I became Voldemort

Chapter 196: Azkaban Prison Break

Everyone was feeling a sense of thrill and freeness. It was something they hadn't experienced in over a decade.

They had originally followed Voldemort to rise higher, to stand above all others, hadn't they?

The law—such things were only meant to govern the half-bloods or the lowly Mudbloods. They were meant to stand above it all! 

Lucius raised his wand once more and blasted open the doors of Azkaban!

...

Bellatrix had always known this day would come.

She never believed that her master could be defeated by a mere infant, nor did she believe he was truly dead. Recently, when the Dark Mark on her arm began to react again, it snapped her out of her madness and numbness.

The searing heat of the Dark Mark became the only source of warmth for her in the cold confines of Azkaban.

However, when the spell shattered the doors of Azkaban, Bellatrix was disappointed.

Outside stood a group of cowardly wretches, still wrapping themselves up tightly, showing no sign of confidence in the Dark Lord.

And the figure she had been longing to see was nowhere in sight.

She still wore chains on her wrists and ankles, her body emaciated, and beneath her tangled hair were hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

"Where is the Dark Lord?"

'The Dark Lord didn't come personally?

Or had he already deemed those of them imprisoned in Azkaban as unimportant?'

At this thought, a sudden feeling of abandonment rose within Bellatrix. Twelve years of imprisonment had pushed her mind to the brink of collapse, and now, unable to withstand any further agitation, the madness in her eyes flared up like a rabid dog.

At such a time, it was only Lucius who could still speak with any authority.

The twenty-eight pure-blood families were almost all related, but the one with the closest ties to Bellatrix was, of course, Lucius, who had married her sister.

"The master hasn't shown himself yet, but I believe he will return soon."

"He hasn't shown himself?" Bellatrix sneered. Not only her, but the other Death Eaters who had been freed also lowered their heads and let out harsh, mocking laughter, as if it wasn't them who had suffered twelve years of imprisonment, but Lucius.

"Is it that the master doesn't trust you?" Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, chimed in with her. He was tall but gaunt, and at this moment, he appeared both crazed and vicious, like a feral wolf.

He was ruthless and cold, having little affection for his wife. Despite living side by side for over a decade in prison, they had exchanged few words. However, his loyalty to Voldemort was unwavering.

During the trial twelve years ago, he hadn't uttered a single word of surrender.

To be honest, people like Rodolphus Lestrange truly deserve to be called core members of the Death Eaters.

They are the real backbone, embodying Voldemort's expectation that they be utterly fearless, with even death eroded from their minds.

"Traitors!"

The freed Death Eaters snorted in disdain, as if they wished to immediately eliminate opportunists like Lucius. However, they didn't act on it. For one, they were unarmed, and for another, they had no authority to make such decisions in place of their master.

The fate of these traitors should be entirely in the hands of the Dark Lord.

"Don't go too far! Don't forget that we're the ones who saved you!" Some of the wizards who had accompanied Lucius were immediately displeased by this insult.

They feared Voldemort, but that didn't mean they considered themselves inferior to these prisoners, and they weren't willing to swallow such insults.

"You saved us? I'd rather you hadn't!" Bellatrix first laughed maniacally, then suddenly turned cold, her pale, withered fingers snapping around the throat of the wizard who had spoken.

At the same time, the wizard pressed his wand against Bellatrix's temple, but his hand was trembling uncontrollably, and his face was filled with fear.

Bellatrix didn't seem the least bit threatened by the wand; she knew that this pathetic fool wouldn't dare harm her.

How could a traitor dare to harm the Dark Lord's inner circle?

"The master will return soon, and even if you hadn't come, it wouldn't have been long before we were rescued!" Bellatrix's eyes were full of anticipation. "We've already endured over a decade; I can wait a few more months!"

Compared to being greeted by a group of disgusting traitors upon her release, she naturally longed to see the master she had been thinking about all these years.

Bellatrix was confident that once news of her escape spread, the Dark Lord would surely summon her back to his side.

With that thought, she released the terrified wizard and walked crazily toward the cold sea.

...

However, things did not go as she had expected.

On the third day after the mass breakout from Azkaban, the Ministry of Magic finally realized something was wrong when they couldn't contact the Aurors stationed at Azkaban. The news of the entire prison break at Azkaban spread like wildfire.

The entire British wizarding world was in an uproar.

It was like a dream—how could Azkaban, a fortress that had stood for centuries, be breached so easily?

