I became Voldemort

Chapter 272: Who Are You?

The deadly green light flashed for only an instant, yet it blinded everyone, making it impossible to keep their eyes open.

Harry temporarily lost his vision. In the darkness, Cedric was utterly silent, as though he had already perished without a sound.

But when Harry reopened his eyes, he realized that what had felt like an eternity in his mind had only been a fleeting moment. The green lightning was still streaking through the air, and everything around him seemed shrouded in a veil of time, becoming slow and distorted.

Harry could see the tiny specks of dust suspended in the air, as if frozen in place. He could see the cold, cruel expression on Voldemort's face. He could see Cedric's terrified face reflecting the green light…

That face overlapped with the vision he had seen earlier—the cold, lifeless corpse of Cedric, eyes wide open, collapsing silently onto the ground.

Just meeting those soulless, empty eyes made it hard for Harry to breathe.

Who could save him?

Mr. Cyrus? Professor Dumbledore?

Harry wanted to scream, but he found that his body, like everything else around him, was slowed to a crawl—was death descending upon him again?
The thought struck him uncontrollably, but in that very instant, a blazing flame burst into existence out of thin air.

At that moment, a flicker of confusion flashed across Voldemort's eyes, followed by an irrepressible excitement.

Whoosh!

Golden flames rippled outward in an instant, spreading into every corner of the room!

Harry could feel the warmth emanating from the fire, and under its glow, even the searing pain in the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead seemed to subside slightly.

But this fire was no gentle caress.

It carried immense power, surging through the room like a raging tornado!

Where the fiery waves swept past, the air itself seemed to distort under the heat.
Voldemort quickly pulled his wand out of Harry's head and created a vacuum barrier in front of himself, like an invisible wall, to block the force of the flames.

But everyone could sense that the fire was merely the prelude. The true crescendo lay with the one who traveled with it.

"Chirp!♫~"

A phoenix's cry pierced the air from within the blaze.

And then, a commanding voice resounded with a powerful incantation:

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green lightning tore through the flames, intercepting Voldemort's curse just before it struck Cedric!

The two spells collided, their deadly forces obliterating each other, and the clash of lightning shattered the frozen flow of time in an instant!

Cyrus strode forth, raising his wand high as the flames bowed to him, their fiery brilliance dimming in submission.

His eyes burned like torches, and his presence was like that of a god descending from the heavens!

"Voldemort, is your wand only good for pointing at children?"

Cyrus sneered, shattering Voldemort's curse with an icy undertone of killing intent in his voice.

Harry struggled to open his blood-soaked eyes, looking toward the flames. Within them, Cedric had collapsed to the ground, seemingly granted a reprieve from death. Three figures emerged, walking side by side, with Cyrus at the forefront.

And contrary to Voldemort's claims, Cyrus looked anything but frail or aged.

Harry let out a breath of relief, like someone who had fallen from a great height finally landing safely. His heart calmed, as if firmly planted on solid ground. He wanted to shout out, but the words caught in his throat.

"Mr. Cyrus, Professor Dumbled—wait, who are you?"

The second person stepping out of the flames wasn't the familiar Dumbledore, but a blond-haired youth. The third figure wasn't blond, but instead surrounded by a phoenix Harry recognized—Fawkes.

Wait, who are these handsome guys?

Where's Professor Dumbledore?

Harry desperately wanted to ask. He even noticed that Fawkes wore the same confused expression as him.

The magnificent phoenix circled around the youthful Dumbledore, as if asking when Dumbledore had learned to be reborn through flames, returning to the vigor of his youth.

"Dumbledore..." Voldemort muttered, frowning slightly, providing the answer to Harry's unspoken question.

This young man, who appeared no older than himself, was actually Dumbledore?

"You've made yourself younger," Voldemort remarked, his tone laced with suspicion.

He had prepared for the consequences of time manipulation, planning to transfer the cost of altering history to Cyrus, someone closely tied to him. If everything had gone as planned, Cyrus should now have been reduced to a frail, aged figure—perhaps even dust in the wind.

But, unexpectedly, not only had Cyrus avoided aging, but Dumbledore and Grindelwald had also been rejuvenated, regaining their youthful forms under the influence of time's power.

This was an unforeseen miscalculation.

