"Master… Master, my hand… my hand is gone…"
Wormtail wailed miserably.
Only then did Voldemort notice that Wormtail was missing a hand.
"Hold it out,"
Voldemort said coldly.
Wormtail trembled as he stretched out the severed wrist.
"Thank you, Master, thank you—"
"Useless. The other one,"
Voldemort snapped angrily.
Wormtail withdrew the mangled arm in despair and slowly raised his intact arm instead.
Voldemort tore open Wormtail's sleeve.
Harry's pupils shrank.
On Wormtail's arm was a hideous, terrifying black mark, twisting as if alive.
The Dark Mark.
The very sa Dark Mark that had appeared at the Quidditch World Cup.
Voldemort pressed a finger onto it.
Harry's scar flared with searing pain once again.
Wormtail let out a shrill scream at the sa ti.
"Now that they've felt it again," Voldemort said softly,
"I wonder how many of them will co crawling back."
He began to pace slowly between Harry and Wormtail.
From ti to ti, he casually cast one or two healing spells on Darren.
But they barely helped at all.
That only made Voldemort's gaze toward Harry grow colder.
"If Darren Potter dies today," Voldemort said calmly,
"then rember this well, Harry Potter—you are the one who killed him."
Harry stared at Voldemort with undisguised hatred.
He crushed the raging fury in his chest.
If he could, he would kill Voldemort right here—
just like Darren had tried to do, tearing his throat apart.
"Do you hate ?" Voldemort chuckled.
"How amusing. You hate , and I hate you as well.
Affection… love… those are things I've never had.
Dumbledore once said love is the greatest power of all.
But tell , have you ever truly loved anyone?
Everything you do is calculation.
You calculated a man into becoming a dog—
a loyal, obedient dog that exists only to serve you, Harry Potter. Isn't that right?"
"That's bullshit! He's not a dog—he's my brother!"
Harry clenched his fists tightly.
At the sa ti, he quietly reached for the Triwizard Cup and held onto Darren's hand, ready to grab the cup the instant he could and Apparate away.
But his heart was sinking deeper and deeper.
He didn't know whether Darren could hold on until then.
Darren's breathing was growing weaker and weaker. Even though Voldemort had cast healing spells on him, it barely made any difference.
Harry's tears were on the verge of spilling over.
He knew exactly what had happened just now.
Voldemort had cast countless spells at him.
Every single one of them had been blocked by Darren.
The only reason he was still alive was because of this cup. Darren must have believed that as long as he sent Harry away, he himself would be able to survive sohow.
He had charged in without hesitation.
Voldemort!
Harry clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.
Suddenly, he felt it—
his magic had returned.
The realization almost made him lose control of his expression.
Fortunately, Voldemort was bent over examining Darren at that mont and didn't seem to notice anything unusual.
"Very good. He's dying,"
Voldemort said coldly.
He cast another healing spell on Darren.
Still no response.
"It's over," Voldemort sneered.
"This ending was inevitable."
He straightened up and stepped away from Darren.
Then he seized Harry by the arm.
"Now then, you should go back to where you belong—
back to the place you were standing before."
He dragged Harry toward the tree where he had been bound earlier.
"My family… none of them are left, but—"
Voldemort suddenly turned his head.
Soft, rustling sounds echoed all around them.
One by one, hooded figures erged from the darkness, surrounding Voldemort.
Voldemort spread his arms and laughed.
"Look, Harry Potter. These are my true family.
Blood purity may be a lie, but weakness certainly isn't."
Harry listened, confused and disoriented.
But Voldemort wasn't looking at him anymore.
He turned to the hooded figures and chuckled softly.
"My Death Eaters… let see you properly.
Healthy, intact… how enviable.
Cruciatus Curse."
"Crucio!"
A Death Eater scread in agony.
The others imdiately dropped to their knees.
They knelt there, trembling violently.
"Master… Master, please spare …"
"Spare you?" Voldemort said calmly.
"I originally planned to keep you alive a little longer. After all, ti is sothing I have plenty of now.
But I've changed my mind.
You can die here instead. At least soone living will be here to witness it, right?"
He raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra."
A body was blasted into the air, then fell heavily to the ground—right beside Darren.
It lay motionless.
Dead.
Only then did the Death Eaters notice Darren.
Lucius Malfoy's body shook violently.
He spoke in a trembling voice,
"Master… Master, is that Darren Potter? Has he… has he been killed by you?"
"Oh no," Voldemort said lightly.
"I never hide such things.
That child—
though raised by Dumbledore—was a strong one. A strong man worthy of Voldemort's acknowledgnt.
I didn't kill him.
He chose to die protecting his dear little brother.
As for this Harry Potter… the boy everyone once claid defeated Voldemort—
in the end, he still fell here."
Lucius looked at Harry coldly.
"Then, Master… allow . Let kill him."
"No," Voldemort replied calmly.
"There's no need, Lucius.
I will kill Harry Potter myself, in front of everyone.
I want the entire wizarding world to know—
Voldemort has returned."
He turned his cold gaze to Harry.
Then he sneered.
"I know your magic has recovered.
Take out your wand.
We'll have a proper duel."
A duel?
Harry looked up at Voldemort blankly.
Could he really duel Voldemort?
He hesitated.
Then—
"Crucio."
Pain exploded through every inch of Harry's body.
It felt as though his nerves were being torn apart.
He heard his own screams.
He felt his own agony.
And suddenly, he rembered—
Darren.
Darren had suffered this pain back in first year.
It was as if Darren had never truly lived peacefully since entering the wizarding world.
He had always been hovering on the edge of danger.
In truth… wasn't this pain supposed to be Harry's from the very beginning?
In his daze, he heard Voldemort speak in a voice filled with disdain.
"A boy who couldn't die… how laughable.
It was your mother—
that foolish woman—who cast a sacrificial protection on you.
That's why my curse rebounded when I tried to kill you."
So that was it.
So this was the truth.
He wasn't a boy who couldn't die.
He wasn't a savior.
Everything had only been a spell his mother left behind.
Harry struggled to turn his head and look at Darren, confusion filling his eyes.
He thought—
it was a good thing Darren hadn't woken up.
If Darren heard this, he would be heartbroken.
Because he had risked his life to protect the wrong person.
Harry wasn't a savior.
He wasn't the one who deserved Darren's sacrifice.
Harry thought this sadly…
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