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Chapter 573: My Student
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 11:25:40 +0000 UTCOn the other side, Kyle, still wandering through the maze, had no idea what the audience might be thinking.
Once the hedges blocking his view vanished, his eyes locked onto the trophy glinting at the center of the flames.
Without hesitation, Kyle sprinted toward it.
A Sphinx crouched near the edge of the flames, its role to deter the Champions with riddles or resistance. Yet, as Kyle dashed past, the creature seemed to lose all interest in him, suddenly fascinated by a stone on the ground. It lowered its head, feigning indifference.
Reaching the trophy without any obstacles, Kyle didn’t pause. He grasped the Cup handle firmly.
But the trophy didn’t budge.
Instead, an overwhelming force tugged at him, lifting his feet off the ground in one swift motion.
It really is a Portkey, Kyle thought with elation.
Relinquishing all resistance, he let the trophy pull him forward, carried away through the rushing wind and swirling colors.
...
Kyle couldn’t tell how much time had passed—maybe a minute, maybe just a fleeting moment—before he felt solid ground beneath him once again.
But this wasn’t Hogwarts.
Darkness surrounded him, and in the distance, he spotted a cluster of pointed rooftops perched on what appeared to be a hill.
“Hurry, run... run!”
A panicked scream broke through the silence before Kyle could take a closer look. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Looking up, Kyle saw Harry sprawled on the ground, his face contorted with pain. One leg appeared injured, and he was using his arms to drag himself toward Kyle.
“It’s Voldemort...” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with both agony and fear. “He’s resurrected, and the Death Eaters, they—”
Harry didn’t need to finish.
The moment Kyle landed, figures in black robes and masks encircled him, their movements swift and coordinated.
“Oh, look who’s here...” A hoarse voice drawled from behind the circle.
The hooded figures immediately parted, bowing with a deference that resembled servitude.
Through the gap, a tall, gaunt figure emerged. Cloaked in black, his skin was deathly pale, almost translucent, and his scarlet eyes burned like coals.
He had no nose—only two slitted nostrils, like a serpent’s.
Voldemort.
“My student,” Voldemort purred, his voice smooth but laced with menace. “Is this how you greet your professor? I thought you’d be so overjoyed, you’d scream.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—you’re not my professor,” Kyle shot back without hesitation.
Harry was still there, and Kyle wasn’t about to let Voldemort twist the narrative.
“How heartless,” Voldemort mused, his gaze steady. “When you came to me seeking the secret to eternal life, your tone was much more... respectful.”
“What eternal life? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Voldemort twirled a wand between his pale fingers.
Addressing the Death Eaters, he continued, his voice calm but cutting:
“Years ago, I returned to Hogwarts, reduced to a mere parasite clinging to Quirrell’s feeble form. It was a disgraceful existence, all because the people I trusted most—” his voice sharpened, “—none of you—made any effort to find me.”
Though his lips curled into what might have been a smile, his tone was glacial.
The Death Eaters immediately prostrated themselves, groveling and pleading for forgiveness.
Only one remained standing: a pale man with freckles and a mangled arm. Barty Crouch Jr.
Voldemort ignored the groveling crowd and continued, his crimson eyes fixed on Kyle.
“Back then, a boy was the first to uncover my presence. Clever and daring, he caused me considerable trouble—so much so that he even dared to threaten the Dark Lord...”
A cold smile spread across his face.
“I always thought it would be a while before I saw you again, my student. Yet here you are, so soon. Have you come to celebrate my rebirth? If so, I quite like this gift.”
“It is I, my lord! It is I...”
One of the Death Eaters crawled forward, trembling.
“I made the Triwizard Cup a Portkey... It was I who delivered this Champion to you!”
Voldemort’s gaze flicked to the groveling man.
“Karkaroff,” he murmured, his tone dripping with contempt. “I’d assumed that a coward like you would have fled the moment you caught wind of my return.”
“My lord, I would never betray you!” Karkaroff pressed himself flat against the ground. “I only stayed hidden to await the right moment to welcome you back. And look! I’ve captured Harry Potter for you!”
“Oh?” Voldemort turned to Barty Crouch Jr., the only Death Eater who hadn’t bowed.
“Barty,” Voldemort drawled, “is this true?”
Barty sneered. “He only agreed out of fear, my lord. But... he did contribute.”
Kyle’s brow furrowed.
Barty Crouch Jr., defending Karkaroff? That’s... odd.
Karkaroff had once exposed Barty’s identity as a Death Eater, yet here he was, acknowledging his effort.
Were Death Eaters really this forgiving?
Kyle didn’t have time to dwell on the thought.
“Seize him!” Voldemort’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “I want him alive!”
The Death Eaters surged forward.
But Kyle was faster.
A fiery dragon erupted from his wand, roaring as it charged at the closest Death Eater. In seconds, the flames consumed the man, his scream cut short as he collapsed, motionless.
“Fiendfyre!” someone shouted in alarm.
The Death Eaters hesitated, stumbling back. Even through their masks, their shock was palpable.
Isn’t he just a student?
They watched in stunned silence as the fiery dragon coiled above them, its movements fluid and terrifyingly lifelike.
A single thought echoed among them, unspoken:
What kind of student wields Fiendfyre with such ease?
And then, they remembered the first thing Voldemort had said upon seeing him.
“...my student.”
The pieces clicked into place for the Death Eaters.
“That makes sense now,” one of them muttered under their breath.
“Idiots!” Voldemort spat, his voice venomous.
With a simple flick of his wand, the Fiendfyre dragon dissolved into nothingness, leaving only smoke and embers behind.
But it was too late.
As the Death Eaters turned back to Kyle, their gazes fell on the objects he now held: a golden feather and an unremarkable bead.
Voldemort’s crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease crossing his face—an emotion so foreign it made the Death Eaters uneasy too.
“Quick, stop him—!” Voldemort’s command was cut short.
Crack!
Kyle crushed the feather and bead in his hands simultaneously.
In an instant, a thick, impenetrable fog blanketed the small hill.
The mist was so dense that visibility dropped to nothing. The Death Eaters, who had lunged at Kyle, stumbled and crashed into one another, shouting in confusion.
Bang!
“What’s happening?”
“Over here—grab him!”
“I’ve got him, my lord—I’ve got him!” one Death Eater bellowed triumphantly.
In the chaos, someone mistakenly grabbed Voldemort himself, clamping their fingers over his slit-like nostrils in the process.
“Avada...”
A flash of green light cut through the fog, illuminating the chaos for a brief second.
“Worthless, incompetent fools!” Voldemort’s voice thundered, trembling with fury.
Even he had been caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the mist.
