Chairman Tom Riddle felt terrible. Absolutely terrible.
The pride buried deep within him would never allow him to be unable to extinguish this Fiendfyre Curse, released by who knew whom.
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
All right...
Old Voldy was an exceptionally clever man. As a top-tier wizard, he had already discovered the problem: he seemed to have a terrible resistance to magic related to fate.
It seemed he should have realized this after his first failure. It wasn't that Harry, the so-called Chosen One, had some incredible ability, nor was it that Lily Potter's inexplicable Love Magic was all that powerful. He had been played by that disgusting Prophecy.
He had even turned into an idiot who could only laugh "heh heh heh" and kill, kill, kill.
Wizards weren't incapable of resisting the future foretold by a Prophecy. The future was shaped by people, after all. Everyone fought against fate, whether wizard or Muggle.
The proud Riddle angrily realized that he really was unusually weak when it came to resisting fate—a huge flaw he had never noticed before.
And he had no idea where this weakness came from.
Was it because he had made too many Horcruxes?
Or because he had cursed the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors, only to be outplayed by Dumbledore?
Or perhaps he had committed far too many killings, and the resentment and hatred of all those individual hearts had seeped into fate, bringing down a curse on him at the level of destiny?
There were far too many possibilities. Voldemort couldn't make heads or tails of them.
Especially when he was furious.
While he was locked in a stalemate with the Fiendfyre, the members of the Order of the Phoenix had actually come to help him. Then they called out to the people from