However, Voldemort wasn't overly concerned. Time's forces were notoriously difficult to control, and he knew such power came with unpredictable outcomes.

"I must truly thank you, Tom," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and measured, even in this youthful form. "The taste of youth is something I haven't experienced in a long time—it's rather fascinating."

Despite his appearance, Dumbledore's words retained their signature wisdom and air of old age.

"Er... Professor?" Cedric croaked, his back bent as though the flames had seared his throat. He coughed violently, tears streaming down his face. "Professor, are you... really the professor?"

Cedric had countless questions bubbling up inside him—about Dumbledore's current appearance, about Voldemort, about Harry and the Horcruxes.

But now wasn't the time.

And Dumbledore, with a slight gesture, interrupted him before he could continue.

"You've done exceptionally well, Cedric. Honest and courageous—you are a true champion," the youthful Dumbledore said earnestly, placing a firm hand on Cedric's shoulder.

It wasn't just polite words; it was the honor Cedric rightly deserved.

"But now, take the others and leave the Department of Mysteries immediately. Leave everything else to us."

"But Harry..."

"Don't worry, I'll ensure Harry returns with me," Dumbledore assured him. Even in his youthful form, his words carried an undeniable authority and a calming reassurance.

Cedric nodded firmly, knowing he had no choice but to trust him.

"Boy, don't forget to take that unlucky Durmstrang student with you," Grindelwald interjected casually.

Cedric turned to look for the others who had been blasted away by Voldemort. As for that hapless student, Voldemort had chosen to ignore him completely.

Voldemort's gaze was fixed on Dumbledore as he spoke softly, "Now do you see the allure of what I pursue? Youth, power surging endlessly within your body..."

"You've also changed," Dumbledore said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Grindelwald. As he looked at Voldemort, his expression grew increasingly solemn.

He could feel that the Voldemort standing before them now possessed magical power that surpassed any point in his historical record.

The soul hidden within his body was no longer fractured or broken. Though it bore marks of stitching and mending, it was now entirely whole—perhaps even more than whole.

His eyes glowed crimson, with sclera that had turned pitch black, resembling two blood-red moons shining ominously.

A complete soul, the magical legacy left behind by Morgana, and the Deathly Hallows—this was the Voldemort they faced now.

"I dare say this is the strongest enemy we've ever encountered!" Grindelwald said gravely. His heart was heavy with unease, and through his enchanted eye, he could see that Voldemort was shrouded entirely in an aura of black and red malice. The dreadful power emanated endlessly, like a harbinger of death and plague.

"Of course, I am more powerful than ever before!" Voldemort said coldly.

In a display of disdain, he released Harry Potter, casting aside the boy once prophesied to be the savior, as though he were utterly insignificant.

Voldemort even seemed to regard Dumbledore and Grindelwald with little concern. Tilting his head slightly, he spoke:

"You made me what I am, especially you, Cyrus. Without you, how would I have realized the monumental error I made—foolishly fragmenting my soul? Ah~~" Voldemort let out a long sigh, as though recalling a past he found too humiliating to revisit.

"How naive and childish I was back then, don't you think? Believing that splitting my soul to achieve immortality was a brilliant idea. But I forgot: the power of magic relies on the unity of body, soul, and emotion. How could a fractured soul ever unleash its full potential?"

"So you traveled back in time to restore the parts of your soul that were lost?" Cyrus asked.

"Of course, it was the only way," Voldemort said earnestly. "You devoured my soul, and I was no longer your match. What other choice did I have but to go back in time?"

The Voldemort standing here now had fully come to terms with his past failures.

In fact, he had much to say about the gains he had made from this fruitful journey through time.

He hadn't shared these thoughts earlier because Harry Potter wasn't a qualified listener. But Cyrus was different.

Now, with the four individuals who could determine the fate of the wizarding world gathered in one place, every word spoken here could be immortalized in history.

"I traveled through many points in time to retrieve my soul, and I also uncovered the secret to your strength, Dumbledore," Voldemort said, lifting the wand in his hand with enthusiasm. "—One of The Deathly Hallows. The Elder Wand. Truly marvelous, isn't it?"

"I once overlooked so many things, dismissing tales as mere fables. But then I traced their origins and discovered this!" He pulled out a black stone.

