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"Dumbledore?"
Cyrus turned to look, and in the deep darkness, a white figure floated toward him.
Dumbledore treaded over the smoldering embers as if walking through a desolate wilderness, his steps pressing down on the stubborn dry grass beneath him.
He first lowered his gaze to check on Grindelwald. His eyes carried a trace of concern and unease, but once he confirmed that Grindelwald was not in serious danger, a subtle sigh of relief escaped him. He then lifted his eyes to meet Cyrus's.
Every minute detail of this was captured in Cyrus's watchful eyes.
"Dumbledore…"
Grindelwald softly called Dumbledore's name. Being seen in such a vulnerable state left him feeling somewhat embarrassed. His two strands of beard twitched slightly, as if trying to defuse the awkwardness.
"If you've come to join forces with him against me, you're a bit late. But if you're here just to save me, I must say, your timing is impeccable."
Dumbledore stubbornly refrained from responding, intentionally maintaining a distance from Grindelwald. His demeanor was strikingly reminiscent of a couple in a cold war after a quarrel. He could speak with anyone—anyone except Grindelwald.
"I didn't expect that magic to be yours, Cyrus," Dumbledore said, fixing his gaze on Cyrus's eyes. He was referring to the infernal hellfire spell Bloody Hell.
This wasn't merely a piece of dark magic. To Dumbledore, it was also a reflection of Cyrus's inner world.
The powerful and sinister dark magic could not be cast without intense and extreme emotions.
For instance, when Cyrus had just been resurrected in the Shrieking Shack, the Killing Curse he cast had been feeble and ineffective.
Before this, Dumbledore had considered Cyrus to be relatively less dangerous—certainly compared to Voldemort, and even compared to Grindelwald. This perceived safety wasn't due to a gap in their capabilities but rather because of Cyrus's temperament.
Now, however, Dumbledore felt the need to reevaluate Cyrus's level of threat.
What Dumbledore didn't know was that after acquiring the ancient magic, especially Morgana's legacy, Cyrus was no longer influenced by the emotional requirements of spells. To him, a spell was merely a spell.
Cyrus had no intention of explaining.
He lifted his head slightly, and all the magic within him surged to the forefront. Every drop of blood coursing through his veins felt as scorching as molten lava.
His heart pounded with strong, steady beats!
Cyrus was fully prepared to face both Dumbledore and Grindelwald at the same time.
This was a perfect stage for it—especially with Dumbledore's arrival, which brought new magical surveillance drones. The outcome of this battle would be witnessed by everyone.
Cyrus flicked his wand, but no spell was cast.
Whoosh!
The tip of Cyrus's wand sliced through the air, emitting a sharp sound. His stance was upright, like a warrior wielding a sword.
"Come, Dumbledore. You alone, or with him—it makes no difference."
Cyrus issued his challenge to Dumbledore. At this moment, no one thought him arrogant or reckless.
In the Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium, everyone had just witnessed, through the enchanted projection, the scene where Cyrus had defeated Grindelwald. Their reactions, however, varied widely.
Bellatrix Lestrange's expression remained indifferent as she curled her lips slightly, as though none of it surprised her in the least. Graves, on the other hand, was consumed by awe. The sight of Grindelwald defeated and lying prone had turned his admiration for Cyrus into near fanaticism.
One of the most powerful wizards of the past century, defeated just like that by Cyrus?
For Graves, seeing the humiliated state of the dark wizard who had shamed his ancestors brought an immense sense of satisfaction.
Babajide, however, frowned deeply, her concern for Dumbledore evident. Wizards like her, who had lived through the era of Grindelwald's dominion over Europe, understood all too well the magnitude of this battle.
The name Grindelwald itself was a terrifying nightmare.
"Am I seeing things?" Fudge's face was filled with disbelief. Even through the screen, when he saw Cyrus's glowing eyes, he couldn't help but step back in fear. "He defeated... Grindelwald..."
As he muttered, he squinted his eyes—narrowed to slits by his plump cheeks—toward Umbridge. At this moment, Umbridge's face was drained of all color. Her overly made-up, toad-like face was etched with terror.
Fudge actually had a soft spot for Umbridge.
Though the witch could be nauseating at times, she excelled at flattery and was one of the few people in the Ministry who made him feel like a real Minister.
For that reason, he had promoted her to the position of Undersecretary, breaking all conventions.
But now, it seemed he would have to abandon her.
This fool had provoked Cyrus, who was far from being as mild-tempered as Dumbledore. If Cyrus decided to lash out over this, Fudge might find himself dragged into the fallout!
