I became Voldemort

Chapter 253: Cyrus killed Dumbledore? How could I have such a dream?

That interrogation ended quietly under Dumbledore's mediation.

Perhaps the Ministry of Magic had initially underestimated Cyrus, viewing him as an easy target. Both Fudge and Umbridge had witnessed Cyrus being captured by Dumbledore before and assumed that in the mere year or two since, nothing had changed.

But in reality, Cyrus now likely surpassed even Dumbledore in raw magical power; the only real concern was the Elder Wand.

He hadn't yet gone all-out against this wand, but when Harry had become its master, even Voldemort had lost.

Cyrus's only worry was whether the legendary, invincible Elder Wand might indeed possess some form of Death's power, ensuring victory for any true master who wielded it.

Either way, Cyrus was no longer the same person he had been. Back then, he'd focused on how to escape from Dumbledore. Now, he was fully confident he could defeat him!

"What a tiresome farce." Grindelwald was already weary of the Ministry's posturing.

He'd encountered many foolish magical governments, but the British Ministry's sheer ineptitude was rare even by world standards.

He could only attribute it to Dumbledore having sheltered these fools too well.

So much so that they somehow believed they could imprison a Dark Lord with mere earthly authority.

Honestly, for people like Cyrus and himself to even agree to abide by tournament rules or laws was already an act of mercy.

If they wanted to, taking over the British magical world would be a simple task, accomplished in a day.

He yawned, looking rather displeased at the way Cyrus and Dumbledore exchanged glances.

Although he knew Cyrus liked women—and even if he didn't, he'd hardly be interested in a man over a hundred years old—Dumbledore's brittle bones couldn't withstand a young man's energy.

Still, he couldn't help feeling irritated.

Those bushy white eyebrows twitched with discontent as he tilted his head and looked at Dumbledore. "When's dinner, Dumbledore?" he asked. "It's dark already, and the weather's cold. Don't make an old man over a hundred stand out here freezing."

Dumbledore glanced at him, and in fact, everyone looked at Grindelwald.

In that moment, even Fudge was somewhat grateful to Grindelwald for breaking the tension and easing his own discomfort.

Dumbledore, however, had the deepest, most complex expression in his gaze.

"Right away, Mr. Grindelwald," Dumbledore said, his tone carefully distant. "Everyone, please return to the Great Hall. Severus, take Umbridge to the hospital wing."

"Me?"

Snape, standing off to the side like a bat lurking in the shadows, paused, staring at Umbridge sprawled on the ground with unconcealed distaste.

He might have looked like a giant bat, but he wasn't an actual bat—and he certainly had no interest in handling toads.

"You can help Madam Pomfrey prepare some potions to speed her recovery," Dumbledore said, not giving Snape a chance to refuse before leading the others back toward the Great Hall.

Under the dark cloak of night, only Snape and the vibrant, unsightly toad remained on the Quidditch pitch.

The Ministry officials didn't stay for dinner; after what had just happened, they had little face left to linger.

The Beauxbatons group also opted out of the meal, which everyone understood.

After all, who could be cheerful dining beside those responsible for their friend's death?

At the feast, Cassandra's brutal killing of the two Death Eaters had already made an impact.

Everywhere she went, students cleared a path for her, and a circle of empty seats formed around her spot at the Slytherin table.

Her beauty had once drawn admiration, but now no one dared to look her in the eye. Everyone feared that she might suddenly pull out her wand and cast a curse!

Getting into an argument with someone else might lead to injuries, but upsetting her?

That might mean a one-way trip to the afterlife. Frightening, wasn't it?

Heh~

Cassandra didn't mind this in the slightest. In fact, she seemed to relish the fearful stares, which irked Ginny and Hermione.

"She's so full of herself!" Ginny huffed.

"She really is something!" Ron said admiringly. "If I were her, I wouldn't even know how to carry on at Hogwarts."

