I became Voldemort

The Department of Mysteries.

Approximately two and a half hours earlier.

When the "treasures" of all the champions were placed here, "Gabrielle" opened her crimson eyes. ( A/N: Fleur's little sister )

Or rather, Voldemort!!

Ever since deciding to involve himself in the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort had no intention of truly leaving. He merely created the illusion of his departure, allowing Cyrus and Dumbledore to entertain suspicions about him.

What followed was straightforward.

He rose to his feet, surveying the room he was in—its many bizarre, floating brains immediately revealing his location.

"The Brain Room?" Voldemort let out a cold laugh. "Consciousness is indeed full of mysteries, but this is not the place I desire."

He paced around the Brain Room but found no sign of the other champions' "treasures." Clearly, they had all been placed in different rooms.

"What a pity, no sign of Harry Potter," he remarked, shaking his head regretfully.

If Harry were here, he could have reclaimed one of his soul fragments right away.

'Forget it, retrieving the last soul fragment after returning from the depths of time won't be too late,'

Voldemort thought to himself as he strode out of the Brain Room.

To be honest, this was his first time entering the Department of Mysteries. He had only heard of it before but had never set foot here personally.

Upon leaving the Brain Room, Voldemort found himself in a circular chamber. Twelve identical doors were tightly shut, and they began spinning rapidly before his eyes.

Though there were only twelve doors, the spinning made it impossible to discern which door he had already passed through or what dangers might lurk behind the others.

Of course, this posed no real challenge for Voldemort.

Among the Death Eaters, there were those who had previously worked at the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort had long since learned the method to distinguish between the doors.

His serpent-like gaze swept over the doors one by one.

"The Death Chamber, the Hall of Prophecy..."

When he thought of the Hall of Prophecy, Voldemort recalled that it likely contained a prophecy about him and Harry.

This prophecy pertained to how, more than a decade ago, a mere infant had managed to defeat the great Dark Lord.

Logically, Voldemort should care deeply about this prophecy and be eager to uncover its full details, so he could devise a way to break it.

However, despite the thought of the prophecy crossing Voldemort's mind, he made no move toward it.

It was just a prophecy, after all, and one concerning Harry Potter no less—utterly unnecessary for him to bother with at this moment.

The Voldemort of today no longer cared about that prophecy.

After several encounters with Harry, he had realized that the boy was nothing extraordinary and unworthy of further attention.

He even felt a lingering sense of bewilderment over how he had been foolish enough, all those years ago, to believe in the prophecy and make such a fuss over a mere child. That mistake had led to his loss of control over his Horcruxes, enabling Cyrus to become an independent being who now actively opposed him.

But it didn't matter. Soon, he would rewrite history and correct the errors of his past!

If history could be changed, Voldemort was confident that returning to the past would allow him to erase Cyrus's existence to some degree.

With just a few trips through time, he would acquire the Philosopher's Stone, restore his body, and reclaim every fragment of his soul from the past.

Voldemort was certain that once he regained his full power, there would be no one in this world capable of defeating him—not even Cyrus!

That said, whether Cyrus would even still exist by then remained an open question.

"Ne he he heh~"

He let out a cold chuckle and strode decisively toward the Hall of Time.

For Voldemort, the Hall of Time was dazzling to the point of excess. The ticking of countless clocks echoed through the space, and the diamond-like radiance from their surfaces refracted in every direction, flooding the room with brilliance.

Disregarding the ostentatious display, Voldemort stepped past a massive floor clock, towering higher than a man, and advanced to the far end of the room—

This was the very source of all the light in the chamber, the beginning and end of time itself.

Before him stood a transparent glass dome, within which shimmered glowing currents of air.

As the currents flowed, a tiny hummingbird inside would be born, live, die, and then be reborn, cycling endlessly like waves rising and falling along the shore.

"How could I have failed to realize this before? What I've been seeking—true immortality—is right before my eyes!"

Compared to this, Horcruxes were merely an incomplete form of power.

They had their advantages: owning Horcruxes granted extended life and an immortal body. But their flaws were just as apparent—once created, Horcruxes became external objects, separate from the self.

