Chapter 260 "The Boy Who Lived"

Due to his unstable emotions after dealing with death, Voldemort's mood could be easily swayed by a few words that make him think of whether what he just heard is beneficial to him.

He recalled a few of his old memories with Dumbledore after a while, "Dumbledore..."

"Not only are the Malfoys proving to be quite of a trouble, but he is still even causing major troubles. What useless bunch of followers I have if none could lessen my burden. Here I thought we would be ready to spread terrors once again to the wizarding world," hearing Dumbledore's name, Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits, akin to a provoked King Cobra ready to strike.

The red hue pulsing within them resembled thunderous lightning. He paused for a moment before continuing, trying to imagine Skyler's prowess. "You dare to compare him to Dumbledore? "His sharp voice cut through the air, betraying his lack of composure. "He resembles Dumbledore? Just how far the Malfoys have grown?"

Voldemort's ferocious visage contorted into a wild laughter, his red eyes now hollow and chilling, as if possessed by a malevolent spirit. "You dare to suggest such a thing! If any of you were useful for an ounce of your being, none of this would have happened!"

With a mere flick of his wand, he unleashed a surge of magical power, whipping the wind into a violent frenzy around the cemetery, "I've faced death, yet all of you can't even take care of keeping the others in the line. Do I need to take care of everything?" his voice is enough to bring even the strong members of the Death Eaters' knees trembling.

The Death Eaters were forced to tighten their cloaks, struggling to maintain their balance.

"Master, allow me to explain," Selwyn interjected respectfully, taking a step forward. "The Nott family and the Carrow family are not ordinary clans. They rank among the elite within the Sacred 28, surpassing even the Everleigh and Fawley families in influence and power."

"For a family like this...you can suppress him, attack him, or even eliminate him after paying a certain price...but if you want to turn them into enemies and make them change their alliances when they were originally hostile, To turn to yourself and become a loyal and solid ally - this requires quite powerful means..."

As Voldemort's hand rose, Selwyn's body was sent flying horizontally, crashing hard onto the ground three feet away, spewing a mouthful of blood.

The idea of having the Malfoys go under his command and even the idea of Skyler being brought under his wings were gone from his head as he unleashed his anger.

He fully comprehended Selwyn's implication, knowing deep down that it held truth.

However painful it was for him to compromise, it was undeniable truth...

Voldemort was aware of his own nature and methods. He ruled with authority and terror, binding others through fear and self-interest. Those who defied him faced swift punishment. Yet, to turn enemies into allies, to win their loyalty—this was beyond his grasp.

He is not Gellert Grindelwald, who built the Alliance and brought all the Alliance members purely with his charisma; he ruled others under an iron fist.

In this regard, only the old man with a white beard, preaching love and forgiveness, possessed the willingness and ability to influence adversaries.

Selwyn's words subtly insinuated that while the Malfoy boy's personality might rival Dumbledore's, it also implied his inferiority in comparison.

That's why Voldemort couldn't restrain himself and cast Selwyn aside. Despite his efforts to maintain composure, the influence of the Horcrux inevitably tainted his temperament, fueling impatience and irritability.

"Interesting... it's so interesting..." After this outburst, Voldemort's rage gradually subsided, his tone reverting to its former coldness. He feigned indifference, remarking softly, "It appears that the Malfoy family is not as aligned with me as I presumed..."

Selwyn, Fawley, and Yaxley exchanged knowing glances—they understood.

This maneuver was a scheme to sow discord and eliminate a threat by proxy! It is a show to prove to his followers that he is way beyond who he was before dying.

Observing the shift in Voldemort's demeanor and tone, they deduced that he had been swayed by their arguments, abandoning the notion of recruiting the Malfoy family.

Voldemort's approach was always straightforward; anyone not under his command was deemed an adversary. From this, they inferred his forthcoming strategy against the Malfoy family.

"Cut off the roots! We can't let the Malfoys to stand on a pedestal and threaten us!" Voldemort's command echoed through the air, revealing the depth of his aversion to the name Dumbledore. Ignoring the vacant space once occupied by Lucius, Voldemort pressed forward.

Taking two measured steps, he halted, casting his gaze at the space between Malfoy and the adjacent figure—a gap sizable enough for two.

"The Lestranges should be standing here," Voldemort murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "but they were captured and imprisoned in Azkaban. Their loyalty knows no bounds; they'd sooner rot in Azkaban than forsake me... When Azkaban falls, they'll receive rewards beyond their wildest dreams. The Dementors will rally to our cause... They are our natural allies... We'll rally the exiled giants... I'll have at my disposal a legion of loyal servants and a host of magical beasts feared by all..."

Struggling to rise, Selwyn straightened, bowing respectfully. "My master, the werewolves who defected from the Rowle family now serve you."

"Excellent...excellent..." Voldemort aimed his wand at Selwyn, unleashing a crimson mist that snaked through the air, seeping into Selwyn's form through his robes.

In an instant, Selwyn felt his wounds vanish, replaced by newfound vigor and heightened magical prowess. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he exclaimed, "Thank you, master...thank you for your generous boon..."

Voldemort proceeded, his presence looming over each Death Eater he encountered, some in silence, others with a word.

"Macneir... Wormtail informed me of your endeavors to neutralize dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic. Rest assured, Macneir, greater tasks await you under Voldemort's patronage..."

"Thank you, Master...thank you," Macneir murmured gratefully.

Moving on, he approached Pettigrew, fashioning a silver-white prosthetic hand for the latter. Pettigrew, tears of gratitude in his eyes, kissed Voldemort's robe.

Finally, he stood before the largest gap, his gaze piercing as if directed at an invisible figure.

"Six fewer Death Eaters...three perished for me, one lacked the courage to return...he will face consequences. Another, I suspect, has permanently departed...and, of course, will meet his end. But one remains, my most loyal servant, now back in my service."

A ripple of unease coursed through the Death Eaters, masked faces exchanging furtive glances.

"My loyal servant resides in Hogwarts, and it is through his efforts that our young friend graces us tonight..."

All eyes turned to Harry. Voldemort's lipless mouth curled into a twisted smile.

"Yes," he declared, "Harry Potter makes his grand entrance at my Resurrection Gala. He may even be considered my honored guest."

Then, Voldemort launched into a detailed narrative of his meticulous resurrection plot, boasting to the Death Eaters.

Harry, once his nemesis, was now in his grasp. With Lily Potter's protective magic coursing through his veins, Harry was no longer shielded from Voldemort's touch...

He pressed his fingers onto Harry's forehead, relishing in the boy's agony.

 

"I will crush your bones, boy!" Voldemort's voice sliced through the air, chilling the room.

Harry's screams echoed, his body convulsing in torment until his cries ebbed into weak whimpers. Left dangling from the ropes, he panted heavily, drained.

"Now," Voldemort declared, "I'll dispel any misconceptions. Dumbledore is absent, and his mother's protection is irrelevant. He will face me in a fair duel."

"Lower him, Wormtail, and return his wand."

Everyone swore they could see a slight smile form on the edge of their lord's lips as he saw Harry in a pitiful position.