Chapter 294: Method Acting

At that moment, Voldemort sat back down in his chair, placing the translucent Resurrection Stone in front of him. It gleamed like a sliver of light piercing through the darkness, making it impossible for Snape to look away. 

Snape, of course, knew what he had to do to obtain it. The choice was his to make. 

"Alright, now, let's talk about the information you've brought me." 

And so, the hollow shell of a man widened his eyes, speaking in a voice that outwardly seemed steady but was, in truth, filled with turbulent undercurrents. 

"Harry Potter has returned to his Muggle relatives' home... They plan to bring him back to Hogwarts the day before the third task begins." 

Because of the tournament, all students were required to return to Hogwarts over the summer, so Voldemort saw nothing suspicious about this. 

"His Muggle relatives—those Mudblood-loving, lowborn filth—we have searched for that location for years and never found it. Where is it?" Voldemort asked. 

For the Death Eaters, the location of the Dursley household had always been an enigma. 

After so many years, not a single Death Eater had been able to find Harry. That place was protected by special magic. Many wizards had secretly visited Harry in the past, but none who wished him harm had ever been able to locate it. 

Voldemort now expected Snape to give him the answer.

Snape hadn't known the location before, but solving this problem wasn't particularly difficult.

From behind him, he pulled out an old letter. The parchment was slightly worn, covered in creases.

Voldemort took the letter but didn't bother opening it—there was no need. The address was written clearly on the front:

4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Cupboard Under the Stairs

Mr. Harry Potter

"This is the letter the school sent when he was in his first year. I've been waiting for this day, my Lord," Snape said, standing up and bowing to Voldemort.

"You have done well. Once I reclaim the Elder Wand and restore my full power, I will fulfill my promise," Voldemort replied.

With that, he left the room, taking Barty Jr. with him—leaving Snape behind.

He hadn't even taken the Resurrection Stone with him.

Snape lifted his gaze, staring at the stone, but he didn't dare make a single move.

He knew the Dark Lord wouldn't allow him to take the stone so easily. First, Voldemort would confirm whether the information Snape provided was true.

And, of course, it was true.

Only… Snape had left out a few details.

His thoughts drifted back to just a short while ago, in the headmaster's office.

After receiving word from Cyrus and Dumbledore, he had rushed there immediately, barely missing Harry as they crossed paths at the doorway.

And then, he learned about the entire plan.

Voldemort, using the Resurrection Stone as leverage, had pressed Snape for Harry's whereabouts. With the tournament approaching, Voldemort needed to reclaim the Elder Wand's allegiance as quickly as possible—he needed to find Harry.

But what Voldemort didn't know was that Snape's mission had always been to tell him where Harry was.

The only difference was that the Harry Voldemort would find… wasn't actually Harry.

It was Cyrus!

Cyrus had personally cast Metamorph Transfiguration on Harry, achieving an almost perfect transformation. However, there was always a risk that Harry might slip up in small details. To ensure he fully adapted to his new identity, Cyrus and Harry had been swapping roles for months.

Voldemort had thought that the sharp-tongued Cyrus from a few days ago bore a resemblance to Harry.

In truth, it wasn't just a resemblance. That was Harry.

And now, the person truly waiting at 4 Privet Drive for Voldemort's attack—was Cyrus.

...

4 Privet Drive.

Cyrus stepped off the motorcycle and exchanged a quick greeting with Sirius.

At this moment, even Sirius didn't know that Harry was actually an imposter.

The first time Cyrus had transformed, Sirius's keen Animagus senses had immediately exposed him. But after that, Cyrus had improved his Transfiguration to ensure that no flaws remained—no scent, no mannerism, nothing that could give him away.

"One more month before you can really have some fun," Sirius said regretfully. "How about I come pick you up then? We can ride the bike to Hogwarts to watch the tournament. And after that, I was thinking of taking you to France. It's a bit dangerous there right now—basically, You-Know-Who's stronghold. But Arthur's handling things, and there's a lot of fascinating stuff to see."

"Of course," Cyrus replied, mimicking Harry's familiar habit of pressing his lips together, looking both reluctant to leave and full of anticipation.

He held onto his luggage, hesitating to take that first step forward.

"Er… want me to have a little chat with them?" Sirius offered tentatively.

Of course, he was itching to warn the Dursleys—at the very least, to make sure they treated Harry a little better.

"No need, Sirius, I'll be fine," Cyrus said, shaking his head.

Then, he stepped forward to embrace Sirius before they parted ways.

Sirius remained by his magically enhanced motorcycle, watching as his godson walked up to the Dursleys' house, stepped into the front yard, and rang the doorbell.

Before long, a walrus-like head poked out from the crack in the door.

Mr. Dursley's expression was almost comical—though his eyes held no warmth.

"Boy, I knew it was you!" he growled. "Why does that freak school of yours even have summer holidays? They ought to keep you locked up there forever!"

Still, he grudgingly pulled the door open, shifting his bulk just enough to allow a narrow passage—given his size, it wasn't much.

"Good news. After this summer, I probably won't be coming back," Cyrus replied as he squeezed past him, answering on Harry's behalf.

He wasn't lying.

This time, he and Dumbledore had made all the necessary preparations—Voldemort would die, completely and utterly, without a single fragment of his soul left behind.

After that, Harry would no longer need to return here for the protective charm to take effect.

And when that time came, even if the Dursleys wanted him back, Harry would never set foot in this place again.

"What's that supposed to mean, boy?" Vernon Dursley frowned, momentarily thrown off by the statement.

"Nothing," Cyrus replied coolly. He was usually patient, but he certainly wasn't as tolerant as Harry. "It's just one last summer—no, only a month. Why don't we try to get along? No need to make it unpleasant for everyone."

"How amusing. And why exactly should we try to peacefully coexist with someone like you?" Vernon Dursley sneered.

In truth, when Harry had first gone off to school, the Dursleys had been somewhat afraid of him. But once they realized he couldn't use magic outside of Hogwarts, that fear diminished considerably.

"Hmm? And what do you gain from making things unpleasant with me?" Cyrus countered. "I know you don't like me because James Potter did some unpleasant things, but still—I do appreciate you."

At the very least, deep down, Harry still held a small measure of gratitude.

Otherwise, with his personality, he wouldn't have put up with them for so long. If he wasn't afraid of Voldemort, then even without magic, he'd certainly have the nerve to stand up to the Dursleys.

Cyrus's words made both Vernon and Petunia freeze for a moment, caught off guard.

But by then, he had already picked up his suitcase and headed for the stairs.

As he reached the landing, he glanced at Petunia—a woman with an unusually long neck.

Cyrus had seen pictures of Lily Potter before, and Petunia didn't resemble her much.

He had intended to say something, but in the end, he remained silent.

Without another word, he carried his suitcase up to the second floor and entered the small, cramped room that had once been a cupboard.

Sitting down on the narrow bed, he turned to gaze out the window.

Now, all that was left was to wait.

For Voldemort.

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