Voldemort extended a pale finger toward the glass dome and lightly tapped it. In the next instant, the glass dissolved and shattered, like ice melting into thin air.

He immediately reached out toward the swirling stream of energy. In that instant, a dense black mist erupted from Gabrielle's body. A smoky, shadow-like creature emerged, separating itself from her completely and vanishing into the flow of time...

Time travel was a peculiar sensation. Voldemort felt as though everything around him had frozen in an instant. The entire world seemed like sunlight filtering through stained glass, casting dreamy, surreal colors.

Then, everything stretched and distorted, becoming so elongated that he could barely see anything clearly. Only endless phantoms passed silently around him, ultimately overlapping into one incomprehensible mass...

...

"What on earth is happening?"

Grindelwald still hadn't figured out what was going on.

Prophecy was a power rife with uncertainty. Even if Grindelwald used his special eye to observe the future at this moment, what he could see would be fragmented and incomplete.

He had only one suspicion—that the so-called Dark Lord, Voldemort, must have done something.

Grindelwald cautiously glanced at Dumbledore's back, unsure if he should reveal his brief "alliance" with Voldemort. But calling it an alliance might be overstating it—Grindelwald didn't actually know what Voldemort's plan was.

All he wanted was to ensure that Dumbledore survived and wasn't killed by Cyrus.

With this thought, Grindelwald's gaze shifted past Dumbledore, landing on Cyrus.

The man now looked so old, as though even lifting a wand was a struggle. It was the perfect opportunity to kill him!

If it had been fifty years ago, Grindelwald wouldn't have hesitated—he would have struck Cyrus down without a second thought!

But now...

Grindelwald glanced at Dumbledore's back, his expression flickering uncertainly. The fingers of the hand holding his wand twitched slightly, but in the end, he didn't make a move.

In contrast, Cyrus and Dumbledore were far more aware of the situation.

Dumbledore's face was heavy with worry.

The disruption of time's rules could only mean one thing—something had gone wrong in the Time Room. Given that he had just sent the three champions into the Time Room, Dumbledore couldn't help but fear for their safety.

Had he misjudged the situation?

Was it possible that Fleur had truly been possessed by Voldemort?

His expression darkened as he turned to Cyrus and asked, "Cyrus, did you notice anything unusual about Fleur Delacour?"

Dumbledore knew that Cyrus had the ability to perceive traces of ancient magic—perhaps he could detect something that others could not.

But Cyrus slowly shook his head. He appeared hesitant to move too abruptly, as though afraid that the slightest action might cause his frail body to break apart.

Cyrus looked as though his age was the combined total of Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's ages before they had grown younger, so ancient that even his voice was hoarse. Speaking was a struggle for him, each word seemingly wrung from his frail body.

Yet, despite his decrepit state, Cyrus did not appear particularly disheveled.

His tone was firm: "It's not Fleur." He paused before continuing, "But it is a Delacour!"

It was only now that Cyrus fully grasped what had happened. Or rather, he had paid so little attention to Voldemort that after confirming Fleur was fine, he had not delved further into the matter.

Now it was clear: Voldemort had been hiding within Gabrielle all along, staying in the Department of Mysteries from the very beginning.

What Cyrus hadn't expected was Voldemort breaking the rules of time itself.

Reversing time, altering history—what exactly was Voldemort after?

Life?

Or perhaps a soul?

"We need to head to the Department of Mysteries immediately!" Dumbledore quickly decided. He glanced at the almost immobile, ancient-looking Cyrus and concluded that he would have to handle this alone. "You stay here, Cyrus."

But Cyrus merely smirked and shook his head. Turning his gaze to Grindelwald, he said in a low voice, "I thought for sure you'd take this opportunity to kill me while I'm weak, Grindelwald."

"I don't think I need to lift a finger—you'll die on your own," Grindelwald said coolly.

At this moment, Cyrus looked even more terrifying than before.

The wrinkled skin on his body was now marked with age spots, and an odor resembling decaying flesh emanated from him. The power of time seemed relentless, ceaselessly wearing him down. He looked like a dried riverbed scorched under the sun for months—his skin brittle and cracked. Every small movement caused fragments of it to flake away.

