I became Voldemort Chapter 306: Inside Limbo?

The curse struck Harry square in the chest.

Boom!!!

The Chamber of Secrets, filled with dense steam, now resembled a fog-covered valley.

The light from the spell dispersed through the mist, spreading like a beautiful nebula.

"Ah!"

But Voldemort did not hear Harry scream.

In fact, the cry of pain ca from himself.

The mont the spell hit Harry, it was as if he had struck himself instead—a searing, lethal agony tore through his soul, and his body was flung backward like a ragdoll.

Thud!

He crashed onto the ground in a heap, lying motionless—as if he were dead.

Cyrus, however, remained unfazed.

Though he had once carried a fragnt of Voldemort's soul, that piece had long since been completely absorbed and erased, leaving him entirely unaffected.

Through the thick fog, he cast a glance at Harry.

The boy looked as peaceful as if he were rely asleep.

The Resurrection Stone slipped from his palm, emitting a faint glow as it fell.

Cyrus then shifted his gaze to Voldemort.

Voldemort's soul had been bound to Harry's—the curse he had cast to kill Harry had instead destroyed a part of his own soul!

Right now, Voldemort must be incredibly weak.

However, Cyrus also knew that this Voldemort was far stronger than the one in the original tiline, whose soul had been tattered and broken beyond repair.

This ti, Voldemort's weakness wouldn't last long—he would likely awaken soon.

Now was the perfect mont to kill him!

But Cyrus did not step toward Voldemort.

Instead, he walked over to Harry, crouched down, and placed his palm over the wound on Harry's chest.

In this version of the world, where Dumbledore was still alive, there was no wise figure waiting for Harry in the limbo of his soul.

If Harry beca confused and chose death of his own accord, it would be a disaster.

Cyrus had promised to keep him alive, and he would not let Harry die.

He raised his serpentwood wand, pressing it against his own forehead and then, he descended into consciousness.

It felt like sinking into a vast, silent ocean.

At first, the world turned pitch black, then gradually brightened.

Cyrus found himself surrounded by dense white mist, though it was different from ordinary fog—it seed more like sothing yet to fully take shape, glowing with a soft luminescence.

Before long, he felt his feet touch solid ground.

"A world of mories… Perhaps this is the magic I'm most skilled at," he thought.

His form quickly adapted, granting him a degree of control over this unfamiliar space.

He moved forward—though, in truth, he had no idea which direction was 'forward', as everything around him looked the sa.

This place resembled London in the 1940s or 50s, a true "fog city".

There were no trains, no people even within arm's reach—nothing at all was visible.

But that wasn't a problem—because he knew he would soon find his target.

And sure enough, he soon spotted Harry, who had just awakened.

Harry's shock upon seeing Cyrus was greater than anything else.

"Cyrus?! You died too?!"

Harry practically jumped up, his mind filled with a thousand—no, ten thousand questions.

But the mont he saw Cyrus, the first thing he thought of was confirming his safety.

Clearly, he had assud this was the afterlife.

However, Cyrus found the sight before him sowhat blinding.

Ugh..

Harry had just woken up, and he wasn't wearing anything.

"You should probably put so clothes on first," Cyrus remarked dryly.

"If Dumbledore were here, I imagine he'd be more than happy to offer a detailed critique of your little wand."

With a simple wave of his hand, a set of robes identical to what Harry usually wore appeared on him.

The collar was a deep, fiery red—a symbol of Gryffindor's bravery.

More than that, it was a symbol of Harry Potter's courage!

Then, with another flick of his hand, a chair appeared, large enough for two or three people to sit side by side.

As if he were the host of this realm, Cyrus casually gestured for the now thoroughly embarrassed, red-faced Harry to take a seat.

"Sit down. And I hope you're not in the mood for tea—because that's one thing I can't conjure up here," Cyrus joked.

"Where is this?" Harry asked in astonishnt. "I thought I was supposed to be dead. And you— are you dead?"

He looked at Cyrus uncertainly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to believe.

At that mont, a terrible thought crept into Harry's mind.

What if his death hadn't affected Voldemort at all?

If that were true, then perhaps Cyrus wouldn't be able to defeat him.

After all, both Dumbledore and Cyrus had entrusted the Deathly Hallows and imnse power to him.

Now, they were at their weakest.

But what about himself?

Did I let them down?

Did I fail…?

"No, you didn't. You did an incredible job."

Cyrus once again saw straight through Harry's thoughts.

A part of Harry felt relieved, but at the sa ti, he found it oddly unsettling.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking? Even Voldemort can't see inside my mind anymore."

He frowned, confused.

"Is your Legilincy really that powerful?"

"Haha, nothing like that." Hearing Harry's question, Cyrus simply shook his head and laughed.

"No, it's not because my Legilincy is particularly strong, nor is it because your Occluncy is lacking. It's because I understand you."

Cyrus spoke calmly.

"You are brave and kind. I knew that the mont you saw , your first thought would be to worry about my safety—and whether Voldemort was still alive."

"You always put others first, only thinking of yourself afterward."

Hearing Cyrus's words, Harry lowered his head in embarrassnt.

He wasn't sure if he deserved such praise.

But still, he asked: "So… is Voldemort dead?"

However, Cyrus didn't answer imdiately.

At this mont, whether Voldemort was dead or not didn't matter—not to Harry.

What mattered was bringing Harry back to the world of the living.

And that wasn't sothing brute force could accomplish.

The three Deathly Hallows weren't omnipotent.

They had given Harry a chance to live, but whether or not he could take it depended entirely on him.

"Let's go back to your previous question," Cyrus said, glancing around.

"Where is this?"

Harry froze, clearly caught off guard by the question.

"I thought you knew. I thought this was your place."

"No, this place belongs to you."

Harry stood up from the chair, finally taking a proper look around.

At first, he had been too focused on Cyrus to notice his surroundings.

But now, as he observed the area, he realized sothing—this place looked a lot like King's Cross Station.

And strangely, the mont he had that thought, the scenery around them shifted—It transford completely into King's Cross Station.

The ancient platform stretched out beneath their feet, and the vast arched ceiling towered above them, even higher than Hogwarts' Great Hall!

A smile appeared on Harry's face.

He gazed at the wide stone columns, wondering if perhaps one of them hid a passage—A passage leading to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters—A passage leading back to Hogwarts.

"It seems like you've already figured it out, haven't you?"

Cyrus smiled knowingly.

To Harry, King's Cross Station was a place of great significance.

It was here that he had crossed from the Muggle world into the wizarding world—the place he could truly call ho.

The Hogwarts letter had been the beginning.

Diagon Alley had also been a beginning.

But the real starting point of his adventure had always been here.

Only by bravely running toward the barrier could one witness the true wonder of magic.

Just then, Harry heard sothing else—

A faint, persistent sound—like sothing weakly thrashing, twitching, and struggling against the ground.

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