I became Voldemort

Chapter 247: She Is A Demon

Rabastan heard the gunshot, and the next instant, the spell exploded!

It wasn't a Blasting Curse at all!

It was a golden spell!

The bullet struck Rabastan's Shield Charm like a powerful spear hurled by a mighty warrior, piercing through the morning mist.

Finite Incantatem!

A smirk spread across Harry's lips as he looked at Rabastan with growing satisfaction.

Among his remaining magic bullets, there was no dangerous Blasting Curse. Four of his newest bullets had been crafted by Dumbledore himself, including the earlier Explosive Curse and this one.

That's why the magic bullet's effect was so potent!

Rabastan's ultimate shield burst like a soap bubble. Cassandra leaped forward without hesitation, her wand slicing through the air, golden hair whipping around like a dancing goddess.

"Diffindo!"

An invisible blade shot forward, striking Rabastan's chest like a blender.

In an instant, blood seeped through his robes.

"Aggghhh—!"

The pain seemed to hit him only afterward. In that instant, Rabastan was almost unaware of what had happened; he felt as if he'd lost all feeling, all warmth...

It was as though he was back in Azkaban, his limbs gradually submerged in icy seawater.

Harry was closest to Rabastan, and the splattering blood nearly reached his face.

Though only minutes earlier he'd told Cassandra they needed to kill the Death Eaters, in Harry's mind, "kill" had been more of a figure of speech—he'd meant capturing Rabastan and letting him face justice.

Besides, seeing someone die right before your eyes was entirely different.

No!

Rabastan wasn't dead yet; he still had a breath left.

If they had some dittany, or perhaps a counter-curse, he might still be saved?

Harry turned stiffly toward Cassandra—Gulp!

She showed no sign of mourning for their enemy's fate, a gleeful smile on her face, her delicate features appearing like an enchanting sprite in the morning mist.

But Harry felt only coldness. He felt as if he were staring at a vibrant snake—beautiful, but lethal!

Cassandra met Harry's gaze, her mouth curving into a disdainful smirk.

Then, to Harry's shock, she raised her wand.

"Stupefy!"

Eh...?

"???"

A red beam struck him square in the chest.

Harry's face was a portrait of disbelief, unable to fathom why Cassandra would attack him. Weren't they allies? Weren't they trustworthy companions?

He barely knew Cassandra, true, but the mark on their arms had driven him to trust her.

Yet he had been betrayed!

He wanted to confront Cassandra, to ask her why she had done this, but he was already slipping into unconsciousness, falling backward.

Cassandra gave Harry a cold glance, then walked over to the fallen Rabastan. The disguised Death Eater looked dazed, like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, his mouth opening and closing as he coughed up blood.

More than a thousand people in the Quidditch stands watched in silence; no one dared speak, and many were covering their eyes in horror, while McGonagall seemed on the verge of losing her mind.

"How could she dare kill him?!" Hermione screamed.

They had been sheltered at Hogwarts, never fully understanding the brutality of the world, and Cassandra's actions left her shaken.

"How could they dare?!"

"Harry Potter and that woman killed the Beauxbatons champion! They've lost their minds!"

"We must stop the tournament immediately!"

The stands where the judges and high-ranking officials from various wizarding ministries sat had erupted into chaos. Cornelius Fudge was drenched in sweat, unable to fathom the potential fallout.

This incident could very well destroy diplomatic relations between the British and French Ministries of Magic!

Though the tournament was inherently dangerous, with injuries and fatalities recorded in its history, no champion had ever deliberately killed another!

At this moment, Harry and Cassandra were swept into the eye of a storm.

"Stop the tournament right now!" barked Rufus Scrimgeour, pushing past the still-panicking Fudge as he addressed the other judges, especially Madam Maxime.

Scrimgeour's wet, kelp-like hair clung to his face as he cast a glance at Bartemius Crouch Jr. Unexpectedly, the one who should have been the angriest—"Madam Maxime"—sat silently in her seat, her enormous face unreadable.

"The tournament, once begun, cannot be stopped," Babajide said reluctantly.

Cassandra's actions were indeed egregious, but stopping the tournament now would bring repercussions upon the other champions, punishing them under tournament rules.

"Then disqualify Harry Potter and Cassandra Vole from the competition," someone suggested.

Professor McGonagall immediately felt a surge of anger.

"This has nothing to do with Potter!"

Her thin frame trembled, but her gaze was fierce, like an old lion defending its cubs.

"Everyone saw it. Harry Potter and that woman conspired to murder the Beauxbatons champion—this was premeditated murder, gentlemen!" The wizard who spoke was visibly agitated, looking at everyone present.

He was from the International Confederation of Wizards and had graduated from Beauxbatons himself. Seeing his school's champion killed had clearly stirred his emotions deeply.

"If you ask me," Fudge began, stammering and sounding timid, "this has nothing to do with Harry. You see, that woman also attacked him; he was deceived…"

All Fudge could think of was how to shift the blame as quickly as possible.

No matter what, Harry Potter represented Hogwarts and the British wizarding community, so he couldn't be implicated as an accomplice.

Hearing Fudge, Scrimgeour finally relaxed. When Fudge had first started speaking, he'd feared the fool might mess things up, but thankfully, Fudge had accidentally said something useful.

Fudge's explanation seemed sufficient to satisfy the International Confederation of Wizards official who had raised the matter. They could clearly see Harry and Cassandra's actions, and in the end, Cassandra had indeed attacked Harry Potter, which was enough to clear him of any guilt.

"Then disqualify Ilvermorny from the competition!" he said, glaring angrily at the panel of judges.

Babajide looked troubled.

"I think we may need to discuss this further…"

"Perhaps we could pause the competition to try saving the Beauxbatons champion?" McGonagall, now relieved that Harry's name had been cleared, voiced her concern for the fallen Beauxbatons champion. "It looks like he might still have a chance, doesn't it?"

It was a reasonable suggestion.

However, at that moment, Cassandra on the screen seemed to notice the magical drone watching her. She lifted her gaze, flashing a striking smile.

Then, pointing her wand at the barely breathing Rabastan, her emerald-green lips parted like a venomous serpent's:

"Fiendfyre!"

In an instant, under the horrified stares of everyone watching, Cassandra unleashed blazing flames, incinerating Rabastan to ashes as if disposing of hazardous waste.

McGonagall felt as if something had split her head open with searing pain.

Umbridge was the first to break the fearful, stunned silence, screeching in her shrill, grating voice, "She's a demon, just like that Cyrus! They're born evil! How many people remember that he used to be a wanted criminal?!"

No one else seemed to know what to say; only Umbridge continued to ramble on.

"We should immediately disqualify Ilvermorny from the tournament! The headmaster reflects the students! Who knows what she might do next! Didn't you see her glance at the Golden Snitch at the end? It's pure defiance! Ilvermorny has no respect for Hogwarts, no respect for the Ministry, and certainly no respect for the International Confederation of Wizards!"

She had spoken so much in one breath that her plump body heaved for air, making her look more like a bloated toad.

"Who's to say Cyrus didn't order her to do this on purpose?"

Her accusations left Cyrus and Cassandra in an increasingly precarious position, and seeing her effect on the crowd, Umbridge smirked smugly and continued, "We should disqualify Ilvermorny from—"

But before she could finish, a slender, smooth leg, clad in high heels and peeking through a black lace skirt, slammed forcefully into Umbridge's chest, sending her sprawling onto the ground.

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