Dumbledore watched with concern, his expression grave. Cyrus looked as if he were about to crumble into nothingness at any moment.

It was like staring at a piece of paper burned to crisp dryness, holding together by sheer inertia, but with the faintest touch, it would turn to ash.

"You think I'm going to die?" Cyrus said hoarsely. As he spoke, more pieces of his desiccated, skeletal frame flaked off. Yet strangely, amidst this decay, the aura of life began to grow stronger, pulsing from him.

Grindelwald's eyes widened in astonishment.

Lub-dup!

Lup-dup!

Amidst the silent void, the sound of a heartbeat boomed, deep and resonant. That heart was vigorous and strong, echoing with the very essence of life itself.

Within the rhythm of that powerful pulse, Cyrus seemed to be enveloped in golden radiance. Time itself appeared to reverse once more!

It was as if something had flowed back into his veins, nourishing his skin—the deep wrinkles smoothed out, the scattered age spots vanished, and his once frail body stood tall again, like a withered tree suddenly coming back to life in spring.

—The Philosopher's Stone!

Cyrus had revived himself through the Philosopher's Stone, his vitality now boundless and unstoppable. A new, youthful body emerged from his aged remains. Under the astonished gazes of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, Cyrus transformed back into his original form.

"Let's go. It's time to face our Dark Lord!" Cyrus declared as he stood up, his eyes blazing.

"Then let us depart," Dumbledore nodded. "Stay close to me."

Given the gravity of Voldemort's involvement, Dumbledore set aside any thoughts of dueling Cyrus. Without saying a word, Grindelwald moved resolutely to stand beside him. Then, the now nearly century-younger Dumbledore raised his hands high and clapped them together with force:

"Fawkes!"

Whoosh!

In an instant, phoenix flames ignited in his palms!

A wave of fire surged forth, engulfing Cyrus and Grindelwald in its blazing embrace—

—The Department of Mysteries.

...

A few minutes earlier.

Cassandra, Cedric, and Fleur had all aimed a powerful Blasting Curse directly at the doors of the Department of Mysteries!

Unfortunately, their combined magic wasn't enough to break through the magical defenses of the doors. The curse rebounded with a fierce force, sending the three of them flying backward!

Once again, Cedric found himself playing the role of a cushion. He felt like all his bones were on the verge of breaking.

"Are you okay?" Fleur asked apologetically, helping him up from the ground. Her elbow had accidentally struck Cedric's face during the chaotic tumble.

"Cough… I'm… I'm fine…"

Cedric replied, forcing himself to his feet. He glanced at the unyielding door, which showed no signs of damage, and gritted his teeth. "Let's try again. This time, we'll stand further back to avoid getting hurt."

"No need," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "We're not going to break it down with just our magic."

If Cassandra's magical power was already on par with a Hogwarts professor, then the Ministry's defenses were comparable to the ones surrounding Hogwarts during the final battle in the original story.

Simply blasting spells at the door wasn't going to cut it.

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

Fleur asked, dissatisfied with Cassandra's pessimism. She immediately shot her a challenging glare.

"I suggest… we use physics," Cassandra said, using a term Fleur didn't understand.

But she didn't need to understand, because Cassandra had already walked up to the door and raised her foot—

Bang!!!

In the shocked eyes of Fleur and Cedric, Cassandra kicked the door open with a single powerful strike...

"You..."

Cedric swallowed nervously. He never would have imagined that the elegant and graceful Cassandra would do something like this.

Cough cough, Cassandra patted her hands, brushed a strand of hair from her ear, and coughed lightly to cover up her awkwardness.

Then she said, "As everyone knows, wizards usually don't consider using brute force to break through obstacles..."

Cedric and Fleur were still stunned.

"Alright! We don't have time! Let's go in!" Cassandra said, blushing.

Only then did Cedric and Fleur snap out of it and follow Cassandra into the door...

__________

Read 12 Chapters ahead:

Patreon.com/HornyFBI