I became Voldemort

A lot of people had gathered in the Quidditch Stadium.

Even though it was summer break, no student would want to miss this match—

A battle between the four most powerful wizards of the century, a duel that would decide the fate of the entire wizarding world.

In reality, it wasn't just the students.

The Quidditch World Cup stadium, which had been constructed the previous summer, had been reopened and repurposed for the event.

As a massive arena capable of holding 100,000 spectators, it welcomed countless wizards from all over the world.

And for those who couldn't attend, they still followed the match through newspapers or other means, never taking their eyes off this momentous event.

At the center of the Quidditch pitch, on the vast green field, Voldemort stood tall, his figure as rigid as a spear.

He was the first to arrive.

After last night's attack, he had been too eager to return, waiting for the tournament to begin.

To him, this wasn't just a match. No, it was also his chance to seize complete control of the wizarding world.

Defeat Dumbledore. Kill Cyrus.

He would eliminate every last obstacle in his path.

The time was drawing closer.

Voldemort looked up. The sun had already risen from the far side of the Forbidden Forest, its golden light diffusing through the morning mist like a radiant cloak.

This was the day of death—the day when the Great Dark Lord would once again seize control of the world.

And yet, the sky was so bright and clear.

He found it almost blinding, while the faces of the thousands of chattering students in the stands appeared blurred in his vision.

He wondered if Harry Potter was among them—or if, after last night's events, the boy had been so terrified that he didn't even dare to show up.

In reality, Harry wasn't there.

As Hermione and Ginny took their seats, they saw only Ron sitting there alone.

"Where's Harry? I heard you were attacked last night," Hermione asked.

She had heard about it from Ginny.

Ron wasn't sure if he could call last night's escape a success.

Harry hadn't been taken by Voldemort, but Dumbledore's expression had been grim ever since.

Keeping his voice low, Ron recounted everything to Hermione, while Ginny leaned in, listening carefully.

"I think the Dark Lord must have achieved his goal," Hermione said immediately after hearing the story.

Her gaze shifted toward the Quidditch pitch, toward the figure standing there—a man who looked eerily similar to Cyrus.

Under the golden sunlight, the Dark Lord looked almost... holy.

"In the Ministry, he emphasized multiple times that he didn't care about the prophecy or Harry," Hermione said, "but he still went after Harry. That means what he really wanted must be something else."

"What if he was trying to retrieve his own soul?" Ginny asked.

They had already learned about the Horcruxes back at the Department of Mysteries.

"If that were the case, the Dark Lord wouldn't have let Harry go so easily last night," Hermione reasoned. She then turned to Ron. "So where is Harry now?"

"He's staying at Sirius's house," Ron explained. "Dumbledore said it's best for him to stay hidden."

But in reality, the Harry Potter Ron was thinking of—Cyrus—was actually in the Headmaster's office at that very moment, sitting beside the real Harry.

Now, with Cyrus's face, Harry was staring at Dumbledore and Cyrus with a mildly annoyed expression.

"Honestly, you could have finished him off last night, couldn't you?" he said. "The two of you together—I know for a fact you could've defeated him."

What Harry truly meant was that Cyrus should have joined forces with Dumbledore to stop Voldemort.

Last night, Ron and the twins had been injured, but the worst off was Lupin—almost every bone in his body had been shattered by Voldemort's spell. If this weren't a magical world, Lupin would have been dead.

"Yes.. We could have defeated him," Cyrus said calmly, "but what does it matter? After all, we wouldn't have been able to kill him."

Harry's disguise through Transfiguration was flawless, but the issue was that his personality was completely different from Cyrus's.

Harry was more hot-tempered.

And now, wearing Cyrus's face, his expressions looked oddly out of place.

At the mention of killing, Harry fell silent.

Neither Dumbledore nor Cyrus could kill Voldemort.

The only one who could do it was him—because the piece of Voldemort's soul was lodged inside his scar.

Because he was a Horcrux.

Harry would kill Voldemort.

And in return, he would die.

At this point, Harry wasn't even afraid anymore.

He had already accepted it, told himself that death wasn't scary—

That it wouldn't hurt.

According to James, it was just like falling asleep.

According to Dumbledore, death was the next great adventure.

Those words comforted Harry.

But that didn't mean he wanted to die.

He still had things he wanted to hold onto in this world—

His best friends, Ron, Hermione, Ginny…

His newly found godfather, Sirius Black…

Cyrus…

Quidditch…

And everything about Hogwarts.

"Does it really have to be me?" he asked, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"You all know I'm not special. I don't have the power to fight Voldemort. Just because of that prophecy—does that really mean I can defeat him? Does that really mean I have to die?!"

His emotions flared, his voice rising until he was shouting at Dumbledore and Cyrus.

But no one blamed him for it.

Many people, when they were far from death, would claim that dying wasn't a big deal.

They couldn't comprehend its true terror.

But Harry could.

Even though he was roaring like a wounded beast, not once did he back away.

He just felt it was unfair—felt sad and reluctant to let go.

"This isn't because of the prophecy, Harry," Cyrus said.

Even now, he hadn't told Harry the whole truth. Because sometimes, knowing the future wasn't a good thing.

Magic was a mysterious force.

If he revealed it, the outcome might change.

__________

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