HP:BSG - Chapter 706: Three Failures

At the exact moment Voldemort’s killing intent surged, Harry suddenly whipped his wand upward:

“Expelliarmus!”

A burst of red light shot out—but Voldemort casually flicked his wand. The cauldron that had aided in his resurrection leapt from the ground, blocking the disarming spell head-on.

The cauldron exploded, and as shards clattered across the stone floor, Harry rushed in front of Wade, shielding him with his own body. He shouted bravely:

“Don’t touch him! Your opponent is me, Voldemort!”

Voldemort slowly turned, and his red eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

“Ah… Potter,” he murmured. “I almost forgot… you’re tonight’s main course…”

“Great!” Harry shot back. “For a moment I thought the almighty Dark Lord only knew how to bully little kids!”

He desperately wanted to run— or at least shut his mouth and stop provoking him— but some inexplicable courage surged within Harry, forcing him to say things even he wouldn't have believed himself capable of.

It was as if the figure standing before him wasn’t one of the most evil Dark wizards of all time, but merely Dudley swaggering around with a group of thuggish followers.

Harry could even feel the Death Eaters staring at him in astonishment—the way someone might stare at a Murtlap that suddenly learned to speak human language.

[TN: The Murtlap is a magical marine beast resembling a rat with a growth on its back similar to a sea anemone, found on the coastal areas of Britain.]

He risked a quick glance behind him and saw Wade’s round eyes fixed on him, filled with a child’s innocent curiosity toward strangers—and simple, instinctive trust.

Courage surged through Harry like an endless tide.

He knew he might die, standing alone before Voldemort and more than a dozen Death Eaters.

But there was no fear of death in his heart—only one clear thought:

He must not bow to Voldemort. Even if he died, he had to die on his feet like his father, and protect the child beside him with his life, like his mother.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand, and stared directly at Voldemort’s terrifying face.

“Ha!”

Voldemort laughed from sheer fury, the corners of his mouth split into a grotesque grin, and blue veins bulged along his neck.

Before he could speak, the Death Eaters were already shouting over one another, eager to demonstrate loyalty to their master:

“Master, allow me to handle him!”

“You insolent brat—I’ll make you taste the Cruciatus Curse!”

“Foolish Potter! Enjoy your last moment of pride—soon you’ll be on your knees, begging like a dog!”

Voldemort slowly raised his hand, and the Death Eaters instantly fell silent. Wade, however, turned and gave the group a strange look.

—Even when scrambling to prove their loyalty, these people still didn’t forget to disguise their voices.

For Voldemort to tolerate such followers… Wade thought he was even more magnanimous than expected.

The boy flexed his wrist slightly. His fingers pressed against the bench armrest as he focused his mind, picturing the chains binding him changing shape.

Deep in his subconscious, he felt this should be possible.

Just as Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, Wade felt something stir faintly within him—and a strange, subtle power flowed at his fingertips.

Pop!

It was as if an invisible soap bubble suddenly burst. The iron shackle around his right wrist twisted and warped, expanding by two full sizes—enough for Wade to easily slide his hand free.

He glanced at the tattooed woman standing nearby, and at the golden kettle she still held carefully in her hands. Then, while keeping an eye on the standoff between Voldemort and Harry, he focused his attention on the iron ring around his left wrist.

“Harry Potter…” Voldemort drawled, and his tone stretched like a snake’s hiss. “You are always… full of surprises. But soon, you’ll understand—provoking me is the greatest mistake of your life.”

He swept his gaze around the Death Eaters, then glanced at the badge-camera on Wade’s chest before fixing his red eyes on Harry.

Harry’s scar erupted with searing pain, so intense he nearly screamed. The retort he meant to throw back at Voldemort dissolved into a strangled groan.

“The world says Harry Potter is my nemesis, doesn’t it?”

Voldemort’s tone was eerily calm—almost disarmingly honest—as he continued:

“It’s true, I have failed because of him twice… perhaps three times?”

A ripple of unrest spread among the Death Eaters. They didn’t dare whisper outright beneath the Dark Lord’s gaze, but the way their bodies shifted and their glances flickered between each other revealed their shock.

In the stands the cameras couldn’t reach—and in countless wizarding homes watching the broadcast—an uproar broke out.

It was well known that even Harry’s parents had not “defeated” Voldemort three times. They had merely escaped him thrice—an achievement already extraordinary.

Voldemort did nothing to hide his defeats. He even smiled slightly before continuing:

“The first time, as you all know—on the night I lost my power and body. I sought to kill him, but his mother sacrificed herself to shield him, granting him a form of protection.”

“I admit, I never anticipated such a possibility… I could not touch the boy.”

Everyone watched him. Even the Death Eaters, usually bowed with fear, couldn’t resist lifting their eyes to listen to the untold story of that night.

Harry’s wand trembled ceaselessly in his hand; his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Voldemort stared at his long, pale fingers, speaking almost reflectively:

“When I tried to kill him, the curse rebounded… And the pain of death surpasses all, my friends. I was forced from my body, but my soul remained, for I had already conquered death—through a most remarkable means.”

At that moment, countless faces went ghastly pale.

Not even the great Merlin had ever claimed to conquer death—yet Voldemort had died and risen again.

Every peace-loving wizard felt despair creeping into their hearts—

How could one destroy a man who could not die?

He could fail a hundred times… a thousand times… But he would always return—stronger than before.

At this rate, the world would eventually fall under his reign of terror, and even Dumbledore would not be able to stop him forever.

Many could not help but wonder: Is this why Voldemort doesn’t hide his defeats?

Because they were not shameful at all— They were proof that he was unconquerable.

“The second time… was four years ago.”

After a brief pause, Voldemort continued: “I controlled a professor at Hogwarts, tasked him with stealing the sorcerer’s stone hidden in that school. But again, my plan was thwarted—by Harry Potter.”

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