I became Voldemort

Chapter 231: Sweating profusely

The handgun in Harry's hand was a birthday gift from Cyrus, more like an experimental product.

It was an alchemically crafted firearm that fired spells instead of bullets.

In fact, it was not the gun itself that was truly valuable, but the magical spell bullets, which were consumables. After all, the alchemical modifications to the gun were simple enough that even Mr. Weasley could manage them.

Fred and George even copied the design and created a replica.

However, since the twins didn't fully understand the inner workings of the gun, the magical bullets backfired.

The spell inscribed on one of the bullets was a curse, and when it exploded, it affected Fred and George directly. Both of them immediately grew enormous front teeth, and even Mr. Weasley couldn't break the curse.

After two days of living with their oversized teeth, Mr. Weasley finally resorted to using a saw to cut them down, restoring them to normal.

For a child growing up in a magical family, though, this kind of mishap wasn't a big deal. After all, when Ron was younger, the twins had once burned a hole in his tongue!

This little accident only made the twins more interested in the alchemical handgun. But with their weak foundation in alchemy, the gun's structure remained unstable.

Most importantly, they had no way to craft the magical spell bullets themselves.

So, once Harry used up all the spell bullets, the handgun became little more than a useless toy.

Harry didn't understand why Hermione was making such a fuss about it.

"Because modifying Muggle objects without permission is illegal, Harry," Mr. Weasley explained on Hermione's behalf. "That law was one I helped write. In fact, most of the laws concerning Muggles were written by me."

"But your car..." Harry glanced at him, trailing off.

"There are always a few loopholes, Harry." Arthur smiled softly and raised a finger to his lips, signaling Harry not to say more.

Some unwritten rules, although widely understood, were not meant to be spoken aloud.

After the enchanted car was discovered two years ago, Arthur had gotten into a bit of trouble—he almost lost his job. But that incident had been part of a larger, unseen conflict between Dumbledore, the Ministry, and the pure-blood families led by the Malfoys. Once Dumbledore returned to the school, the matter quietly faded away.

Harry followed Mr. Weasley into the stadium, joining tens of thousands of people walking along the purple-red carpet, gradually taking their seats.

Everything here was astonishing. The floors were covered in velvet, and the most luxurious seats were in the uppermost box, where the chairs shimmered in purple and gold, radiating opulence as if everything was bathed in a golden light.

Harry couldn't resist reaching out to touch them, but he quickly pulled his hand back as if pricked by a needle, afraid of damaging something and being asked to pay for it.

While waiting for the event to begin, Harry saw Mr. Weasley constantly shaking hands with various people.

He hoped that Mr. Cyrus might be among them, but even by the end, Cyrus had not appeared.

At that moment, Cyrus was at the Ministry of Magic.

...

Around a large round table, four individuals sat at the north, south, east, and west corners.

Dumbledore's gaze kept shifting between Cyrus and Vinda, making it clear that he had many things he wanted to say to both of them. This prolonged silence made the atmosphere strange and uncomfortable.

Cyrus, however, wasn't bothered by the awkwardness. His power was his greatest shield, and he made no attempt to hide behind any pretense, sitting before Dumbledore exactly as he was.

In fact, he had made no effort to conceal what he had done in North America, save for the ruckus he caused at the Magical Congress, which had yet to be made public.

There was no need for Cyrus to command it—MACUSA had sealed the news themselves.

After all, if word got out that their Congress had been single-handedly subdued, the embarrassment would likely cause their officials to lose all credibility on the international stage.

Vinda also seemed unfazed by the tension in the room.

The old woman sat calmly, her features and demeanor still hinting at the cold beauty she had once been.

The only one visibly anxious was Madame Maxime, sitting at the other end of the table, her discomfort palpable.

Of course, in reality, her true identity was Barty Crouch Jr. After Voldemort left, Barty abandoned the plan to get rid of Maxime.

Instead, he treated her as he had with Lupin, imprisoning her and placing her under the Imperius Curse.

However, faced with Dumbledore at this moment, Barty didn't dare take any risks. He maintained his disguise as Maxime and came in person.

