I became Voldemort

Chapter 270: A Complete Waste!

"Who are you?"

Cedric pushed Cho Chang further behind him with one hand and held his wand tightly in the other, staring at the stranger who had intruded on their trial.

He had never seen this man before.

Could he be Durmstrang's treasure?

That thought flashed through Cedric's mind, but he did not lower his guard. He had seen Fleur's unconscious sister being held by this tall man as if she were a mere doll.

"Let her go!" Cedric shouted sternly, taking a step closer.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the sight.

"Come back, Cedric!" Harry shouted, feeling as though death itself had enveloped him.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

It was as if he had seen this scene before—Cedric, in a similar situation, but not here in the Department of Mysteries.

It looked more like a graveyard. Then, he saw the long-dead Peter Pettigrew emerge coldly and cast a clean, decisive spell on Cedric—

And that poor boy fell, lifeless.

The vision flashed before Harry's eyes.

He didn't know if it was an illusion or a glimpse of another timeline, but in his sight, the shadow of Cedric's death overlapped with the Cedric before him.

Meanwhile, Voldemort's fingers twitched slightly. A wand slipped from his sleeve and fell neatly into his hand—

Harry desperately wanted to act, but his body refused to move.

He could only glare at Voldemort with all his might, his emerald green eyes veined with a blood-red web. The shadow of death loomed over Cedric like a suffocating shroud.

Suddenly, Harry screamed at the top of his lungs:

"Voldemort!"

The name sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present. Cedric, who had been tense and ready to attack moments ago, turned around in shock, meeting Harry's ghostly, fear-stricken gaze.

"Harry, what are you saying?"

But Harry ignored Cedric. His furious eyes remained locked on Voldemort. "I'm here, Voldemort!"

"I can see that, Harry Potter," Voldemort replied icily, his crimson gaze pulling away from Cedric—which allowed Harry to breathe a momentary sigh of relief—only for those piercing eyes to fall squarely on him, their intensity burning like a blade.

...fuck..

Voldemort carelessly tossed Gabrielle aside as if discarding a lifeless fish.

Then he extended his hand—a hand no longer pale and lifeless, but strikingly human, perhaps even unnaturally flawless. Pulling back the hood of his cloak, he revealed a face that was both disturbingly handsome and deeply unsettling.

Now, everyone could see him clearly.

Among everyone present, only Harry had ever seen Voldemort's face before. Yet, Voldemort's features bore such striking resemblances to Cyrus that it was hard not to see the two as brothers.

"Is he really Vol... the Dark Lord?" Cedric couldn't bring himself to utter the name.

It felt as if he had been plunged into the icy, frozen tundra of the Arctic. Every pore of his body trembled with fear as he watched Voldemort walk past them, treating them as if they were mere air. He approached Harry without sparing anyone else so much as a glance.

Everyone present seemed to forget how to breathe, how to move.

Even Cassandra found her limbs frozen stiff.

It wasn't fear that gripped her. Rather, Voldemort had unleashed such an overwhelming surge of magical power that the oppressive force rendered movement nearly impossible.

Though she wasn't completely paralyzed, Cassandra understood all too well that acting rashly would only lead to one outcome—death.

"Ah, you know, Potter," Voldemort said, extending his hand to grip Harry's face, his icy fingers like iron clamps. "I really had no desire to see you."

"Can you tell me where is Cyrus?"

Pinned by Voldemort's grip, Harry's face was twisted, but he clenched his teeth and defiantly met Voldemort's gaze. Fury burned in his emerald eyes as he shouted, "Do you think I'd tell you?"

At Harry's response, Voldemort let out a soft, mocking laugh, as though amused by Harry's naivety and ignorance.

"Hah~ Has no one ever told you, Potter? If you want to keep a secret, it's best not to look someone in the eyes."

Voldemort tilted his head like a snake, his voice hissing with disdain: "Your mind is as empty as a house without doors, Potter. Any half-competent Legilimens could stroll right in—let me take a look—"

As Voldemort spoke, Harry desperately tried to shut his eyes, but he was a moment too late.

"Ah, so Cyrus, Dumbledore, and that failure of a dark lord are up there fighting. I'd rather he didn't die too quickly; I have so many questions I want him to answer for me!"

He looked at Harry, whose eyes were now tightly shut, and let out a scornful sound from his throat.

It wasn't Harry he was mocking—it was himself.

Fourth year, and yet this boy didn't even know how to perform Occlumency. The realization that he had once considered such a person to be his fated enemy struck Voldemort as utterly laughable.

Perhaps splitting his soul had dulled his intellect.

Harry Potter—a wizard with potential that was, at best, passable, but only just that.

He couldn't hold a candle to Snape's talent, nor could he compare to Barty Crouch Jr.'s brilliance, let alone Voldemort's own extraordinary abilities.

What irked Voldemort the most, however, was Harry's utter lack of ambition.

Here was someone from the Muggle world, someone with access to such a vast array of magic and unparalleled power within reach. Yet he lacked the drive to seize it, mired in complacency and laziness.

A complete waste.

"You know, Harry? I think you could make an impressive Auror, someone like Alastor Moody," Voldemort said with unsettling warmth.

"But you see~"

But the kindness evaporated quickly as his tone turned cold and commanding. He gripped Harry's head firmly and twisted it, forcing Harry to face him sideways.

The strands of hair on Harry's forehead parted, revealing the lightning-shaped scar.

"You will never surpass me!"

Voldemort extended a finger, letting it trace the lightning bolt on Harry's forehead. Instantly, Harry felt a searing pain, as if molten lava were coursing through his skull. The agony wrung a piercing scream from him.

"Ahhh!"

Voldemort ignored his cries entirely. "Your fame, your achievements, your very existence today are not your own doing!"

"Your mother saved your life. Dumbledore saved your life. Cyrus saved your life too... but ultimately, it was I who made you who you are!"

Harry felt as though Voldemort's nails were digging into his scar, and for a terrifying moment, he thought the Dark Lord intended to tear his head apart to retrieve something vital inside.

That something was undoubtedly crucial to Voldemort.

"Of course, it is!" Voldemort declared, reading Harry's thoughts effortlessly, as though he didn't even need to meet his eyes.

"I suppose Dumbledore never told you that," Voldemort said, as if he was about to reveal some surprising secret.

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