He dreamed of being the center of attention, but this kind? He knew those uneasy glances would crush him.

At the feast, Harry seemed a bit distracted.

He turned to glance at Cedric, who was seated at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by the adoring cheers of the other Hufflepuffs. After a moment of hesitation, he walked over.

"..Cedric," he called, and a boy sitting beside Cedric looked up, moving aside to give the smaller-framed Harry some room.

"Sorry, I got eliminated a bit early," Harry said apologetically. "I was hoping we could face the challenges together."

"Don't worry about it, Harry. You were eliminated by Cassandra Vole—I heard about what she did," Cedric replied, casting a wary and cautious glance at the blonde beauty seated alone at the Slytherin table. He couldn't help but feel a chill. "Lucky she didn't kill you"

Noticing Cedric's gaze, Cassandra turned her head slightly and locked eyes with him. Cedric, however, didn't recoil in fear but simply looked away calmly.

"To be honest, we all underestimated the other schools and the tournament itself," Cedric admitted to Harry.

Harry felt the same way. When he first heard about the Triwizard Tournament, he thought it would be just a regular school exchange competition. But then Cyrus showed up, followed by Grindelwald, and suddenly the three most powerful wizards were part of the event…

'Then there were the Death Eaters…' Harry felt frustrated.

It was clear that there were many layers of conspiracy behind all of this.

Harry had seen Voldemort take on many forms—the Quirrell in his first year, Cyrus in his second year (mistakenly thought to be Voldemort), a goblin body in his third year, and then returning again through his father's remains...

Even though Voldemort had been defeated again and again, he seemed impossible to kill. Who knew in what form he would come back this time?

"And besides, you did help," Cedric said, patting Harry's shoulder, his face especially bright. "That centaur in the Forbidden Forest—Firenze—he asked if I knew you!"

Hearing that, Harry grinned.

Then he pulled out a magical firearm.

"Here, take this," Harry said. "I'm low on bullets, but you should be able to make more, so that shouldn't be an issue. Hopefully, it'll help in the second task. Or... maybe you could just withdraw?"

Harry actually hoped Cedric would give up the tournament.

Right now, besides the trio of Cyrus, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, only three students had made it to the second task—Cedric, Fleur, and the fearsome Cassandra.

Harry wasn't worried about Cassandra, knowing she only targeted Death Eaters, but Fleur Delacour… he glanced over at the nearly empty Ravenclaw table.

That half-Veela, always exuding a magnetic charm, was now Beauxbatons' last remaining champion. No one knew what she would do in the second task, or if she'd even be the one participating herself.

"No, I'll keep competing!" Cedric shook his head, looking more like a brave Gryffindor. "Don't worry about me, Harry. I'll make sure I stay safe first."

"Good luck," Harry nodded, genuinely happy for Cedric.

The break between the first and second tasks spanned two to three months.

The second task would take place after the Christmas holidays and would only begin when spring arrived. During this time, the visiting champions and alternates from other schools could only sit in on classes at Hogwarts.

In these months, Harry didn't feel any sense of a tournament atmosphere. The Ministry of Magic and the wizards from the International Confederation of Wizards had all returned, and everything seemed to go back to normal—except for one thing.

"I don't get it. You've been eliminated, so why don't you have to take the final exams?" Ron asked, a bit jealous.

Skipping exams was a dream he'd love to achieve!

"If only I'd been chosen as a champion! I'd lose in the first round, then coast through the whole year!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table, surrounded by essays thicker than his thumb.

"Don't be silly. Harry's going to take his exams, right?!" Hermione said, as if it were obvious. She couldn't understand why anyone would want to avoid exams.

But Harry's silent smirk said it all.

This made Hermione extremely frustrated.

She slammed her book down on the table, glaring at him, and the three of them were promptly kicked out of the library by Madam Pince.

Even so, Hermione kept lecturing Harry about taking his exams. She insisted that he shouldn't neglect his courses and studies; otherwise, he might end up with nothing this year.

