I became Voldemort

Cyrus stood in the center of the Quidditch pitch, looking like a triumphant general returning from battle under the golden sunlight.

More than a thousand people cheered for him in unison.

In truth, Cyrus had gained quite a bit of popularity among the young wizards at Hogwarts. Although he had orchestrated the Chamber of Secrets attacks, they hadn't resulted in much real harm. On top of that, he had saved Harry several times, attended last year's gatherings, and wasn't a complete stranger to the students.

Moreover, Harry often shared stories about Cyrus's deeds. Though most people listened to them as tales, unwilling to believe that the Dark Lord had truly once returned, these stories still helped Cyrus gain considerable popularity.

Of course, there were also those who weren't particularly happy about it.

In the stands, Umbridge, who had been humiliated by Bellatrix, looked at Cyrus with disgust. His handsome face irritated her; to her, he was just a fugitive from the Ministry's prison who ought to look hideous!

Then there was Barty Crouch Jr., his cold gaze lingering on Cyrus from afar. Two Death Eaters had been killed, and both were valuable assets to the Dark Lord. It was impossible for him not to feel a surge of anger. But instead of acting immediately, he decided to quietly wait for the competition to conclude.

This wait stretched from noon until evening, during which time Cyrus even casually went to the Great Hall for lunch.

Finally, at the very moment when the sun's outline met the horizon, the last champion to complete the trial reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and returned to Hogwarts.

As expected, the last champion to arrive was Dumbledore.

The old man seemed as if he'd set out on a morning stroll, only to return home by nightfall.

In fact, aside from Cyrus, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, there weren't many champions left. Cassandra had eliminated two Death Eaters, knocked out Harry, and, without any rest, turned around and knocked out her own 'new' teammate, Krum.

Afterward, she headed directly to the finish line to lie in wait. Another Durmstrang champion, unfortunately, fell into her trap and was eliminated. Beauxbatons' Fleur narrowly avoided her, reaching the finish line just before Cassandra, while Cedric managed to break through her blockade.

After that, Fischer voluntarily withdrew from the competition, and this chaotic and near-comic tournament finally came to an end.

Now, the exhausted Cassandra stood beside Cyrus. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but with over a thousand people watching, showing any weakness wasn't an option.

She held the pumpkin juice Cyrus had handed her, taking a sip to replenish her energy.

"Well? I did pretty well, didn't I?" Her nose flared slightly, and she lifted her chin toward Cyrus with a hint of pride.

"You did exceptionally well. I didn't think you'd be able to kill two Senior Death Eaters," Cyrus praised her, genuinely impressed. He'd known Cassandra had talent, but he hadn't expected her to go this far.

In that moment, the young witch looked both disheveled and captivating. Her fair face was smudged with soot, her hair had become dry and frizzy from the intense heat of the flames, and her clothes were covered in mud. Yet, no one would say she looked anything less than remarkable.

In fact, as the last embers of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in the dim glow of twilight, her weariness seemed veiled, leaving only a radiant brilliance resting upon her shoulders.

"But I'm guessing I won't qualify for the next match," Cassandra said, with a smug grin that didn't look regretful in the slightest. "In the history of the Triwizard Tournament, I'm probably the only one who's disqualified for too many kills!"

Just as she finished speaking, torches lit up around the Quidditch pitch, casting their warm glow under the dark blue night sky.

Cyrus draped his cloak over Cassandra's shoulders and then shifted his gaze toward a group of people approaching with grim expressions.

At the front was Babajide, with Fudge at his right side, followed by the other judges.

Barty Crouch Jr. was among them as well.

"Congratulations on completing the first task, champions," Babajide greeted them, though his face showed little cheer. "I believe some of you may have noticed that the number of champions who passed this task doesn't quite match up."

Hearing this, Cedric and Fleur immediately looked at Babajide.

They had both noticed the absence of their teammates earlier. However, Cedric had spotted Harry waving to him from the stands upon arriving at the pitch, so he hadn't been overly concerned. Fleur, on the other hand, was baffled.