Even Dumbledore, upon seeing the Daily Prophet, found it hard to believe.

Cyrus never imagined that Lucius's so-called action would turn out to be such a major event.

"Judging by the timing, it should have happened three days ago. The reason these Death Eaters haven't made any moves yet is likely because they still don't have wands," Cyrus said.

Death Eaters, especially those who had been imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years, had long since descended into madness.

Their minds were likely filled with desires for destruction and cruelty. Cyrus couldn't think of any other reason why they hadn't already started causing chaos, aside from their lack of wands.

"Or perhaps Voldemort has already met with them," Dumbledore suggested, considering the possibility that Voldemort might be restraining them.

Voldemort had experienced several failures and had been consistently suppressed by Dumbledore and Cyrus working together.

Even if he had been resurrected, he couldn't afford to be too conspicuous.

From the original timeline, Voldemort's initial actions after his resurrection showed that he hadn't yet reached the level of arrogance where he believed he could be invincible just by being alive again.

First, he actively sought alliances with different races to strengthen his forces. Then, he worked to create a rift between the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore, weakening the resources Dumbledore could command.

At that time, the Ministry was even in direct opposition to Dumbledore, and the tension between them persisted until Fudge stepped down.

Moreover, his schemes to lure Harry to the Ministry demonstrated that Voldemort was far from being a fool.

It wasn't until after Dumbledore's death that Voldemort's arrogance and madness fully overtook his wisdom.

He believed there was no longer anyone who could stand in his way, much like a superhuman with a superior mind who had nearly abandoned thought due to overwhelming power.

As the two were conversing, the door to the headmaster's office suddenly burst open.

A greasy black figure swept in like a bat.

"Dumbledore—" Snape's face was dark, holding today's issue of the Daily Prophet in his left hand, while his right hand pressed against the inside of his left arm. However, he hadn't expected to find Cyrus there as well. He stopped abruptly, his pitch-black eyes narrowing slightly, and his words halted.

"Hello, Severus," Cyrus greeted warmly, but Snape, looking between Cyrus and Dumbledore, found himself at a loss for words.

Snape was already a double agent, working for both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Now, the two people he served were in the same room, and the pain in his arm felt like some kind of cruel joke.

"...Master."

Fortunately, Cyrus didn't stay long.

He walked straight to the window and said, "Well, I'll take my leave. Take care of Voldemort yourself."

Cyrus pushed open the window, and a swirling mist of magic enveloped him. He then drifted into the sky, like smoke caught in the wind, leaving Dumbledore and Snape in prolonged silence.

After a moment, Snape's lips seemed to twitch, though it was unclear if he had really moved them. Nonetheless, he finally spoke, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"So—the greatest wizard of the twentieth century and the most terrifying Dark Lord have now joined forces?"

"Our enemy is simply someone else," Dumbledore responded without the slightest hint of discomfort.

He calmly sat back down and looked at Snape. "Now, Severus, you rushed in here; I assume you have something important to discuss."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but then glanced toward the window where Cyrus had just left, suddenly uncertain if what he had to say was still necessary.

Meanwhile, in France, Voldemort was following procedure, making his way to the French Ministry of Magic to register his presence while also assessing the situation there.

It was his first time formally entering the French Ministry.

The French Ministry was very different from the British one.

The interior was bright and clean.

In this country, his influence had little to no foundation. Compared to Northern Europe and Durmstrang, Voldemort clearly saw controlling Beauxbatons as more crucial.

This time, instead of stubbornly clashing with the tough nut that was Britain, starting in Paris and establishing his base here seemed like a smart plan.

He could control the wizarding community in France, then join forces with Madam Rosier in Northern Europe to strike at Britain!

Of course, he didn't plan to abandon the internal forces within Britain that could be useful.

With Dumbledore facing threats both inside and outside, Voldemort could first deal with Cyrus, gain the power of ancient magic, and then eliminate Dumbledore!

By then, the magical world of Europe would be in his grasp, and the rest of the world would follow suit!

As he was lost in these thoughts, an official from the French Ministry of Magic approached him.

"Mr. Crouch, how are you finding it here?" asked a black wizard.

"Quite well," Voldemort replied, appearing much more pleased than when he had encountered Karkaroff in Northern Europe.

He glanced around at the intricately designed and romantically styled decorations within the Ministry and nodded, speaking in a tone of admiration, "I like Paris."

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