"You've seen how brilliant Cassandra is. If you keep wasting time like this, I bet even Cyrus wouldn't want a follower like you," Hermione declared, turning up the heat.

Finally, Harry picked up his assignments and began working.

This surprised Snape. He'd fully expected Harry to shirk his Potions assignments, using the "champion" title as an excuse, and was prepared to mock him in class for being the "eliminated champion."

But seeing Harry turn in his work left Snape momentarily lost for words, rendering this one of the rare Potions classes in which Harry wasn't ridiculed. Of course, it wasn't as if Snape had anything positive to say, either.

Typically, Cyrus spent his time in the Hogwarts library or in his carriage. He rarely strolled around the grounds, as Hogwarts' young witches tended to "accidentally" gravitate toward him, pretending to do something nearby.

And the carriage itself was well-equipped with almost every convenience he could need; anything missing could simply be conjured up with magic.

Except for the books in the library.

This was also the reason Cyrus often lingered in the library.

Previously, he'd only been interested in the Restricted Section, but he'd come to realize that there were plenty of valuable books outside of it as well.

Many were on magical theory, which, while not forbidden, offered insights that proved quite useful.

Some of these theories, Cyrus could test for himself.

Cyrus was accustomed to young girls constantly glancing his way, but today, the "girl" observing him was a bit unusual.

He looked toward a dim corner of the library shelves, where a shadow of blue drifted by.

"You've been watching me for quite a while, Lady Grey," Cyrus said, keeping his head down as he continued reading.

"Lady Grey?" Helena Ravenclaw's face twisted in anger as she stepped out from behind the shelf, her expression filled with a despairing rage that made it seem like she might tear Cyrus apart.

"You liar! You deceived me and stole the diadem from me. Back then, you affectionately called me Helena… and now, you call me Lady Grey?!"

The ghost of Ravenclaw, whose real name was Helena Ravenclaw, was the daughter of Hogwarts' founder.

In her fury, she reached out with her hands—hands that could grasp nothing—to claw at Cyrus's face.

"First of all, the one who deceived you was Tom Riddle, not me. We just happen to look somewhat alike," Cyrus said calmly, ignoring the ghost's feeble attempts to claw at him. "Second, the diadem that Tom Riddle promised to retrieve for you— I can give it to you right now."

He took out the diadem, which had corroded entirely, its form barely recognizable. Helena finally fell silent, dropping to her knees and covering her face as she sobbed.

"It's ruined beyond repair. Voldemort used it as a vessel for a Horcrux, and that dark magic destroyed it…"

"I've failed my mother…"

"Of course you have!"

Cyrus offered no words of comfort, only nodding seriously. "The wise Rowena Ravenclaw somehow had a daughter as foolish as you…"

Cyrus had little patience for foolishness.

And Helena was the perfect example of a fool, the kind of romantic that he found utterly insufferable. Someone like that was bound to make disastrous decisions.

"Well, no matter— the diadem is back, even if it's damaged. It's still Lady Ravenclaw's relic, so you might as well keep it safe."

He rose from his seat, as their exchange—despite his earlier soundproofing spell—had already drawn the attention of many students nearby.

...

Night.

The ghostly ship drifting on the Black Lake disturbed Captain Jack—no, ehm, it disturbed Grindelwald's sleep.

The scene before him became hazy, as dark shadows and veils faded away, replaced by a world shrouded in silvery-gray mist.

Albus Dumbledore stood before him.

Gradually, everything grew clearer—the gray tower around them, resembling an observatory.

The wizard he had longed for stood opposite him, wand in hand, just as he had fifty years ago.

But Grindelwald had no time to feel heartache before a green flash cut through the air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Ah—!" Dumbledore's lifeless body fell before him, and from the cold, viscous darkness, a handsome young man dressed in green robes stepped forward.

—Cyrus!

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