According to the rules, her teammate shouldn't have been eliminated. Yet, she hadn't seen any sign of her fellow champions on the big screen, nor could she find them anywhere on the Quidditch pitch.

"A few have been eliminated," Babajide began, only for Fleur to interrupt, her anxiety clear.

"But Beauxbatons' champions weren't supposed to be eliminated."

She spoke in French, and though Babajide didn't fully understand, he grasped her meaning.

"Please remain calm, Miss Delacour," he said evenly. "I am deeply sorry and saddened regarding the fate of your fellow Beauxbatons champions…"

A dreadful thought immediately crossed Fleur's mind.

Could it be that they had been unfortunate enough to encounter some uncontrollable magical creatures?

Throughout the task, Fleur had avoided magical creatures wherever possible. While this meant she might miss valuable clues and information, it had kept her safe—yet now...

As she mourned for her two classmates, Umbridge broke through her thoughts.

"I have something to say!"

The pudgy woman in pink sidestepped both Minister Fudge and Babajide, the representative of the International Confederation of Wizards, as she aggressively confronted Cyrus and Cassandra.

"Cassandra Voleur, due to your cruel actions, we hereby disqualify you from the tournament!" Her face twisted into a scowl, her bulging eyes glaring.

Cassandra wasn't surprised; she had been prepared for this. Without hesitation, she stepped forward to face her judgment.

She had only taken a single step forward when a hand rested on her shoulder. Surprised, Cassandra looked back and met Cyrus's intense golden gaze.

"As long as I'm standing here, no one will make my student suffer," Cyrus said, pulling Cassandra back. "Stand aside!"

Just moments ago, Cassandra had fought in the Forbidden Forest like a Valkyrie, but now she seemed more like a startled kitten, staring at Cyrus's back in a daze.

Cyrus stepped in front of Umbridge, his cold gaze locking onto her.

She shuddered, feeling as though a dragon had fixed its eyes on her, the sense of impending death washing over her in an instant.

"What… what do you think you're doing?" she stammered, her voice feigning authority.

Her feet shook like oversized carrots, barely able to keep her standing under Cyrus's intense gaze.

The aura radiating from him seemed to seep into her very soul, making her want to drop to her knees. Still, she clung to her position, representing the Ministry's authority.

"P-Perhaps you don't understand what kind of person this student of yours is. She—"

Tssh!

Before she could finish, Cyrus's hand lashed out with a sudden, brutal slap.

Given Cyrus's strength—enough to crush Voldemort's bones effortlessly—this slap left half of Umbridge's face wrecked. Her face swelled grotesquely, like she'd been stung by a wasp, and she flew sideways, her other cheek scraping against the ground. Five or six teeth scattered around her, blood-streaked, like kernels of white corn.

Umbridge didn't even have time to react; her legs gave a twitch, and she passed out on the spot.

No one had seen that slap coming.

Barty Crouch and Dumbledore had expected Cyrus might not take kindly to threats, but no one anticipated he'd be so decisive.

After striking Umbridge, Cyrus acted as if nothing had happened. He didn't spare her a glance, instead grabbing Fudge's tie and using it as a cloth to wipe his hand.

"There's a certain satisfaction in using one's fist, wouldn't you say? The only downside is the mess. Don't you think so, Cornelius?" Cyrus said nonchalantly. His tone had a familiarity that, in Fudge's ears, sounded utterly chilling.

Fudge didn't dare respond, terrified that a single wrong word might lead Cyrus to hang him by his tie. He turned to Dumbledore, eyes pleading for help.

Naturally, Dumbledore stepped forward, earning an eye roll from Grindelwald, who thought to himself that only Dumbledore would intervene here. If it were him, he wouldn't bother.

It wasn't that Grindelwald feared Cyrus and thus indulged Cassandra. On one hand, he thought the deaths of two Death Eaters weren't worth fussing over; on the other, even if Cassandra had truly killed students, it certainly wouldn't be Umbridge's place to step in.

