Chapter 295: Method Acting pt. 2

Cyrus waited until July 30th.

Even he hadn't expected Voldemort to be so patient—delaying his move until the very day before the tournament began.

He paced back and forth in the empty Dursley house. In reality, many days ago, he had already cast a spell on the family, making them temporarily leave Privet Drive and stay at Aunt Marge's house for a few weeks.

It wasn't because the Dursleys had offended him, nor was he occupying their home for his own convenience. Rather, he had considered the possibility of Death Eater attacks.

Since he had to impersonate Harry, he couldn't reveal his full power—meaning he wouldn't be able to protect them properly if things escalated.

Still, he hadn't expected that even as night fell, Voldemort's forces had yet to appear.

Looks like he plans to strike while I'm on the move, Cyrus thought.

Voldemort's reasoning for delaying was easy to deduce.

The later he acted, the more relaxed Cyrus and Dumbledore would become. And once Voldemort succeeded, the tournament would begin the very next day, leaving no time for them to retaliate.

But at the same time, this also meant something else—Voldemort had absolute faith in the information Snape had provided.

He trusted Snape!

"Alright, Hedwig, time to head back to school," Cyrus said.

He had already packed up all of Harry's belongings. He had arrived with only the essentials, keeping his luggage light, but he had made sure to bring along the Firebolt and Hedwig.

This owl was far too distinctive.

Snow-white and strikingly beautiful—no one could mistake her for another.

After spending some time with her, Cyrus had grown fond of Hedwig. He needed to ensure she stayed safe.

Otherwise, if Harry survived, defeated Voldemort, and returned home only to find Hedwig dead… that would be far too cruel.

Even worse, if things unfolded like in the original story—where her body wasn't even found.

He sat in the living room for a while, passing the time by playing Dudley's video games.

Before long, a knock sounded at the door.

And at the same time, the long-dead fire in the fireplace suddenly roared to life.

Through the green flames, several figures stumbled out, coughing.

"Ouch! You stepped on my foot!" Sirius's voice was the loudest as he grumbled, shooting an annoyed glare backward—only for Lupin to shove him forward.

Following them were Arthur Weasley, Kingsley, Moody… and even Ron and the twins.

More and more people tumbled out of the fireplace, all covered in soot.

Ron was the first to rush over and greet him.

He looked a little worried, his entire face scrunched up as if he had just bitten into a sour tangerine.

"You alright, Harry?" he asked. "I mean, your birthday's tomorrow, and now you have to deal with this mess. I got you a present, but I can't give it to you until tomorrow."

If we all make it to tomorrow.

Ron added that thought silently in his head.

"Harry, I assume you already know—Dumbledore believes You-Know-Who might come after you, so we're here to escort you," Arthur Weasley said, ever the most composed of the group.

Snape had told Voldemort that 'someone would be escorting Harry back to school,' and the deception had to be played out properly—otherwise, Voldemort would become suspicious.

And, of course, no one here knew that 'Harry' was actually an imposter.

None of them questioned why Voldemort would want to capture Harry again.

After all, he'd already done it multiple times before.

"Thanks," Cyrus responded with a bashful nod, as if he had rehearsed it beforehand.

"Well, let's get going then..."

This time, there was no Polyjuice transformation.

There was no need.

Cyrus wasn't trying to reach Hogwarts safely—he just needed to make it look like an escort mission.

He needed to pretend to be captured by Voldemort—to return the Elder Wand's allegiance to him.

The higher he climbed, the harder he would fall.

And Cyrus wouldn't just make him fall—he would make sure Voldemort was crushed.

"Alright then, let's move," Moody said.

No one suggested using the Floo Network.

Getting here had been easy enough, but leaving through the Floo Network? That was nearly impossible.

No one could be sure whether Voldemort had infiltrators inside the Department of Magical Transportation.

For all they knew, the moment Harry stepped into the fireplace, he could land directly in front of Voldemort.

And while Cyrus was, indeed, planning to walk straight into Voldemort's hands, it couldn't be that obvious.

Portkeys and Apparition were out of the question as well.

Ron was still underage, meaning the Trace was active on him.

If they used magic nearby, it would be detected instantly.

And that, in truth, was the real reason Cyrus had ensured Ron was included in the escort team.

His transformation into Harry was flawless—except for one detail:

"Harry Potter" no longer had the Trace.

"Let's go. Grab your broom, Harry. That Firebolt of yours is impressive," Moody said, his magical eye spinning ominously as he gestured for them to move.

But before anyone could take off, a cold, drawling voice cut through the air.

"I'm afraid none of you are going anywhere."

Snape spoke slowly, deliberately.

No one had noticed when he appeared, but there he was, standing on the second-floor landing, his murky, bottomless eyes flickering with some inner conflict.

"Snivellus?" Sirius blinked in surprise. "This escort mission wasn't supposed to—"

He didn't even finish the sentence before realization hit him like a curse.

Someone who shouldn't be here had just shown up. And that could only mean one thing.

"You betrayed us?" Sirius growled, his throat burning with fury.

"Correct, Sirius. Do you want points for that answer?" Snape smirked, his lips curling into a mocking yet strangely triumphant smile.

No matter whose side he was truly on, mocking Sirius Black always brought him genuine satisfaction.

Immediately, everyone instinctively moved to shield Harry.

Even Ron.

"He's not even pretending anymore," Ron hissed angrily to Cyrus. "No wonder he was always picking on you. Now that his master's back, he couldn't wait to run back and play the loyal traitor! No wonder Dumbledore didn't let him be part of the escort!"

Unfortunately, Snape had still somehow learned about this exact timing.

Ron never finished the rest of his sentence.

Many of those present felt the same righteous fury he did, but truthfully, not many were surprised by Snape's sudden betrayal.

After all, people like Lupin and Arthur had trusted Snape only because Dumbledore did.

Now that Dumbledore had deliberately excluded Snape from the escort team, it was clear he no longer trusted him.

Under those circumstances, Snape's betrayal was almost expected.

To them, it only proved that Dumbledore had foreseen everything.

"If he were truly all-knowing, he should have come to escort you himself," Snape sneered.

"Do you really think you lot are enough?"

The moment his words fell, Cyrus caught movement outside the window.

Shadows.

Dozens of Death Eaters drifted through the darkness like ghosts, circling the house—predatory, like sharks drawn to blood.

And then—

Chaos.

A storm of unrestrained curses rained down.

None of them cared about the Statute of Secrecy.

They had caused mayhem and mass slaughter before—murdering Muggles for sport. Even if they had restrained themselves somewhat recently, they were still far from civilized.

At that moment, Barty Crouch Jr. led the charge, blasting a hole through the walls of the Dursley home, stepping forward with a manic grin.

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