Chapter 300: The Final Task

"You've been to the Hall of Prophecy, right? There are tens of thousands of prophecy balls there, each containing a prophecy. They can be as big as the survival of the wizarding world or as small as someone drinking a glass of water in the morning... But do you know how many of them came to actual reality?"

Harry was stunned for a moment.

Harry hesitated for a moment.

Cyrus then gave him the answer: "Not even a tenth."

"Perhaps that prophecy from decades ago contained a bit of truth, but it is not some chain that binds fate forward. The prophecy itself isn't important—your choices are."

"My choices?"

"Of course. If Voldemort had chosen not to believe in the prophecy, he wouldn't have created a savior for himself, wouldn't have left behind you—his fatal weakness," Cyrus said, his words making Harry think. "Likewise, you have a choice as well."

At this moment, Dumbledore also nodded seriously, looking at Harry with a solemn expression.

"You can choose what you want to do, Harry. No one will blame you for it. In truth, a carefree life is what you should have had. You are still just a child, a student. It is my own failure, my inability to kill Voldemort, that has forced you to bear such a heavy burden."

Dumbledore looked deeply troubled.

And in truth, he was.

Although Dumbledore and Cyrus both knew their plan would ensure Harry's survival, Harry himself was unaware. What he had to go through was far too cruel for a child still in school.

A child about to start his fifth year after summer break, someone who wasn't even allowed to learn Apparition, yet had to go to his death.

"You can give up, Harry. Cyrus and I will find another way. I believe we can kill Voldemort. Grindelwald will help me—I can convince him."

At that moment, both Cyrus and Dumbledore looked at Harry.

This was an important choice for him. But in reality, they already knew his answer. They understood exactly what kind of person Harry Potter was.

Sure enough, Harry shook his head.

He didn't want to die, but he knew he had to.

Because if Voldemort lived, people would be hurt. The people and things he cherished would be destroyed by Voldemort.

To protect them, Harry knew he had to stand up.

Dumbledore said he and Cyrus would look for another way, but no one could guarantee they would find one.

"Yes, this is your choice." Dumbledore's eyes were filled with tears, proud of Harry's strength. "It's not the prophecy—it's the path you chose yourself. Your fate is in your hands."

Harry nodded.

He seemed even calmer now than before.

"But I still have a question." He turned to Cyrus. "Are you sure our plan will work? That this will really reclaim the Elder Wand's ownership? I don't think this method truly 'defeats' Voldemort."

Honestly, Harry felt that Cyrus's plan was a bit reckless.

Cyrus simply smiled at this.

"Harry, do you remember what Mr. Ollivander said when you got your first wand?—The wand chooses the wizard. Especially a sacred relic like the Elder Wand, which has far greater wisdom than ordinary wands and selects its rightful master." Cyrus smiled, "And clearly, Voldemort is not that person. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to claim the Elder Wand's ownership so easily last time."

Decades ago, the Elder Wand was in Grindelwald's possession.

Yet when Newt Scamander captured Grindelwald, the Elder Wand did not abandon him.

Before Voldemort's first downfall, his battles with Dumbledore had always been evenly matched. The two had fought many times without a decisive victor, and yet the Elder Wand had never abandoned Dumbledore.

The truth was, the Elder Wand itself chose a worthy master, and that person would never be Voldemort.

Cyrus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

For some reason, this small gesture filled Harry with a sense of strength. In reality, it wasn't just an illusion—Cyrus was temporarily transferring a portion of Morgana's legacy to him. It wouldn't be enough for him to defeat Voldemort outright, but it would at least enhance his power.

"Let's go, Harry. Don't worry, you will win."

Whoever possessed all three Deathly Hallows would become the Master of Death.

That meant—invincibility.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath.

Seeing how serious he was, Cyrus couldn't help but add, "Maybe you won't die after all."

"Don't joke about that. If I don't die, then Voldemort won't either." Harry pointed to his scar, as if he had finally come to terms with everything, and smiled. "His soul is in here, remember?"

"Yes, but the Killing Curse didn't kill you either, did it?" Cyrus chuckled. "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived."

Harry smiled faintly and walked out of the headmaster's office with Dumbledore.

At the same time, Cyrus no longer concealed his true appearance. He reverted back to his real form and parted ways with them, heading toward the Astronomy Tower.

—The Goblet of Fire was there. 

....

Quidditch Stadium.

The four champions were already in position.

The competition was still being presided over by Babajide, and even Voldemort showed him the appropriate courtesy. In fact, ever since his resurrection, Voldemort had shed his former madness.

Though still as ruthless as ever, his outward demeanor was polished, making it difficult for an outsider to associate him with the monstrous Dark Lord of legend.

Many wizards from outside Britain, upon seeing him for the first time, couldn't help but doubt whether the terrifying stories about Voldemort had been exaggerated.

"The final task is about to begin. The rules are simple—the first to find the Goblet of Fire will be the victor," Babajide announced.

His gaze swept over the crowd before he stepped aside, gesturing toward the castle. "The Goblet of Fire is hidden somewhere within Hogwarts..."

"I trust that all of you have had ample time to familiarize yourselves with the castle's layout. Of course, we've made a few... minor modifications."

As he said this, Babajide felt a twinge of bitterness.

Altering Hogwarts was no easy feat. The castle's ancient magic was incredibly stubborn. Truth be told, even with a large team working on it, they had only managed to make temporary changes.

"Originally, the entry order for the champions was supposed to be determined based on their performance in the previous two tasks. However, given the recent... incidents, I believe it's best if all of you enter at the same time."

With that, he stepped aside completely.

At this point, there was no longer a need for a referee—everyone was a judge now.

"Ah, I can hardly wait," Voldemort said with a bright, almost cheerful smile. He reveled in the power coursing through him, the sheer might of the Elder Wand flowing in his veins. He imagined the moment Cyrus would fall at his hands.

The mere thought of it was so intoxicating, he almost felt like he could cast a Patronus from pure happiness.

"Then let's begin, everyone," Voldemort said, his piercing crimson gaze locking onto Cyrus (Harry). "Don't worry, the game won't end too quickly. I'll make sure we have time to get to know each other."

Faced with Voldemort's provocation, Harry knew that saying too much could expose him. Now was not the time to reveal anything.

So he simply responded coldly.

"I feel the same."

___________

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