I became Voldemort

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Dumbledore's white robes still carried traces of fire at the edges as he stepped out from the void. 

"Let Harry go, Voldemort," Dumbledore said sternly. 

He had always been a good headmaster who respected his students. Ever since Voldemort insisted that he preferred this name, Dumbledore had stopped calling him Tom. 

But Voldemort didn't seem to notice this detail. He was only slightly surprised because, stepping out from the darkness, there was only Dumbledore—he had expected this trap to be more dangerous. 

"Where is Cyrus?" he asked. 

Cyrus: Right in your hands. 

"Perhaps you've misunderstood something," Dumbledore said. "Cyrus and I don't exactly share the same perspective." 

Of course, you and Grindelwald do.

Otherwise, why would he willingly cooperate with me just to save you? 

Voldemort thought to himself but didn't continue pressing about Cyrus. If Dumbledore refused to answer, then whether Cyrus was part of this ambush or not no longer mattered.

He only needed to assume that Cyrus was already here and remain vigilant.

"Alright, let Harry go," Dumbledore raised the Elder Wand.

The moment Voldemort laid eyes on the wand, he suddenly realized—he didn't necessarily need to take Harry away. He only needed to defeat him. And that would be far too easy.

In fact, he had already won.

He had captured Harry—who could deny that this wasn't already his victory?

The thought sent a surge of excitement through Voldemort.

But he still didn't release his grip on Harry. Instead, with his other hand, he once again lifted the Elder Wand.

Immediately, an overwhelming power surged forth from the wand, pouring into his body through every pore of his hand, flooding into his bloodstream like a raging torrent.

"Aahh~"

A moan of pleasure escaped Voldemort's lips.

He savored the immense power coursing through him, convinced that he was now unstoppable.

Voldemort had personally experienced the power the Elder Wand granted him. He could easily tell whether he was truly its master—and at this moment, his heart swelled just like his magic.

But what he didn't realize was that someone at the height of their power might already be standing at the edge of destruction.

"I thought you would be smarter, Dumbledore," he said.

"I thought that perhaps Harry Potter was never the true master of the Elder Wand, that you had merely thrown out a smokescreen. But you actually made him the bait, deliberately placing him in danger just to lure me in."

This was just like in first year, when Dumbledore had used the Philosopher's Stone as bait, forcing him into a direct confrontation with Harry.

But back then, Harry had managed to protect the Philosopher's Stone.

And now—it was the great Lord Voldemort who had claimed victory.

"Hahaha~ You never learn from your mistakes, Dumbledore," Voldemort said, deliberately repeating Dumbledore's name with every sentence, as if emphasizing that he was the loser, as if highlighting how foolish he had been.

He shook his head. Seeing Dumbledore's expression grow darker, his satisfaction only grew.

"You truly surprise me, Dumbledore," he continued. "This doesn't seem like the kind of mistake you would make, and yet, you have made it."

Voldemort couldn't imagine that this was part of Dumbledore's plan.

His power had indeed grown stronger—there was nothing that could take the Elder Wand from him now.

Dumbledore's actions were only making Voldemort stronger. If this was truly part of some plan, then Voldemort wished for more plans like it.

With a sudden motion, he raised his hand and unleashed a spell.

The surge of magic was thicker than a bolt of lightning.

Dumbledore immediately countered, but he struggled against the force. Under Voldemort's assault, he looked like a withered tree on the verge of breaking in a raging storm.

"Heh~ Truly pathetic, isn't it?" Voldemort said smugly.

He had already expected his magic to be overwhelming, but actually forcing Dumbledore back made it difficult to suppress his triumph.

After all these years, he had never felt so exhilarated.

But he held back.

"Hahaha! You're so weak, Dumbledore!"

"I almost feel sorry for you, my dear old professor. Are you holding up alright?" Voldemort asked, sounding as if he were genuinely concerned about his aging teacher.

Dumbledore bent over, gasping for breath.

Even now, he still spoke like a true teacher, as if trying to impart one final lesson to Voldemort. 

"Never become too arrogant, Voldemort." 

"How amusing," Voldemort sneered. "The unrivaled Elder Wand is finally mine. Do you really think anyone can take it from me this time?" 

His voice suddenly shifted, deepening into something that seemed to echo from the depths of hell.

"Thats Impossible! No one can! Hahahaha!" 

"I truly want to kill you right now," he admitted, "but that wouldn't be fun." 

"I will kill you in front of everyone," he continued. "But don't worry, not today, and not in tomorrow's tournament." 

"I promised Grindelwald I'd spare you once. You should really thank your ever-loyal, rose-like lover for that." 

"But I still have one question for you." 

With his overwhelming power, Voldemort had more than enough confidence. Even as he remained on guard for a possible attack from Cyrus, he asked, 

"What makes you think Harry can defeat me? That ridiculous prophecy?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. 

"It is because Harry has something you will never possess. Your magic is powerful, yes, but your heart is a barren wasteland. You are truly pitiful, Voldemort—living through the power of the Resurrection Stone, relying on this half-dead body. What can you even feel?"

"Nothing at all."

"The same old nonsense," Voldemort said, shaking his head in disappointment.

He knew well that "love" was a powerful kind of magic, but in the end, it was just another form of ancient magic. And now, he too had mastered ancient magic. He had broken Lily Potter's enchantment—he could step onto Privet Drive, he could touch Harry Potter. He was unstoppable!

Voldemort lost interest in continuing the conversation.

He had been waiting for Cyrus to appear, but after all this time, there was still no sign of him. He was growing impatient.

"That's enough for tonight…"

He finally released 'Harry' and rose into the air, looking down at everyone like a god surveying his domain.

Now that he had reclaimed the Elder Wand, he had no more use for Harry.

Of course, he could take the final piece of his soul fragment from Harry right now—but he chose not to.

He wanted to prove something to Dumbledore, to make it clear that he didn't care about Harry at all.

This so-called "Chosen One" was nothing more than a pathetic joke.

Besides, the Horcrux was still a failsafe—one final insurance.

"Go back and tell Cyrus—tomorrow will be the day he dies."

_________

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