I became Voldemort Chapter 320: Crying, Grieving, and Angry

"Haah!"

Grindelwald jolted awake from a nightmare, terrified.

He was drenched in clammy sweat, his face pale, and even his beard seed shadowed with gloom.

"Death," he muttered to himself, "that was Death!"

It wasn't the first ti he had dread of Dumbledore's death. Originally, because of the brilliance of the Goblet of Fire, he had assud it would happen during the Triwizard Tournant. So, when the tournant ended without incident, he let down his guard, thinking the prophecy had been broken.

But now, he had dread of Dumbledore's death again—and this ti, every detail was so vivid, so clear, it didn't feel like sothing that would happen in the future. It felt like it was happening now.

"Albus!"

A shiver ran down his spine. It was as if a jolt of electricity had surged through every vein in his body in an instant. His limbs went numb, but he leapt to his feet.

What if this wasn't just a dream?

What if it was happening now—or about to happen?

Grindelwald's heart was in his throat. He didn't even have ti to change clothes. As he rushed out, he conjured a sowhat presentable outfit on himself mid-stride.

He had to apparate dozens of tis in a row, rushing from Durmstrang all the way to Hogwarts.

By the ti the spell flung him out of the twisted space, Grindelwald almost lost his balance, stumbling forward as his hair beca disheveled.

At that mont, he didn't resemble a master at all—he looked more like a novice struggling with Apparition.

His whole mind had been scrambled into mush by the magic, his thoughts stuttering and sluggish.

He couldn't think clearly now—he only wanted to see Dumbledore as soon as possible!

And in fact, he saw Dumbledore even sooner than expected.

Grindelwald hadn't even made it into the castle when a sudden flash of lightning lit up the towering spires!

Booom!

His heart skipped a beat—and then he saw Dumbledore struck by lightning, plumting from the sky like a heavy, grey cloud weighed down with lead.

In that mont, ti seed to stretch.

Grindelwald stood frozen in place, and in his eyes, every fra of Dumbledore's fall was crystal clear. It was like watching a film played back in extre slow motion right in front of him.

Everything around him seed to stop. There was no wind in the air—everything felt thick and sticky.

Grindelwald lifted his head, his gaze passing over the falling Dumbledore as if looking through a dark cloud to glimpse the sky beyond.

There—at the edge of the tower—Cyrus's black and red hair fluttered in the wind. He held the Elder Wand in his hand, and his golden-red eyes stared down with a cold indifference, like a god lowering his palm without rcy.

In an instant, Grindelwald was wrapped in a chilling current of air.

He shivered.

If the Cyrus he had known was like a bright sun, then the one before him now was a black sun.

Still high above the world—but no longer radiating light. Instead, he absorbed all brightness from existence, leaving behind only fear and cold.

It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, extinguishing the fire of vengeance in his heart all at once.

For the first ti, Grindelwald clearly realized just how vast the gap in power between him and Cyrus truly was.

"No—he isn't Cyrus..."

Grindelwald murmured to himself.

That was Death!

The god who had only ever existed in legend had stepped out from death itself—and now, he had reclaid his wand. An endless surge of magic poured down like a waterfall from the heavens, making it hard for Grindelwald to even breathe.

Death, having regained its power—was there anyone in this world who could still stand against him?

That question echoed endlessly in Grindelwald's mind, but the image of Cyrus refused to leave his thoughts.

If anyone could defeat Death… if anyone could bring Dumbledore back from the realm of the dead… it would be Cyrus.

That was the only thought he had—yet the imposter who had stood atop the tower had already vanished without a trace. Grindelwald remained rooted to the spot, helplessly watching Dumbledore's body fall again and again from the sky in agony.

The re eight stories seed like an endless abyss, dragging his despair into eternity.

Thud!

No one knew how much ti had passed, but at last, that heavy, gray cloud crashed into the ground. It shattered into pieces.

Only then did Grindelwald seem to wake from his dream.

The black-and-white world in his eyes slowly regained its color.

Noise returned to his ears, and he heard the cries of grief and anguish. Shadows of people crowded around him, all of them surging toward the fallen Dumbledore.

To Grindelwald, they looked like soulless puppets, heads bowed, stumbling toward the man who had already died…

Only now did Grindelwald realize it was no longer night.

He had been standing there for hours, long enough for dew to soak into his collar.

Dumbledore's body had grown completely stiff, his face marked with livor mortis. Soone had closed his eyes, though it was unclear who. His lips were tightly pressed together. Professor McGonagall lay collapsed over his corpse, nearly unconscious.

And then Grindelwald understood—those gathered around Dumbledore were not soulless puppets. They were crying, grieving, and angry.

His mind was still foggy, so much so that he began to question why he was even standing there… and why Dumbledore was lying on the ground, collapsed on a floor stained red—so red it had turned black…

The sunlight shone down on Grindelwald, but his limbs felt no warmth.

On the contrary, the light was cold—colder than any winter in Nurngard.

He felt frozen to the core, as if one touch would shatter him completely.

"Grindelwald!"

Harry shoved through the crowd, his furious voice striking Grindelwald like a blow. Grindelwald saw him charging forward like a lion with its mane bristling, grabbing him by the collar.

"Who did it?"

"Who did it?!"

"Harry!" Hermione and Ron rushed forward, grabbing Harry by the shoulders. He was still struggling to break free, nearly tearing his loose-fitting robes in the process.

"Calm down, Harry!"

"I can't calm down!" Harry shouted, on the verge of breaking down. "He knows who did it! He knows! "

Everyone turned to look.

In an instant, Grindelwald felt the weight of a thousand accusing eyes on him. No one spoke, but every single person was waiting for his answer.

Who was the one who killed Dumbledore?

To most of them, the answer wasn't hard to guess.

There were only a handful of people in the world capable of such a thing. In truth, only two—Grindelwald and Cyrus.

And Grindelwald had been the first to appear at the scene.

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