I became Voldemort Chapter 328: To meet Death

The book Lockhart had written was still only at its first volu for now, and the Chamber of Secrets storyline was still in progress.

The later installnts would rely on Rita Skeeter's publicity to expand the story's influence. Cyrus didn't intend to stray from the original series. In fact, he was preparing to give the Muggles of this world their very first Harry Potter.

It had to be said—Lockhart and Rita were a match made in heaven when it ca to this sort of thing.

One was skilled at spinning stories, the other at generating sensational headlines. As a result, Harry Potter had already beco a hot topic even before it was officially released.

In fact, if Harry still lived with the Dursleys, he might have seen Dudley clinging to the book and refusing to let go!

"Better not," Harry muttered, shaking his head.

Just thinking about the kinds of things Lockhart would write in the book—and then imagining himself as the character—gave Harry goosebumps. He really couldn't stand people singing his praises to his face, especially in print.

They kept walking and soon reached a small church. In front of it was a little square, and in the center stood a monunt.

On Halloween night, the place was especially quiet.

As they approached, the monunt shimred and transford into a finely detailed statue.

Harry, of course, recognized who the sculpture depicted—his mother, his father, and himself.

Tears welled up in his eyes. After a long mont of silent reverence, the two continued toward the church.

As they crossed the street, Harry looked back—and saw the statue return to its original form, a war morial.

They then arrived at the cetery behind the church. What surprised Harry—though at the sa ti felt oddly appropriate—was that soone else was already there, paying their respects.

Of course, it was Snape.

He looked just the sa as he had a few years ago when Cyrus had t him here—dressed entirely in black, holding a bouquet of pure white daffodils.

"Professor Snape," Harry said.

These days, when he addressed Snape as "Professor," it ca more genuinely from the heart. Though one thing hadn't changed—he still found it hard not to complain about Snape, because the man continued to pick on him during class just like always.

"Harry ..Potter." Snape turned his head. He noticed Cyrus and gave him a simple nod of acknowledgnt, but when he saw Harry, he slowly enunciated the na.

"Looks like soone finally rembered there's soone here waiting for him to pay his respects," Snape said, his usual sarcastic tone making a coback. Then he stepped aside, preparing to leave.

In truth, he wished Harry had forgotten entirely. Why show up on a day like this, disturbing the quiet mont he wanted to share with Lily?

"Wait, Severus," Cyrus called after him.

"Can I trouble you to take Harry back to Hogwarts later?" Cyrus asked.

Before Snape could respond, Harry burst out, "You're not taking back yourself?"

"I have other things to do," Cyrus replied.

"I'll wait for him in Lily's room," Snape said curtly, and then walked away without looking back.

Once again, it was just Harry and Cyrus. Harry was now very curious about the "other things" Cyrus had ntioned. What could be so important that he didn't even have the ti to apparate Harry back—and had to ask Snape instead?

Maybe it had sothing to do with Death?

But Harry didn't ask.

The two of them walked past many graves, and Harry saw far too many familiar surnas—each one stirring sothing in his heart. There was even one for Dumbledore!

"That's Dumbledore's father and his sister," Cyrus explained for Harry.

Harry simply nodded.

At last, they stopped in front of a marble grave.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, but he didn't cry. He just stared at the inscription on the tombstone, then turned to Cyrus. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. But… can death really be conquered?" He lowered his head. "My mum and dad are dead. Professor Dumbledore is dead…"

"Death… and Death Himself… it feels like He's completely invincible…"

Harry's mood sank—there was even a trace of despair.

There was no one in this world who had truly conquered death.

The greatest wizard had died. Voldemort, who created seven Horcruxes, had died. Even the creator of the Philosopher's Stone—his fate was still unknown.

But Cyrus said, "Of course soone can conquer death, Harry."

His tone was light, even cheerful, and he seed absolutely confident. That made Harry wonder if Cyrus was referring to himself—if he believed he could be the one to defeat Death. But then Cyrus said, "That person is you."