With that thought, Fudge resolved to dismiss Umbridge as soon as the Triwizard Tournament concluded.
Even so, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the screen. He couldn't help but suspect that what he was seeing was some kind of illusion.
"How could he have possibly defeated Grindelwald? How old is he?" Fudge murmured, almost to himself, as if in disbelief.
Barty Crouch Jr. overheard his words and cast him a cold glance, all the while contemplating the age of his own Dark Lord.
—Sixty-eight? Or was it sixty-nine?
He wasn't entirely sure of the details, but one thing was certain: Cyrus's physical age was only sixteen or seventeen.
He had yet to reach his full potential. For a long time to come, Cyrus's magical power would continue to grow, accumulating endlessly until there was no one left who could rival him!
'That is, if you manage to survive!'
This vicious thought crossed his mind.
Grindelwald's loss didn't trouble him much. At the very least, the old man had managed to buy the Dark Lord some time—Cyrus and Dumbledore were both tied up, giving the Dark Lord more opportunity to complete his triumphant return.
Besides, Grindelwald wasn't dead. Dumbledore's mercy had spared his life, leaving him as a potential ally when the Dark Lord was revived.
What delighted him even more was the apparent discord between Cyrus and Dumbledore.
He saw Dumbledore stride forward, completely exposing his back to Grindelwald without a shred of hesitation, while Cyrus raised his wand, appearing ready to engage Dumbledore in battle.
"Yes, fight! The more intense, the better!" He sneered.
The tension between Cyrus and Dumbledore was palpable to everyone watching. The thousand or so young wizards of Hogwarts stared in shock.
"Cyrus actually won," Fred said, eyes wide, elbowing George. "I thought Grindelwald was supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world?"
"Even so, there's no way he could beat Professor Dumbledore," Lee Jordan chimed in, leaning over with a serious expression. "Defeating Grindelwald is one thing. Dumbledore became famous for defeating Grindelwald back in 1945."
"Does this mean," Angelina said, turning back in surprise after overhearing their conversation, "that Cyrus might be as powerful as Professor Dumbledore?"
But her speculation was quickly met with skepticism.
"That's impossible! Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world! No one is stronger than him!"
Though there were many at Hogwarts who thought Dumbledore had grown senile with age, no one ever doubted his strength. While Grindelwald's might was somewhat abstract to them, the fear of another dark wizard—Voldemort—was all too familiar.
"Does anyone still remember? Dumbledore is the only person the Dark Lord fears!"
This came from a Ravenclaw student who spoke with absolute conviction. His gaze swept over those around him as he spoke, his confidence so steadfast that it made his words seem undeniable.
At this moment, he stood as though he himself were Dumbledore. "I'll say this: Grindelwald might be powerful, but there's no way he could compare to You-know-who."
His words dismissed both Grindelwald and Cyrus as insignificant, a sentiment not only rooted in confidence in their headmaster but also fueled by jealousy.
Since Cyrus's first dinner at Hogwarts, he had drawn attention wherever he went, as if perpetually illuminated by a spotlight. He wasn't just dazzling; his presence made everyone else fade into the background.
During the Christmas Ball, Cyrus had danced with not one, but three beautiful girls.
If that wasn't enough, one of those girls had spent the entire evening utterly distracted, her gaze fixed on Cyrus, as if she wished he could conjure dozens of copies of himself just to twirl around her endlessly.
This genuine jealousy filled the Ravenclaw student with such bitterness toward Cyrus that his hostility practically radiated.
But no sooner had he finished speaking than a scornful voice sounded behind him.
"Oh, really?"
Ron had somehow wandered over from where he had been standing with Hagrid. He tilted his head, wearing a look of exaggerated sympathy, as if pitying the other boy for his apparent lack of intelligence.
"What grand insight do you have, Weasley?" the Ravenclaw shot back immediately, his tone dripping with mockery. Since he addressed him by surname, both Fred and George, who had been nearby, exchanged a glance, already deciding to give this guy a proper lesson after the match.
Ron, unaware of his older brothers' plans, was instead brimming with indignation over the ignorance displayed by the group around him.
They had no idea what Cyrus was capable of. But Ron did—and that knowledge made him feel uniquely special. He straightened up with a sense of superiority, his tone lofty and smug as he declared,
"Then you must not know—Voldemort has already been resurrected once, and Cyrus defeated him!"
Ron's words left everyone stunned, but their first reaction wasn't astonishment—it was skepticism.
"You're lying, Weasley!"