Who did she think she was?

Was she even qualified to speak to someone like Cyrus?

But Dumbledore was a different kind of person from Grindelwald. He gently placed his aged hand on Cyrus's wrist, looking at him calmly as he spoke in a soft voice, "Alright, Cyrus, let's listen to what this is all about first."

Dumbledore pulled Cyrus back.

He thought that the most significant difference between Cyrus and Voldemort was that Cyrus could be reasoned with. Even Grindelwald, who possessed an innate arrogance, lacked that willingness. But Cyrus was different—he was willing to listen, as long as the person speaking was ready to talk to him reasonably.

Babajide also breathed a sigh of relief. Although he was highly respected, his magical abilities were far from matching Dumbledore's. The few exchanges between Dumbledore and Cyrus today had been enough to kill him ten times over!

"Mr. Cyrus, I must inform you that Cassandra Vole killed two young warriors from Beauxbatons during the tournament. This is a very severe act!" Babajide said solemnly. "Though the Triwizard Tournament has always involved danger, there's no precedent of warriors killing each other. I'm afraid we will have to disqualify Miss Vole."

His tone was extremely courteous, almost pleading.

No one found this strange, nor did anyone feel it inappropriate. Even those who might have felt differently seemed at a loss for words, especially after seeing Umbridge's defeated, toad-like appearance on the ground.

But Cyrus shook his head.

"I disagree."

His gaze met Babajide's, unwavering.

"The rules of the tournament do not prohibit warriors from fighting each other; Cassandra broke no rules, so disqualifying her would be unreasonable," Cyrus said firmly.

In truth, Cassandra didn't need to continue in the tournament, and having her withdraw now wouldn't be the worst outcome. But Cyrus could accept Cassandra choosing not to participate; he wouldn't accept her being disqualified.

"Additionally, I'd like to clarify that while Cassandra may have inadvertently harmed one of Beauxbatons' warriors, the other clearly died by his own out-of-control Fiendfyre," Cyrus stated calmly. "Casting such dangerous dark magic—being burned by it is simply his own doing."

"He only used Fiendfyre because he was under attack!" Bartemius Crouch Jr. finally snapped, stepping forward in irritation. Calling it an "accident" or "self-inflicted"… it made Cassandra sound like an innocent lamb!

"Under attack?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow, glancing around with a cold smile. "So... Should I interpret this gathering around me as an attack?~"

He pulled out his wand, and several people instinctively stepped back, faces pale with fear.

"Would you all like to feel the Fiendfyre for yourselves?"

He was a madman! This thought flashed through everyone's mind as the tension shifted back to Dumbledore.

Other than Dumbledore, no one could rein Cyrus in now. Grindelwald might have been able to, but he'd sooner join forces with Cyrus against Dumbledore than calm him down.

Dumbledore felt troubled; he hadn't expected the first event of the tournament to escalate like this.

It was serious, of course—people had been killed—but Cyrus was refusing to back down.

Dumbledore glanced at Cassandra.

The pretty, blonde girl didn't look the least bit vicious.

She sipped warm pumpkin juice with a puffed cheek, looking more innocent than ever. It almost made Dumbledore want to hurry back to the Great Hall for dinner.

Then he exchanged a quick glance with Cyrus, trying to understand the full situation.

Cyrus let him read his surface thoughts.

In an instant, everything became clear—they'd killed Death Eaters.

So, Dumbledore finally understood; what he'd thought were vulnerable, innocent students from Beauxbatons had already become Death Eaters, merely disguising themselves.

There was nothing to hesitate over now.

"I believe that since the rules were not explicitly stated beforehand, Miss Vole's qualification should not be revoked," Dumbledore announced, noticing Bartemius Crouch Jr.'s face growing visibly darker.

"Of course, we should still place some restrictions, such as forbidding deadly force or the use of Dark Magic on other champions."

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12 Advance Chapters—Patreon/HornyFBI