The problem was—

Was Dumbledore silent because he had seen through the disguise?

Barty began to sweat profusely.

He fidgeted, almost ready to speak, but finally, after a long silence, Dumbledore broke the tension.

He looked toward Cyrus.

"I never expected you to become the headmaster of Ilvermorny. Was it your suggestion for Ilvermorny to participate in the Triwizard Tournament?" Dumbledore asked softly, smiling.

Cyrus leaned back slightly, noticing that the moment Dumbledore spoke to him, Madam Vinda's expression darkened a little.

The wrinkles on her face seemed to tighten, and the look she gave Cyrus was slightly hostile.

However, from the moment she entered the room, Vinda had a cold expression on her face. So aside from Cyrus, no one else noticed the subtle change in her demeanor.

Cyrus suspected that she might not be the real Vinda Rosier, but rather someone else entirely.

But he didn't expose her.

"I opened the Chamber of Secrets. So it's only reasonable that I inherit the school founded by Salazar Slytherin's descendants, isn't it?" Cyrus replied. "Mr. Boot and the students were quite enthusiastic, believing that I'm the Chosen One. They thought no one but me could take on the role of headmaster."

"Are you sure it's enthusiasm and not fear?" Madam Vinda quipped sarcastically.

As soon as she spoke, she finally drew Dumbledore's attention. His gaze shifted toward her, seeming somewhat apprehensive.

"It's been a long time, Madam Rosier. I was also surprised to hear that you've become Durmstrang's headmistress," Dumbledore said.

"You can blame that student of yours, Dumbledore," Vinda responded coldly. "The one called Voldemort, right? If it weren't for him, that sly coward Karkaroff wouldn't have died."

Vinda's tone suggested that becoming headmistress was something she had no choice in.

But such a flimsy excuse wasn't enough to quell Dumbledore's suspicions. The old man's every word seemed to be a subtle probe.

"It wasn't easy to come here. Did you come alone?" Dumbledore's breath grew heavier.

Vinda—or rather, Grindelwald—understood his implication and let out a cold snort. He didn't mince words with Dumbledore and directly asked, "Or do you think he's still alive?"

His icy gaze fixed on Dumbledore, as if subjecting him to an intense interrogation.

"You defeated him, earning fame and respect from everyone for defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald. But is that truly the case? He never really lost his ability to resist. We're all waiting for his return."

To everyone's surprise, the greatest wizard of the time seemed to back down, avoiding Grindelwald's gaze, like a child caught in the wrong, hanging his head.

Barty Crouch Jr. sensed the potential for gossip but dared not ask more.

Cyrus casually picked up some sunflower seeds, thoroughly enjoying the show, his demeanor showing no interest in calming things down.

Grindelwald, of course, noticed Cyrus's laid-back attitude, but he didn't care. His goal was to make Dumbledore uncomfortable, and it seemed he was becoming increasingly aggressive in doing so.

"Do you really believe you defeated him, the one who wielded the legendary Elder Wand? It was never you who defeated Grindelwald; it was 'love.' Otherwise, even in defeat, he wouldn't have willingly allowed himself to be imprisoned in Nurmengard! And what about you?

"He wrote you countless letters, using up every piece of parchment, until he had no choice but to write on scraps of bedsheets. And you—"

"Not a single reply, letting him endure fifty years of lonely torment. Do you know how he spent his time when he wasn't just staring out the window?"

Grindelwald's questioning cut deep, like countless blades plunging into Dumbledore's heart, leaving it bleeding.

The once imposing figure of Dumbledore now seemed fragile, like a candle flickering in the wind, about to be extinguished.

"Don't tell me you're only now beginning to mourn for him," 'Vinda' said coldly.

"He's dead, dead in the forgotten depths of Nurmengard."

"From now on, who will love you, Dumbledore?"

The meeting room fell into silence once more.

Dumbledore appeared consumed by sorrow and guilt. Emotions that he had long buried beneath the surface began to resurface. As long as they remained hidden, everything seemed calm. But once unearthed, they lay exposed and raw.

His eyes brimmed with tears.