"?"

"Of course. First of all, you've never feared death. Death's power never truly frightened you," Cyrus said. "And second, you're still alive. He didn't manage to take your life."

He had used he—referring to Death as a person.

"You see? You've already defeated Death. That's how extraordinary you are. That's why Dumbledore was so proud of you."

"Life—overcoming death!"

He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and for a long while, the two of them said nothing. Ti passed in silence, until the night grew deep and the village fell completely quiet. Only then did Cyrus speak softly.

"All right, Harry. It's ti to go find Severus," he said. "Your parents' house is at the edge of the village."

After Harry left, the cetery was swallowed entirely by darkness.

Cyrus stood there, a chill sinking deep into his bones.

Then—he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw Grindelwald standing not far off, his eyes burning with the fire of vengeance.

"Let's go," he said. "It's ti to et that Death."

...

To et Death.

Grindelwald stood in the cetery, the rows of tombstones rising like a forest of white.

The two most powerful wizards in the world now stood side by side, preparing to fight together. That so-called Death—whatever it truly was—likely had only one path left: its own end.

Cyrus walked through the resting place of the dead, as if he had truly crossed the boundary of death itself to reach Grindelwald's side. The two walked shoulder to shoulder—though their figures seed slender, they carried power even the gods would fear.

Let's hope Dumbledore doesn't get jealous, Cyrus thought to himself.

They left the cetery together.

"You shouldn't have let that boy go," Grindelwald said, referring, of course, to Harry.

"He is the true Master of Death—the only one to have possessed all three Deathly Hallows, and the only one who has returned from death. Death will fear him. He might be the key to victory."

"Harry's mission was to defeat Voldemort, not Death," Cyrus replied. "He's still a student, still just a child, and he's already done enough. We shouldn't place every burden on his shoulders or ask him to take more risks."

"That," Grindelwald said, "is where you differ from —and from Dumbledore."

If it were him, he wouldn't care how old Harry was, what status he held, or what kind of danger he might face. As long as it ant victory, even sacrifice was acceptable. If it were Dumbledore, he would have been more subtle—he would first nurture the boy, but in the end, he'd still give him the right to choose.

But Cyrus had chosen to shoulder it all himself.

"Harry might be the Master of Death, but our enemy may not be Death itself," Cyrus said.

That so-called Death hadn't shown itself again since killing Dumbledore, but Cyrus and Grindelwald weren't without theories about its whereabouts.

In the legendary tale, Death and the three Peverell brothers were always tightly intertwined.

And Godric's Hollow was the holand of the three brothers. Their descendants had lived there generation after generation. If the one who killed Dumbledore truly was Death, then perhaps he would return to this place.

Of course, the reality defied their expectations. Godric's Hollow was as peaceful as any ordinary day. The shadow of death had not fallen over it.

"You're right. He's not Death at all," Grindelwald said with a hint of sarcasm.

Cyrus noticed that one of Grindelwald's eyes was glowing brilliantly in the darkness—brighter than even the moon above.

Clearly, Grindelwald was using his magical eye to try and locate the imposter pretending to be Death.

His magical power was more imnse than ever before, a terrifying aura forming a barrier around him, wrapping him like a blood-colored blaze!

There was no doubt—Grindelwald had forcefully fused Morgana's legacy into his own body. But this wasn't the portion Cyrus had once lent to Harry—this was the power Voldemort had brought back from the past tiline.

That surge of magic had greatly enhanced Grindelwald's strength, raising it to an unprecedented level, nearly equal to Cyrus's.

But the danger was equally imnse.

Morgana's legacy contained endless negative emotions. Not even the greatest master of Dark Magic could wield it without cost.

The reason Cyrus could offset its side effects was because his soul was far stronger than that of an ordinary person.

Even Voldemort had only managed to control that power by devouring his own soul across multiple tilines, giving him the strength to resist the backlash.

_______

Read 12 Chapters ahead: