I became Voldemort

"This..."

Meanwhile, the students from Beauxbatons were gripped by sheer terror. 

The realization that "Madame Maxime" had been an imposter all this time was horrifying. If the Death Eaters intended to kill them, not a single one of them would survive.

After dismissing Babajide, Barty Crouch Jr. turned his attention back to Scrimgeour. 

"How about we all lower our wands, Director of the Auror Office? I remember my father saying you were a kind man," he said, fabricating nonsense with ease. "Or… are you planning to declare war on behalf of the British wizarding world against the French Ministry of Magic?" 

Seizing control of a nation's power—this was the foundation of Voldemort's confidence in appearing so openly. 

He knew Dumbledore would be forced to tread carefully. Compared to all-out war, Dumbledore would much rather settle matters through the Triwizard Tournament. 

"Enough, Rufus. Have the Aurors stand down," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. 

At that moment, he appeared more like the Minister for Magic than Fudge, who hadn't uttered a single word since Voldemort's arrival. 

Ever since the Dark Lord had appeared, Fudge had looked as though all the fat in his body had been thrown into a boiling cauldron, sweating profusely.

He now seemed to have lost several pounds in sheer terror, huddling in a corner, visibly smaller than before. 

Scrimgeour, at least for now, didn't dare directly disobey Dumbledore. He gave the Aurors a signal, instructing them to step back a few paces—but none of them lowered their wands. 

After all, even if Scrimgeour had explicitly ordered it, no Auror would be foolish enough to actually put their wand away. 

"Don't like your previous name, huh? Well, Voldemort, since you're here, why don't you take a seat?" Dumbledore gestured invitingly. 

With a casual flick of his wand, he conjured an empty chair beside his own, welcoming Voldemort with the warmth of an old headmaster greeting a distinguished alumnus returning to visit his school.

And so, the evening feast came to an end—with Voldemort in attendance.

Though the dinner itself was brief, to everyone present, it felt unbearably long.

Every single person felt as if they were sitting on a chair covered in thorns, enduring sheer torment with every passing second spent in the Great Hall.

Throughout the entire meal, Harry kept his head down, clutching his forehead where his scar burned painfully.

That night, under McGonagall's escort, Harry returned safely to the Gryffindor dormitory.

He thought he was finally safe after stepping inside—but no one noticed the faint silhouette of an ash-colored serpent slithering into the flames of the crackling fireplace before vanishing.

Ron and the others gathered around him with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Ugh.. Ever since he appeared, my scar has been hurting non-stop," Harry said, sweating. "I.. I'm sure he's planning something."

"You think it's about you?" Hermione asked. "But that doesn't seem likely—Cyrus and Dumbledore will be prepared. There's no way they'd let Voldemort take you away from Hogwarts."

"Well… being taken from Hogwarts has happened to me more than once."

Harry made a sarcastic remark, but in truth, that wasn't what really concerned him. 

"Harry... don't worry. We are with you."

Whether or not Voldemort intended to target him didn't matter anymore—after all, he was already set to face Voldemort in the third task of the tournament. 

"Yeah. I'm just worried that Voldemort has some other plan." 

But it seemed he might have been overthinking things. 

In reality, as the school year progressed, Harry didn't encounter any danger at all. It was as if Voldemort had never been after him in the first place. 

"Honestly, he might not care about you anymore," Ron said. "Don't get mad, but compared to Cyrus, you're not really that important." 

"Haha.. That's a good thing." Harry forced a smile and nodded. 

As the final task of the tournament drew closer, so did the weight pressing on Harry's heart. 

Because it meant he was getting closer to death. 

But what made him feel even worse was that, in what might be the last summer of his life—or half of it, at least—Dumbledore still insisted that he return to Privet Drive. 

To live with the worst people in the world!

"I want to stay with Sirius!" Harry shouted in the headmaster's office, glaring at both Cyrus and Dumbledore.

This was the first time he had ever been truly angry at Cyrus—perhaps even more so than when he once believed Cyrus was sending him to die.

"No, you must return to Privet Drive. I told you last year, remember? You need to stay with the Dursleys for at least one month. The spell your mother left will protect you, Harry." Dumbledore said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"The spell is already broken! He can touch me now!" Harry yelled in frustration.

The first time Voldemort was resurrected, he had used Harry's blood, breaking that ancient magic. But this time, Voldemort had revived himself without using his father's bones or his enemy's blood, and yet, he could still touch Harry.

"Privet Drive is safer, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with meaning.

In other words, Sirius's home was too dangerous.

Sirius was not the kind of person to stay put. Dumbledore didn't believe for a second that he and Harry would spend a quiet month at 12 Grimmauld Place without stirring up trouble.

"I... I'm going to die soon—can't I at least.. just spend my last days enjoying myself?"

Harry's anger and sorrow weren't without reason.

He believed he was destined to sacrifice himself—who would want to spend the last moments of their life in misery?

"But we must ensure that nothing goes wrong, Harry," Cyrus said. "Do you remember what we told you about the Elder Wand?"

"To defeat Voldemort, you must be the one to do it. But the difference in magical power between you is too great. Only the Elder Wand can help you. Dumbledore and I will weaken Voldemort during the third task, and you will deliver the final blow."

"During this time, Voldemort has been watching you closely. His spies are everywhere. The only truly safe place is with the Dursleys."

Cyrus emphasized this point.

"Ugh! Fine, whatever!"

Harry realized he had no power to change Cyrus and Dumbledore's decision, so he stormed out of the headmaster's office in frustration.

He had accepted his fate, but it still felt unfair.

Yet no one knew that after Harry left, another person entered the room.

—Severus Snape.

Cyrus smiled, his eyes flashing with unprecedented satisfaction as he looked at Snape.

"Master..."

"The plan can begin, Severus."

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