Chapter 308: Not Trading Lives

Cyrus wasn't sure how long he had been inside Harry's consciousness.

It felt like a dream made real—perhaps it had lasted only a second, or maybe an entire night had passed.

But fortunately, both he and Harry were still alive—which meant Voldemort's magic hadn't fully recovered yet.

Cyrus lifted his head, scanning the area for Voldemort's location.

Nothing had changed much since before—except now, Nagini was coiled beside him, standing guard over her master, her eyes sharp and watchful.

Then, Harry woke up.

It seemed he had boarded the Hogwarts Express just in time.

But Cyrus didn't greet him—because at the exact same moment Harry stirred, Voldemort's ragdoll-like body also regained consciousness.

He lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs twisting unnaturally, his handsome yet sinister face pressed against the floor—like a serpent.

"You're a fool, Cyrus."

The moment he awoke, he sneered mockingly at Cyrus.

"Is this your grand plan?"

He scoffed.

"Hiding like a coward while Harry Potter—a pitiful, pathetic boy—takes all the risk? Just to destroy a single soul fragment?"

Voldemort's expression was one of utter disdain, as if he had just uncovered a child's naïve and ridiculous scheme.

"But the plan worked."

Cyrus spoke calmly.

At the same time, he was wondering—how had Voldemort realized what had happened so quickly?

After all, Harry hadn't even reverted to his original appearance yet.

Perhaps, now that Voldemort's soul was whole again, he had somehow sensed what happened to the final Horcrux in the moment before its destruction.

Which meant that while they had been inside Harry's consciousness, Voldemort had likely been watching through that last soul fragment, using it as a window into their world.

Back then, Cyrus had acted decisively, ruthlessly erasing it.

In theory, that meant Voldemort shouldn't know anything about what happened after that moment.

So he was likely just making assumptions, believing that Cyrus's entire plan had only been to destroy his last Horcrux, stripping him of his immortality.

Sure enough, when Voldemort heard Cyrus say that he had succeeded, his face twisted into a sneer, as if he had just heard a frog at the bottom of a well boasting about the sky above.

"I didn't realize destroying something I no longer care about counts as a success."

He rose from the ground, his voice dripping with mockery.

He truly believed that Cyrus and Dumbledore had gone through all this effort just to destroy one of his Horcruxes.

But in reality.

To the Voldemort of today, Horcruxes no longer mattered.

Watching Cyrus's performance was rather entertaining, in Voldemort's opinion.

At this moment, he almost felt that the accident from over a decade ago hadn't been entirely useless after all.

"You destroyed a Horcrux. But what good does that do?"

He savored the taste of victory, hoping to see despair flicker across Cyrus's face, the expression of someone realizing all their efforts had been in vain.

"My magic is just as powerful as ever—completely untouched!"

"If you truly wanted to kill me, you should have done it while I was still unconscious."

Voldemort's voice was filled with mockery, his red eyes flashing cruelly.

"But you missed your chance—just to save him!"

Suddenly, he thrust a finger at Harry, making him instinctively uncomfortable.

"You wasted your opportunity—for a worthless fool!"

Harry tensed, but he was also turning over Voldemort's words in his mind.

Had Cyrus really missed his chance to kill Voldemort just to bring him back?

He turned to Cyrus, searching his expression.

If that was truly the case, then Harry couldn't accept it.

He didn't believe his life was more important than killing Voldemort.

Cyrus had saved him, but all that meant was that one more orphan existed in the world.

But if Voldemort had died instead?

Countless innocent people could have been spared pain!

Families who had lost loved ones might have found solace.

If his own life and Voldemort's were placed on a scale, Harry would rather die himself, as long as it meant Voldemort was completely and utterly destroyed.

And in truth, that was exactly what he had been prepared to do.

Because he always cared about others more than himself.

"Cyrus, you shouldn't have saved me…"

Harry's voice was filled with sorrow.

"My life doesn't matter… I…"

Cyrus cut him off.

"We are not trading lives, Harry. Besides, we all believe that your life is far more precious than Voldemort's.

Warm, righteous, kind, and honorable—selfless and great. Even I can't compare to you."

His words made Harry's face turn bright red.

He wanted to say something, but by then, Cyrus had already stepped closer.

With a simple gesture, he drew out the immense magical power that had been inside Harry, extracting it like unraveling silk thread, strand by strand, returning it to himself.

Harry instantly felt weak, as if all the bones in his body had been taken away.

His legs buckled beneath him, and he nearly collapsed.

But Cyrus caught him just in time.

Even though this power had never truly belonged to him, losing it after having wielded it still left him feeling hollow.

Then, Cyrus spoke again.

"Alright. Leave this to me now. You need to go."

"But you alone…"

Harry began to protest, but before he could finish, he fell silent.

The sheer power radiating from Cyrus, now that he had regained his full strength, left him speechless.

Only now did Harry realize something—After facing Voldemort directly so many times, his mind had subconsciously accepted the Dark Lord as an invincible force.

He had started to believe that Voldemort was simply too powerful to be defeated.

But he had forgotten one crucial thing. Cyrus was the one who had truly defeated Voldemort before!

A sudden memory flashed through Harry's mind.

The prophecy!!

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him… Born as the seventh month dies…

But now, standing here, Harry suddenly realized—

Defying Voldemort three times wasn't anything special.

He watched Cyrus's back, taking in the striking figure before him.

The tall, handsome wizard stood resolutely, draped in a dark green robe, its wide sleeves billowing in the cold air.

Strands of golden-streaked hair danced against his forehead, standing out boldly—unyielding, unrestrained, defiant.

That streak of gold reminded Harry of sunlight.

To him, it was warm and brilliant.

But to Voldemort, it must have been blinding—searing!

For the first time, Harry felt an unshakable confidence in Cyrus.

He believed—truly believed—that Cyrus would defeat Voldemort once again.

And this time, the cunning serpent would never get another chance to shed its skin.

Of course, Voldemort did not see it that way.

"Do you really think you can win?"

Voldemort's gaze swept over both Cyrus and Harry, though his focus was entirely on Cyrus.

"I possess the same immense power as you—perhaps even greater. And I have the Elder Wand—"

He suddenly paused, as if confirming that the wand still obeyed his command.

This time, the Elder Wand did not disappoint him.

His smugness only deepened, his mouth stretching into a grin so wide it nearly reached his ears.

"What do you have?" he demanded loudly.

"He has the Elder Wand too!" Harry shouted back immediately, refusing to back down.

Voldemort had no intention of entertaining the words of an insignificant boy. But since the person speaking was Harry Potter, he decided to humor him.

He raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking, almost playful.

"Do you, now?"

"What are you talking about? Of course, we—"

Harry was about to argue, lifting his own Elder Wand as proof.

But the moment he raised it, he felt something was wrong.

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