

“Hold on,” said the scar-faced man. “Better take her along. She’s a witch at least—might be useful. Even as an experiment.”

Barty Jr. spun around sharply and aimed his wand straight at the man’s throat. “You have no right to make that decision!” he snarled.

“Hey, hey—no need to get so touchy, friend.”

The scar-faced man stepped back cautiously, holding Harry up like a shield in front of him. “I’ll ask the Dark Lord myself. Or… do you plan to make decisions for your master now?”

The muscles in Barty Jr.’s face twitched violently at that, and his eyes darkened with rage.

“As you wish,” he hissed, lowering his wand. “But if this delays the plan—”

“Relax,” the scar-faced man interrupted smoothly, setting down the wide-eyed, trembling Harry. “You’re not the only one devoted to the Dark Lord’s cause. We want to see his victory as much as you do. We’re not here to make trouble.”

The tattooed woman roughly stopped Clementine’s bleeding, then wrapped the girl up in a cloak, slung her over her shoulder, and said:

“Actually,” the tattooed woman said coolly, “I think we understand the meaning of efficiency better than you do. I heard it took you over a year just to capture that little boy named Harry?”

She shot Barty Jr. a sidelong glance — the meaning behind it couldn’t have been clearer:

[You wasted an entire year of the Dark Lord’s time over something so trivial — are you sure you weren’t deliberately stalling?]

Barty Jr.: “……”

Fury surged inside him like wildfire. At that moment, his hatred for these two far surpassed his contempt for deserters and traitors.

They had never risked their lives for the Master as he had; never endured years of imprisonment and torture; never stood face to face with the most terrifying wizard in the world.

And yet they dared to stand beside the Master as his confidants, to question his judgment, to speak to him with such arrogance?

His body trembled slightly from the effort of suppressing his rage. Yet, instead of erupting, his expression only grew colder. He cast them both a blank, icy glance before turning and striding deeper into the monastery.

Wade’s eyes darkened. The scar-faced man still carried him by one arm. Wade’s gaze hung low on the ground — watching the cracks between the bricks, the weeds sprouting through them — while his thoughts raced.

The “Dark Lord.”

He couldn’t possibly mistake that word.

It really is Voldemort!

What is that monster’s situation now? Has he already been resurrected? Or is he still ruling from the shadows?

Judging by the condition of this monastery, Voldemort’s current power couldn’t be too great…

But if he uses Legilimency on me— Can I resist it? And if Voldemort discovers the memories of the future buried in my mind, along with the truth of where I come from… What would happen to this world then?

A tide of dread washed over him, numbing his fingertips and turning his whole body cold.

Yet at the same time, another feeling slowly coiled up from the depths of his heart—

Excitement.

Even with his life hanging by a thread, he felt a strange, electric thrill.

Fear and anticipation intertwined, and Wade’s breath unconsciously grew hotter and heavier.

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