Cyrus noticed that Dumbledore's breathing grew heavier.

"Yes~ The Resurrection Stone!" Voldemort said hoarsely. "Look at it. It's what I used to restore myself to a living, breathing body, one capable of bearing unlimited power! It's laughable that I was so blind before, using it to create a Horcrux... As for that cloak, though—it's as if it vanished into thin air. I haven't been able to find it anywhere..."

A trace of regret appeared on Voldemort's face, but it didn't linger for long before he dismissed it entirely.

Since obtaining the Elder Wand through his travels in time, Voldemort had devoted himself to studying the legend of Death and the three brothers. To him, the Cloak of Invisibility was utterly insignificant; the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand were more than sufficient.

Hearing that Voldemort had dismissed the Cloak, Dumbledore and Grindelwald both let out a sigh of relief.

The two of them didn't truly believe that the Deathly Hallows were magical artifacts crafted by Death itself. Still, there was always the possibility that gathering all three together could unleash some inexplicable magical power.

"The Deathly Hallows…" Cyrus murmured, his eyes locked on Voldemort's.

At this moment, he held a Resurrection Stone in his possession. He hadn't expected Voldemort to retrieve another one from the past.

Two identical stones existing simultaneously?

And would their magical power clash?

He glanced at the wand in Voldemort's hand. From the moment their spells had collided earlier, Cyrus had felt the magnitude of Voldemort's current strength.

It seemed, at least, that the power of the Elder Wand remained intact.

"After that, I recovered the pieces of my fragmented soul. I discovered that piecing them back together provided an enhancement far beyond my expectations!" Voldemort declared.

He was aware that Cyrus had used a similar method to strengthen his soul, but Voldemort soon realized that the enhancement he experienced from reintegrating his soul fragments far exceeded the gains Cyrus had made from devouring them.

This raised doubts in Voldemort's mind about Cyrus's very existence.

Afterward, Voldemort returned to 1992 and found the diary that had been causing havoc at Hogwarts. He discovered that the soul within the diary was entirely different from Cyrus.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he fixed his gaze on Cyrus, as if trying to see through his very soul.

"So, Cyrus," Voldemort said coldly, "why don't you tell me who you really are?"

"You are not merely one of the fragments of my soul—or rather, not just that. You devoured my soul, inherited my talents and powers, but where did you come from in the first place?"

Voldemort's face was filled with doubt. "No matter how far back in time I went, I couldn't find a trace of you—except in the present!"

With just a few words, Voldemort had turned the focus of attention squarely onto Cyrus.

Not only was Voldemort curious, but Dumbledore and Grindelwald also cast sidelong glances at Cyrus, clearly eager to hear his answer.

"Are you so desperate to know my past?" Cyrus countered with a question of his own, his tone light.

He twirled his wand between his fingers, speaking softly.

"There's really nothing special about it," Cyrus said, almost lazily. "I'm just a wandering soul who happened to stumble upon your diary."

A few years ago, Cyrus would never have dared to reveal his identity so casually, especially in front of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. But now? What did it matter?

In the world of magic, strength was the ultimate authority. In the end, everything came down to power. And really, who would waste time mourning a piece of Voldemort's soul?

That being said, Cyrus's response was hardly groundbreaking—everyone already thought he had been just a wandering soul as he was not at all like Riddle.

"It seems our conversation is over," Voldemort said, his tone icy yet composed. "Let us settle this with action, then."

This time, Voldemort made no move to launch a sneak attack.

In this journey through time, he had reclaimed his soul, his power, his intellect, and even his nose. More than that, he had regained his elegance.

With a graceful bow, Voldemort moved as though about to engage in a formal duel, rather than a life-and-death battle.

Of course, wizard duels had always carried the risk of fatality...

Cyrus exhaled deeply, his gaze sharp and contemplative.

He glanced at Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The two of them had been pulled back to their younger selves by time's distortion. Though their magical understanding and knowledge remained intact, their raw magical power had not returned to its peak.

As for Cyrus himself, Voldemort's reversal of time had unintentionally pushed Cyrus's magical power to its zenith.

He realized now that this battle would require every ounce of strength he had. This fight against Voldemort would demand nothing less than his all!n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

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