I became Voldemort

Voldemort clamped his hand down on Harry's shoulder.

He was tall, nearly a full head taller than Harry.

Though his frame was thin, it still looked far healthier than Harry's naturally wiry build.

His sudden arrival left Ron and the twins frozen in shock.

Their minds went blank.

This was the moment when they should have been overwhelmed with terror—

And yet, for a brief instant, they even forgot what fear was.

Ron, still reeling from the earlier explosion, whipped around too fast.

His footing slipped, sending him tumbling to the ground.

But even then.. He didn't hesitate to attack!

A magic-infused bullet shot straight toward Voldemort's face.

It was useless.

Magic bullets weren't real spells—they were alchemical creations.

But the power of a true wizard—true magic—was closer to divine will—limitless, absolute, all-powerful.

With just a thought, Voldemort transfigured the bullet into a blooming flower.

Its petals scattered in the air, disintegrating mid-flight.

By the time it reached his face, only a faint lingering fragrance remained.

"Let him go!"

"Ahh~ Such touching loyalty… don't you think, Harry?"

Voldemort's voice was almost approving—

Every word laced with mockery.

Voldemort waved his hand lightly, and Ron and the twins seemed to be seized by an invisible force. Their bodies floated into the air and were sent crashing against the far wall of the yard.

In reality, Voldemort had only cast a Permanent Sticking Charm, pinning the three of them to the wall.

The spell wasn't lethal, but undoing it wasn't easy. Sirius would understand this better than anyone—if he had any way to remove that wretched portrait of his mother from Grimmauld Place, he would have done it long ago.

"Let me go, Voldemort!"

Cyrus pretended to struggle, as if desperately trying to break free from Voldemort's grasp.

Of course, he couldn't actually use force. If he did, even a dragon wouldn't be able to withstand it.

But even while holding back, he noticed something was off. Voldemort's grip was much stronger than before.

Maybe he had been experimenting with more ancient and dark magic.

At that moment, the Order of the Phoenix members inside the house also noticed Voldemort's arrival.

"Harry!"

Sirius roared, trying to break through, but the Death Eaters weren't about to let anyone through.

There were simply too many of them.

Moody slammed his staff, which was fused with his wand, against the ground. A shockwave of magic rippled outward, knocking back several Death Eaters.

Barty Jr. blocked the attack and was just about to counter when a black shadow lunged at him.

—It was a rampaging werewolf!

Lupin.

He must have not taken his Wolfsbane Potion today—or maybe there had been something wrong with the potion itself.

Snape, using the flight spell Voldemort had taught him, barely dodged the razor-sharp claws. But the feral beast didn't care who was in its way—it attacked everything in sight.

A lion among sheep.

Unstoppable.

No spell could pierce the thick skin of Lupin's transformed body.

He didn't even look particularly strong—in fact, he was thin, almost frail—but his overwhelming resistance to magic made him nearly invincible.

Lupin let out a piercing howl into the night.

With every leap, he toppled multiple Death Eaters.

With every landing, he tore them apart.

Though he attacked without distinguishing between friend or foe, the sheer number of Death Eaters meant he barely even noticed the Order members.

Moody's raspy voice roared above the chaos.

"Follow him!"

Everyone rushed forward, following the path Lupin had torn open with his wild rampage.

The feral beast had completely lost his mind. Yet even in his madness, he still recognized who the greatest threat was.

He charged straight at Voldemort.

Boom!

A thunderous explosion shook the ground as Lupin's blurred figure was slammed down with crushing force.

Voldemort had simply turned his palm over, and it was as if a mountain had dropped onto Lupin's back.

Even the ground beneath him sank a few inches under the weight.

"A filthy beast like you dares to stand before me?" Voldemort's voice was cold as ice.

He gazed at Lupin's collapsed form as if he were nothing more than a disgusting insect.

Then, he shifted his attention to Sirius and the others, who had managed to break through, and to the Death Eaters still in pursuit.

With a small gesture of his hand, he ordered the Death Eaters to stop.

But that didn't mean the Order members were safe.

"Voldemort! Let Harry go!" Sirius shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

He wasn't afraid to die—

But he was terrified that Harry would be hurt in Voldemort's hands.

Voldemort didn't even bother to look at him.

"Did you think my words were meant only for that filthy werewolf?"

His voice was freezing cold, yet burned with fury.

"Kneel!"

The moment Voldemort spoke, Moody and the others felt an overwhelming force press down on them—Boom!

A crushing weight that felt like it was going to snap their spines in half.

Voldemort enjoyed watching his enemies bow before him.

And with his unparalleled magic, there was nothing he couldn't do.

With just a thought, he could reduce the most elite wizards to nothing more than insects— pathetic, groveling at his feet.

If they were too weak to resist, then they should know their place.

'Harry' was still struggling.

Voldemort's hand was only gripping his shoulder, yet it felt like he was welded to the spot— as if iron chains had bound him in place.

Now, Cyrus was certain—Voldemort had done something to himself.

He must have experimented with his own body, altering it with magic.

The difference between Voldemort and Cyrus had always been physical strength.

A powerful body was something Voldemort lacked—and someone as proud and arrogant as him would never allow anyone to surpass him.

Now, with this immortal body, Voldemort likely no longer had to hold back in his magical experiments.

He has grown even stronger.

Cyrus thought to himself.

But Voldemort had no idea what was going through Cyrus's mind.

He was too pleased with his own success, indulging in his triumph—

Yet at the same time, he remained rational.

He knew Dumbledore would never allow him to achieve his goal this easily.

If that old fool had already predicted he would come for Harry, then why hadn't he shown up himself?

"Come out, Dumbledore."

Voldemort sneered.

The night on Privet Drive was as silent as death.

This place had naturally become a battlefield.

The destruction was on par with a full-scale terror attack. Half the street was nearly obliterated.

Yet, the surrounding houses remained eerily quiet.

No screaming neighbors.

No panicked Muggles.

In truth, they were already gone.

Dumbledore had prepared for this long ago.

And Voldemort had seen right through it.

A tiny spark ignited in the darkness.

Then, like shattered iron embers, the flames burst outward—

Pop!

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