"You don't believe me?" Ron snapped, his frustration evident. "If you were smarter, you'd know Harry's been kidnapped twice. Every professor at Hogwarts knows Voldemort came back—and they all saw Cyrus defeat him!"
Mentioning the professors made the others pause, lending the claim a bit more credibility.
The twins, already aware of Harry's kidnappings, were now brimming with curiosity. They hadn't known Voldemort had been resurrected, and their faces lit up with intrigue. They turned to Ron, urging him eagerly, "Tell us everything!"
"You seriously believe him?!" The Ravenclaw student looked flustered, adamantly insisting Ron was lying. "If the Dark Lord really came back, how could we not know?"
But by then, few were paying him any attention.
"What, you expect Voldemort to send you a memo about it?"
Angelina shoved her way through the crowd toward Ron, pausing as she passed the Ravenclaw to deliver a mocking jab:
The Ravenclaw flushed scarlet and slumped back into his seat, clearly the butt of the joke. Still, he couldn't help muttering a bitter retort under his breath.
"You'll all see soon enough!"
After all, Cyrus and Dumbledore had crossed paths, and it wouldn't take long to determine who was truly stronger.
...
Ministry of Magic, Sixth Floor
Flames had reduced nearly everything on the sixth floor to ash, leaving behind only charred ruins and crumbling walls.
Dumbledore felt an unprecedented gravity in the air. The pressure Cyrus exerted on him was unlike anything he had ever experienced—even Voldemort paled in comparison.
The air was overwhelmingly dry, a consequence of the fire's fury, but another sensation clung to him—a thick, suffocating presence.
Cyrus's magical energy seemed omnipresent. Dumbledore felt as if he were moving underwater, each action demanding far more effort than usual, or as though he were buried in beach sand, with even the simple act of breathing becoming a struggle.
Everything around him appeared transformed in his eyes, as if he were watching a film filtered through an aged, weathered lens. Sporadically, flickering black lines disrupted the vision, flashing in and out of existence.
"It seems Morgana's legacy has granted you tremendous power," Dumbledore said softly.
"But I doubt whether this power can rival the Elder Wand," Cyrus's gaze lingered on the wand in Dumbledore's hand.
He had never held the true Elder Wand before, so even now, he couldn't gauge the extent of its power.
"Does it really make you invincible?"
Voldemort was hailed as the "most powerful dark wizard," yet he still wasn't a match for Dumbledore.
Perhaps Voldemort and Dumbledore possessed comparable magical strength, but the Elder Wand clearly gave Dumbledore an unbeatable edge.
If it weren't for Harry—or more specifically, if Harry hadn't been a Horcrux—Dumbledore might not have needed to sacrifice himself to defeat Voldemort.
"I believe if there's something you wish to understand, experiencing it firsthand is the best way," Dumbledore said.
Cyrus chuckled softly, seemingly amused. It appeared that Dumbledore might be somewhat angry about Cyrus having beaten up his old friend. Cyrus glanced at Grindelwald and noticed him wearing a smug, triumphant smile.
So, he raised his wand and declared, "I was just thinking the same thing!"
BOOM!
In an instant, an intense magical shockwave spread from deep below, rippling through every corner of the Ministry of Magic!
The magical disturbance was so vivid that even ordinary people could see it clearly.
Golden ripples reverberated, unknowingly passing through Cyrus's body!
Eh?
Cyrus froze, stunned.
In that fleeting instant, it felt as though his body had undergone countless cycles of reincarnation. His once smooth skin suddenly became loose and wrinkled, resembling a withered poplar tree left to die in a desert.
He felt his strength slipping away, his vitality draining as if something was siphoning the life force out of him.
This abrupt weakness almost caused him to lose his grip on his wand.
Half-kneeling, his body curled into a hunched position, appearing as fragile as an antique on the verge of shattering.
"..."
"..."
What the fuck?
Both Dumbledore and Grindelwald were struck dumb.
In their astonished eyes, Cyrus had aged dramatically, his hair now completely white.
"What is going on?" Grindelwald exclaimed in shock, but then he noticed his voice sounded decades younger. The old Dumbledore standing before him had vanished, replaced by a young man with brown hair.
"Albus, you've turned back the clock!" Grindelwald shouted, his tone incredulous, as if he'd been transported back to that summer in Godric's Hollow.
"It wasn't me," Dumbledore said, his mind racing furiously.
At that moment, the now white-haired Cyrus lifted his head.
Though his appearance resembled a desiccated mummy, his fiery golden eyes remained as bright and clear as ever.
"The laws of time have been broken—"
"The Department of Mysteries!" Dumbledore shouted abruptly.
________
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