"Does love's sting hurt, Dumbledore?" Cyrus interrupted, setting aside his sunflower seeds and breaking the mournful atmosphere.

Dumbledore, realizing his lapse in composure, removed his glasses and used his aged fingers to wipe away the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Apologies, once you get old, it's hard not to be sentimental," Dumbledore said softly.

"Sentimental?" Grindelwald muttered, clearly displeased with Dumbledore's response, but he didn't press further. In the end, these were the consequences of his own sins, ones he would have to slowly atone for.

"Let's get back to discussing the Triwizard Tournament," Grindelwald said, like an aged duelist who had just finished a skirmish with Dumbledore, now turning his attention to Cyrus.

"The Triwizard Tournament has never had anything to do with Ilvermorny. What are you doing here?" Grindelwald's gaze was stern and rigid, his rejection of Cyrus's involvement barely concealed.

"Just because it didn't involve us in the past doesn't mean it can't in the future," Cyrus replied calmly. "This tradition has been interrupted before, so why can't it be amended? Turning it into a 'Quadwizard Tournament' is not impossible."

As Cyrus spoke, he stood up, leaning forward with his hands pressed firmly on the table.

He spoke slowly, deliberately:

"The world is getting smaller, gentlemen."

"In the past, wizards would stay confined to their little corners of the world, but now, magical governments have formed in various countries, and the International Confederation of Wizards is functional. Wizards from Europe, South America, and North America can now gather and sit together, even though they're half a world apart. The Quidditch World Cup is the best example of this. I believe if we continue to uphold this tradition, more wizarding schools would be willing to join. Having children from across the world learning and competing together would be a good thing."

Cyrus paused, his gaze lingering on the disguised Grindelwald for a few seconds before continuing:

"Only by breaking down barriers can wizards broaden their horizons."

"If he were still alive, perhaps the two of you would have much to discuss," 'Vinda' remarked, seemingly intent on steering Cyrus's words toward the sensitive topic of the relationship between wizards and Muggles.

He wanted to see where Cyrus stood on the issue of the Statute of Secrecy.

"Of course, breaking the barriers between the wizarding and Muggle worlds is part of that as well," Cyrus responded, unfazed by Grindelwald's probing.

The power he wielded now allowed him to speak freely without hesitation or concealment.

Besides, he believed that with Dumbledore's wisdom, it was impossible for him to think that Muggles were entirely worthless. As long as Muggles had strengths, those strengths were worth learning from.

Of all the people present, only Barty Crouch Jr. found Cyrus's views utterly absurd and incomprehensible!

He couldn't fathom how someone like Voldemort, who so deeply despised Muggles, could have produced a being like Cyrus from his soul—someone who seemed to embrace Muggles and even believe that such lowly beings were worth supporting.

'It must be that pathetic, lowly part of the soul that was split off!' Barty thought to himself.

Barty Crouch Jr. had already uncovered Voldemort's secret—the Horcruxes. He also knew how Cyrus came into existence.

Both he and Voldemort believed that Cyrus must be the part of Voldemort's soul connected to Muggles.

Barty was itching to lash out at Cyrus for his hateful views, but in the end, he held back. He hadn't forgotten his current role.

"Whether it's three schools or four schools doesn't really matter. What I want to know is how you plan to conduct the tournament," 'Maxime' asked, focusing on the tournament's process, which was crucial for Voldemort's revival.

"I think the tournament doesn't have to be limited to Hogwarts," Cyrus offered a suggestion. "The rules from centuries ago for the Triwizard Tournament seem a bit too outdated, don't you think?"

Barty's proposal received unanimous approval from everyone present. However, the specifics of the tournament content remained unknown, even to Dumbledore.

The final decisions would be made by the Ministry of Magic and, potentially, the governments of all four magical nations involved.

"I just hope the difficulty is raised a little," Cyrus raised an eyebrow, teasing.

If the difficulty level of the tournament remained the same as in the original, Cyrus thought he might have to mourn for those dragons in advance.

"And, I hope this tournament will be presented to the entire magical world for all wizards to see. I propose that it be hosted by the International Confederation of Wizards. What do you think?" he added.

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