Chapter 309: Snape the Betrayer

Harry's Elder Wand had lost its power.

It had become dim and lifeless, as if it were nothing more than a dried-up branch, picked up from the ground after lying there for thousands of years.

Of course, it wasn't actually that dramatic.

It was still a finely crafted wand, but the immense power it once held had vanished.

"You forgot, Harry,"

Voldemort tilted his head slightly, his tone almost mockingly kind.

"I defeated you."

Only then did Harry remember.

Voldemort's curse had hit him directly.

A perfect hit—straight to his chest, without a single miscalculation—He had taken control of the Elder Wand!

Harry felt a wave of despair wash over him.

And what pained him even more.

It was because he had been struck that they were now in this situation.

If anything happened to Cyrus today, Harry would blame himself entirely.

"Did you forget I still have a third Elder Wand?"

Cyrus lifted the wand he had been using earlier. And as he did, it shone brilliantly, pulsing with undeniable power.

It was evident that this wand possessed immense magical power!

But Voldemort seemed unconcerned.

"I don't know where you managed to find a third Elder Wand," Voldemort sneered, "but it cannot be real!"

He had feared that someone might follow in his footsteps, traveling through time to find a way to defeat him. That was why, during the war, he had destroyed the core of the Time Chamber, ensuring that no one could alter history as he had.

Perhaps a few scattered Time-Turners still existed, but to travel through time and change fixed history—that was no longer possible.

It was precisely because of this that Voldemort was certain.

A third Elder Wand could not exist in this world.

And in truth, his guess was correct.

The so-called third Elder Wand that Cyrus had produced was, in reality, the illusionary Elder Wand from the Fitzgerald Trial.

It held formidable power, crafted by Fitzgerald himself, who had used the real Elder Wand as a reference when creating it.

But in truth, It could not withstand a high-intensity duel.

Cyrus did not refute Voldemort's claim.

Instead, he simply raised the wand before him, like a brave warrior swearing victory upon the blade of his sword.

Harry's heart sank.

Voldemort now wielded two Elder Wands—Harry couldn't imagine anything worse than this.

But worse things always happen.

Just as Cyrus prepared to engage Voldemort in their final duel, a trail of golden footprints suddenly appeared, spreading from outside the Chamber of Secrets and winding their way inside.

At first, Harry thought the footprints were moving in circles, but then he realized—They had looped around, eventually aligning perfectly with his own shoes.

That was when he understood!!!!!

It was a Human-Tracking Charm.

Someone was coming.

All of them—even Voldemort—paused.

In this situation, only two people could have arrived—Dumbledore or Grindelwald.

And whoever it was might decide the fate of this battle.

Harry's heart pounded violently, and for the first time, even Voldemort appeared uneasy.

Only Cyrus remained as calm as ever.

That was no surprise...

Because he already knew who it was.

—Gellert Grindelwald!

When the white-haired old man, dressed in a long coat, stepped through the melted doorway of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry's last bit of hope died completely.

"Hahaha, you're here, Grindelwald."

Voldemort's voice was brimming with excitement.

But Cyrus could feel the icy coldness lurking beneath that false enthusiasm.

"How could you have defeated Dumbledore?"

Harry stared at Grindelwald in disbelief, his voice trembling, his hands and feet numb with cold.

He didn't know that Grindelwald was part of the plan.

All Harry knew was that Grindelwald's arrival could only mean one thing — the defeat of the greatest wizard of the twentieth century, Albus Dumbledore.

And it also meant that the delicate balance between Cyrus and Voldemort had been completely shattered.

Now, the scales had fully tipped—in Voldemort's favor.

As soon as Grindelwald entered, he swept his arrogant gaze over every detail of the battlefield, taking everything in instantly.

He kept walking forward, moving toward Cyrus and Harry.

Neither of them moved to stop him—

It was as if they had forgotten how to react.

Or rather—"hesitating to act rashly" might be the more appropriate term.

"You look a little worse for wear, Voldemort."

Grindelwald said.

He had already walked up to Voldemort's side, now standing just a few steps away from the powerful Dark Lord. Nagini, ever the loyal servant, hissed and coiled defensively, making a threatening gesture toward Grindelwald—but Voldemort held her back.

"Don't be nervous, Nagini." Voldemort soothed her gently.

He acted as if he truly trusted Grindelwald.

And in a way, it was understandable.

He and Grindelwald had sworn an Unbreakable Vow, promising not to turn their wands on each other during this tournament.

But unfortunately—every vow has its loopholes.

And Grindelwald, having once watched his own blood pact shatter before his eyes, knew that better than anyone.

His gaze briefly flickered toward the Elder Wand in Voldemort's grasp, silently calculating his chances of seizing it right now.

Meanwhile, at the Quidditch pitch, watching this unfold, Barty Crouch Jr. was already panicking as if his robes were on fire.

"Liar!"

"Traitor!"

"Don't trust him, my Lord!"

Barty Crouch Jr. roared from the high platform, completely disregarding his own image.

At this moment, he desperately wanted to rush to his master's side, to tear apart Grindelwald's deceitful facade with his own hands!

But unfortunately—all the Death Eaters were already surrounded.

Any movement—no matter how small—would be met with a deadly assault from the Aurors.

Barty knew with absolute certainty that there was no escape.

All he could do was glare venomously at the scene before him, his eyes burning with hatred.

He was so furious he nearly ground his own teeth to dust!

Yet, as he watched Grindelwald inch closer to Voldemort, his anger was gradually replaced by despair.

"Ahahahahah!! You've already lost, Barty!"

Bellatrix shrieked with laughter, her voice like a deranged bat screeching in delight.

"My master was always the smarter one! Now you see~? I was right! Ahahahahah~!!"

Grindelwald only needed to reach out his hand—

And he would have Voldemort's wand in his grasp.

And yet, just at that moment, everything changed again—

"Stay right where you are, Grindelwald."

A low, deliberate voice drifted out from the shadows.

The words commanded the attention of everyone present—even Cyrus's expression flickered with surprise.

He turned toward the darkness, where something seemed to be lurking.

A presence like a restless soul, drifting and pacing, inching ever closer…

It was Snape.

That wretched man, holding his wand like a gun, had it pointed firmly at Grindelwald's lower back.

"Don't move, Grindelwald. Step away from the Dark Lord, or you die."

His voice was hollow, his tone utterly numb.

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