Chapter 270: A Complete Waste!

"Who are you?"

Cedric pushed Cho Chang further behind him with one hand and held his wand tightly in the other, staring at the stranger who had intruded on their trial.

He had never seen this man before.

Could he be Durmstrang''s treasure?

That thought flashed through Cedric''s mind, but he did not lower his guard. He had seen Fleur''s unconscious sister being held by this tall man as if she were a mere doll.

"Let her go!" Cedric shouted sternly, taking a step closer.

Harry''s heart leapt into his throat at the sight.

"Come back, Cedric!" Harry shouted, feeling as though death itself had enveloped him.

It was as if he had seen this scene before—Cedric, in a similar situation, but not here in the Department of Mysteries.

It looked more like a graveyard. Then, he saw the long-dead Peter Pettigrew emerge coldly and cast a clean, decisive spell on Cedric—

And that poor boy fell, lifeless.

The vision flashed before Harry''s eyes.

He didn''t know if it was an illusion or a glimpse of another timeline, but in his sight, the shadow of Cedric''s death overlapped with the Cedric before him.

Meanwhile, Voldemort''s fingers twitched slightly. A wand slipped from his sleeve and fell neatly into his hand—

Harry desperately wanted to act, but his body refused to move.

He could only glare at Voldemort with all his might, his emerald green eyes veined with a blood-red web. The shadow of death loomed over Cedric like a suffocating shroud.

Suddenly, Harry screamed at the top of his lungs:

"Voldemort!"

The name sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present. Cedric, who had been tense and ready to attack moments ago, turned around in shock, meeting Harry''s ghostly, fear-stricken gaze.

"Harry, what are you saying?"

But Harry ignored Cedric. His furious eyes remained locked on Voldemort. "I''m here, Voldemort!"

Fourth year, and yet this boy didn''t even know how to perform Occlumency. The realization that he had once considered such a person to be his fated enemy struck Voldemort as utterly laughable.

Perhaps splitting his soul had dulled his intellect.

Harry Potter—a wizard with potential that was, at best, passable, but only just that.

He couldn''t hold a candle to Snape''s talent, nor could he compare to Barty Crouch Jr.''s brilliance, let alone Voldemort''s own extraordinary abilities.

What irked Voldemort the most, however, was Harry''s utter lack of ambition.

Here was someone from the Muggle world, someone with access to such a vast array of magic and unparalleled power within reach. Yet he lacked the drive to seize it, mired in complacency and laziness.

A complete waste.

"You know, Harry? I think you could make an impressive Auror, someone like Alastor Moody," Voldemort said with unsettling warmth.

"But you see~"

But the kindness evaporated quickly as his tone turned cold and commanding. He gripped Harry''s head firmly and twisted it, forcing Harry to face him sideways.

The strands of hair on Harry''s forehead parted, revealing the lightning-shaped scar.

"You will never surpass me!"

Voldemort extended a finger, letting it trace the lightning bolt on Harry''s forehead. Instantly, Harry felt a searing pain, as if molten lava were coursing through his skull. The agony wrung a piercing scream from him.

"Ahhh!"

Voldemort ignored his cries entirely. "Your fame, your achievements, your very existence today are not your own doing!"

"Your mother saved your life. Dumbledore saved your life. Cyrus saved your life too... but ultimately, it was I who made you who you are!"

Harry felt as though Voldemort''s nails were digging into his scar, and for a terrifying moment, he thought the Dark Lord intended to tear his head apart to retrieve something vital inside.

That something was undoubtedly crucial to Voldemort.

"Of course, it is!" Voldemort declared, reading Harry''s thoughts effortlessly, as though he didn''t even need to meet his eyes.

"I suppose Dumbledore never told you that," Voldemort said, as if he was about to reveal some surprising secret.

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