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HP:BSG - Chapter 705: The Badge
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 11:30:02 +0000 UTCParticipating in the third task… running through the Forbidden Forest… encountering Wade… touching the Cup… shrinking and being dragged away by Wade… Barty Jr. appearing… Voldemort resurrecting… the Dark Lord tempting Wade to swear loyalty to him…
Harry snapped his head around and saw Wade—still in child form—bound to a long bench. His short arms and legs didn’t even reach the floor, and his small, thin body was locked into the oversized chair, making him look frail and pitiful.
Yet the boy’s face showed little fear—only awe and a burning hunger for knowledge.
Remembering his own transformation earlier, Harry felt his face heat with embarrassment, but at the same time, he almost wanted to laugh—instinctively.
That is so Wade.
Even at such a young age, his thirst for knowledge apparently outweighed any fear of death.
Harry took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He slowly rose to his feet, gripping his wand tighter.
He was no longer responsible only for himself—there was a young Wade who needed protection.
To bring Wade back safely, he had to stay composed and find a way to fight to the end.
“What do you want?”
Harry spoke, his voice was steadier than he expected, and his green eyes met the blood-red serpent pupils. “If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it already. There was no need to restore me first.”
Voldemort’s lips curled. “Good. Very perceptive.”
He paced around Harry with graceful steps. “Tonight marks a beginning… and you, Harry Potter, the world-famous Savior, will be the perfect witness to my return.”
As Voldemort moved, Harry turned slightly to follow him, stealing a quick glance toward Wade.
No… Barty Jr. and the other two have already moved close to Wade. There is no way to grab him and run…
Voldemort seemed entirely unconcerned with Harry’s thoughts. He continued pacing and speaking in an almost reflective tone:
“The world believes you are my nemesis. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You’re merely the ‘lucky boy who lived’—and the power that saved you wasn’t yours, but your mother’s…”
His voice stretched leisurely. “Family always acts in ways we cannot foresee, wielding power beyond imagination.”
“Just as your mother died to protect you; or my father… ah, that mediocre man I killed with my own hands. After his death, he turned out to be of some use to me.”
He sighed faintly. “See, I’m growing sentimental. But look, Harry—my true family has returned…”
From the distance came faint crackling sounds and the rustling of cloaks. Death Eaters were Apparating nearby, guided by the Dark Mark, yet they kept circling the area, unable to find the monastery’s true location.
“The Fidelius Charm…”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Voldemort’s face. He turned to the scar-faced man and ordered: “Bring those fools inside.”
At the same time, he flicked his wand. A parchment with an address written on it sprouted wings and flew into the scar-faced man’s hand.
The man bowed at once and strode out.
Moments later, the monastery’s ruined doors were pushed open, and a dozen hooded figures shuffled in, shrinking back fearfully. Every one of them wore a hood and mask, moving with hesitant, sluggish steps.
Voldemort’s pupils narrowed to slits— Less than half of the people he expected had come.
The scattered figures stood hunched and slouched, looking nothing like the Death Eaters who once terrorized the world. Instead, they resembled a group of unemployed drifters with sore backs after an all-night drunken binge.
An awkward silence filled the air.
Voldemort suddenly let out a cold laugh. Even Harry could sense the murderous intent in it. The Dark Lord’s rage was building, ready to erupt in some terrifying form at any moment.
Just then, one of the Death Eaters stepped forward. As he spoke, he deliberately altered his voice, making it hoarse and grating.
“Master… th-there is an unexpected issue…”
He bowed his head nervously. “The broadcast… the broadcast did not stop…”
Voldemort’s body went rigid. Harry even saw veins bulging under his pale skin. No one inside the church dared to speak; even the sound of breathing felt too loud.
Barty Jr. sharply turned his head to glance at the viewing mirror he had secretly turned off. Beads of sweat instantly formed on his forehead. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but no sound came out.
His knees slammed to the floor and his body began shaking.
“What… did you say?” Voldemort did not look back at Barty Jr. His voice was terrifyingly soft.
The Death Eater trembled and fell to his knees. “This place… has been broadcasting… the whole time… Everyone… everyone saw… your resurrection…”
Voldemort’s wand swung sharply. A burst of blinding red light blasted Barty off the ground. He flew across the room, hit the wall, and slid down.
“Cough—! Cough, cough… M-Master…”
Barty coughed violently, curling on the floor in convulsions.
Voldemort slowly walked toward him with a chillingly calm expression, though the veins beneath his skin throbbed like living creatures.
“What did you do, Barty?”
Voldemort asked gently—too gently—his voice was like a serpent coiling around the throats of every Death Eater present.
Barty pressed his forehead against the worn carpet, trembling as he spoke: “It was my mistake! I—I turned off the viewing mirror by myself…”
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He trusted no one—but even Voldemort had to admit that Barty Jr. was one of his most loyal Death Eaters, perhaps the most loyal.
All the other truly devoted followers were in Azkaban. Those still outside were unreliable fence-sitters who might turn on him the moment he appeared weak.
But Barty… In the past year, he had countless chances to harm Voldemort in his helpless infant-like state. He could have refused to assist in the resurrection, leaving Voldemort to drift hopelessly like a lost spirit.
Yet he didn’t. He remained loyal, utterly dedicated, no matter the Dark Lord’s condition.
So Voldemort did not unleash his fury immediately. Instead, he continued:
“Why? I have always believed in your loyalty…”
“I—I wasn’t trying to betray you.” Barty crawled forward on his knees until he was lying at the Dark Lord’s feet, trembling from head to toe. His voice cracked with desperation:
“I only didn’t want you to remember Ryan Smith… because I failed to bring him back…”
Before he even finished speaking, Barty suddenly realized something was wrong.
No matter how much he idolized Voldemort, deep down he knew very clearly that the master he regarded as a father was, in truth, a cold, ruthless, merciless Dark wizard.
There was no way Voldemort would care about that shallow boy, Ryan Smith. Once Ryan became useless, Voldemort wouldn’t give the slightest thought to whether he lived or died.
And yet, just a short while ago, Barty had been utterly convinced that Voldemort would fly into a rage over Ryan, that he would blame him, the trusted lieutenant, costing him the Dark Lord’s trust and his place.
Because of that fear, Barty had panicked—taken matters into his own hands, cut off Voldemort’s access to the outside world and even felt secretly proud of his quick reaction.
How could this have happened?
Barty smashed his forehead against the floor again and again, screaming: “Master! I understand now—it must be Dumbledore—he must have done something to me—an Imperius Curse, yes, that must be it…”
“Enough!”
A jet of green light shot from Voldemort’s wand, grazing past Barty’s ear and blowing a large hole into the wall.
Voldemort took a deep breath, calming himself in a disturbingly serene manner. “Very well. Since they have already seen…”
He waved his wand, reopening the viewing mirror. Voldemort’s own figure appeared on the screen.
And to the viewers, the next scene was even more unsettling— two Voldemorts, facing one another, both wearing matching, dangerous smiles:
“Then let the whole world see… the price of defying me.”
Harry’s heart sank heavily.
Because at that moment, Voldemort’s gaze had fallen on the bewildered, innocent-faced Wade.
And even Harry could tell—from the angle of that shot—that the primary master mirror had definitely been placed on the young Wade.
In that instant, the robin-shaped badge on the boy’s chest gleamed brightly.
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