I became Voldemort

"Wait!"

A wizard with a grim scar on his face approached Cyrus with a hostile expression, accompanied by several others.

His target was clear—he was coming straight for Cyrus.

Graves' already serious face furrowed in a frown. He turned to face the approaching group, slightly shifting his body to stand protectively in front of Cyrus.

"What do you think you're doing, O'Brien?" Graves' voice carried a tone of anger, clearly surprised that the man had shown up here and was confronting Cyrus.

"Of course, I'm here to see if this so-called heir is truly worthy of the title." O'Brien's face was stern, and those accompanying him were all wizards dissatisfied with Cyrus' appointment as head of Ilvermorny.

In fact, these few were just the tip of the iceberg. Throughout the entire MACUSA, there were many who had strong opinions about the matter. However, due to the events surrounding Nurmengard and the "death" of Grindelwald, along with Bellatrix's interference, MACUSA's focus had been diverted away from Cyrus. O'Brien, however, had clearly known that Cyrus would be coming to MACUSA and had been waiting here in advance.

"What do you mean by that?"

Graves was displeased, but he fully understood what O'Brien was implying.

Cyrus appeared young, and although he was said to be Slytherin's heir, in the eyes of many, he was just an upstart—some kid who had appeared out of nowhere and inexplicably become the headmaster of Ilvermorny. How could anyone accept that?
More importantly, Cyrus was someone who had come from Britain.

If the headmaster position had been given to a wizard from any of the North American magical governments, those within MACUSA might not have been so outraged.

After all, Ilvermorny was a North American school, and wizards from the three magical governments had grown up together, fostering close bonds.

But Cyrus?

He was a British wizard, even if he was the rightful heir in terms of lineage. Ultimately, he was still an outsider.

It wasn't just O'Brien who felt this way.

Even Graves himself harbored doubts about Cyrus.

The United States wasn't like Britain—wizards here didn't place much importance on bloodlines. After all, if you traced it back far enough, nearly all North American wizards originally came from Europe.

From that perspective, Cyrus being Slytherin's heir wasn't significant. In fact, it could be seen as more of a disadvantage.

"It was Professor Boot who made this decision," Graves said firmly. He took a step forward, positioning himself like a wall between O'Brien and Cyrus. The two men locked eyes, their gazes sparking with intensity.

"You should know that now is not the time to discuss this!" Graves gritted his teeth.

For him, the issue of changing Ilvermorny's headmaster was far less important than the situation with Grindelwald.

Over half a century ago, Grindelwald had infiltrated MACUSA disguised as his ancestor, bringing shame to his family. From that moment, their surname had been tarnished with disgrace.

Now, with rumors that Grindelwald had faked his death and escaped from Nurmengard, Graves was determined to clear his family's name.

In response, Graves didn't hesitate to bring up Boot, hoping to use the former headmaster's authority to suppress O'Brien.

Boot held significant influence in North America. After all, he had been Ilvermorny's headmaster for many years, watching generations of young wizards grow up. Nearly three-quarters of the MACUSA administrators had once been his students, and the remaining quarter were his peers.

Graves and O'Brien were both among Boot's former students.

For a brief moment, O'Brien seemed moved, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside, so swiftly that his expression didn't change at all.

"Even if the professor agreed, we don't!" O'Brien said coldly. "Not all of Ilvermorny's four founders were from Britain, and even Isolt Sayre herself severed ties with Slytherin when she fled to North America.

"What truly makes Ilvermorny great has never been Slytherin's bloodline but the generations of wizards who have graduated from Ilvermorny over the past three centuries! They fought for their lives against the Scourers, against Grindelwald—not Slytherin!"

O'Brien's voice grew louder with each sentence, and with every word, he took a step closer to Graves until the two were nearly chest-to-chest. His expression was rigid, his face tense, and the scar on his face twisted like a writhing centipede.

Graves was momentarily at a loss for words. His brown eyes widened in surprise as he stared at O'Brien, not expecting such defiance. The only thought that remained clear in his mind was the need to draw his wand and prevent a confrontation between Cyrus and O'Brien.

But O'Brien was faster.

His rough hands grabbed Graves' wrist just before he could draw his wand.

The two men stood there, locked in a stalemate, and for a few tense moments, even the air seemed to freeze.

Katherine's eyes widened, her bright lips parted, and her hands clenched tightly before opening again. She seemed torn between wanting to stop Graves and O'Brien from fighting and lacking the courage to step forward.

As for Cyrus, his expression remained calm, the corners of his mouth slightly raised.

His fiery golden eyes took in the entire scene, as if he were nothing more than a bystander.

"Hmph!"

After a moment, O'Brien let out a heavy breath, then forcefully pushed Graves aside and stepped toward Cyrus.

Cyrus raised his chin, his demeanor relaxed, even bordering on contempt. He wore a faint smile as if he were merely waiting to see what O'Brien would do next.

O'Brien was tall.

Cyrus, who stood over six feet tall, roughly the same height as Dumbledore, found himself dwarfed by O'Brien, who towered over him by nearly half a head.

The bulging muscles beneath O'Brien's trench coat made him look as strong as a gorilla.

In comparison, Katherine, standing awkwardly to the side, couldn't help but worry that the well-proportioned Cyrus might get his head smashed in with a single punch from O'Brien.

Of course, if O'Brien were foolish enough to resort to fists against Cyrus, it would be his hand that broke first.

But O'Brien didn't do that.

O'Brien spoke in a half-threatening tone: "The Serpentwood Wand indeed belongs to Slytherin, and you can take it. But Ilvermorny has nothing to do with Slytherin! I want you to immediately step down from the position of headmaster, return the school to Professor Boot, and leave America. Otherwise, I'll have you arrested under the law!"

His words were laced with both threat and seeming generosity, even allowing Cyrus to take the Serpentwood Wand. To an outsider, it might seem as if O'Brien was being kind.

But in reality, the Serpentwood Wand never belonged to him or Ilvermorny. It was a stolen artifact, originally taken by Isolt Sayre, and now, rightfully in Cyrus' hands. O'Brien's words turned this rightful ownership into some kind of charitable gesture on his part.

"Pft~"

It was utterly laughable.

Cyrus did, in fact, laugh. He lowered his head as if he had just heard an amusing joke, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

This reaction clearly infuriated O'Brien and the other wizards who had come with him. Their faces were twisted with anger, and they looked as if they wanted to shove their wands right into Cyrus' eyes.

"O'Brien, why waste words on this brat! He's just a kid!"

"Exactly! Not only should we force him to step down, but we shouldn't let him take the wand either! The Serpentwood Wand may have originally belonged to Slytherin, but after three hundred years, it's been marked by Ilvermorny—it belongs to the school now!"

"And he doesn't even have a wand permit. Arresting him as a criminal would be perfectly justified." One of the wizards added, already drawing his wand and pointing it at Cyrus.

In the next moment, a crimson flash of light pierced the eyes of every wizard present, stunning the crowd.

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12 Advance Chapters—http://Patreon.com/HornyFBI