Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 491

"Oh, Merlin—Rowan Mercer has spotted the Snitch!"

The moment Rowan surged forward, Ludo Bagman’s voice leapt an octave.

"Ireland’s Lynch has seen him and is giving chase! Both of them are flying at terrifying speed! The Snitch is looping, trying to shake them—!"

Bagman was nearly shrieking now.

The match was barely twenty minutes in, and it had already reached the kind of climax that normally came after hours of play.

At this scoreline, whoever caught the Snitch would win the World Cup.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards held their breath.

"Look—Rowan’s jumped off his broom!"

Bagman’s voice cracked.

"Merlin’s underwear, he’s got it—he’s caught it in midair! And he’s landed back on his broom—absolutely flawless technique! Ladies and gentlemen, Rowan Mercer has caught the Snitch! England wins the World Cup!"

The stadium exploded.

"Rowan! Rowan! Rowan!"

The roar was deafening. People leapt to their feet, flags whipping through the air, hands clapping until palms burned.

And then—

A massive incantation thundered across the sky.

"Morsmordre!"

Green light detonated above the stadium, coalescing into a colossal skull formed from glowing emerald sparks. A gigantic serpent poured from its mouth like a living tongue.

The Dark Mark.

Terror rippled through the stands.

Under the sickly green glow, a dense black cloud drifted in from the edge of the stadium. Figures stood atop it, cloaked, wands in hand.

At their front was a pale, noseless man with a face like carved bone.

"Look—what are they holding?"

"That’s—Merlin—Dumbledore!"

"And Fudge! Amelia Bones! Barty Crouch—why are all the Ministry heads with them?!"

As the cloud drew closer, the truth became clear.

The figures were carrying bound, unconscious prisoners.

Every one of them a senior Ministry official.

Even Albus Dumbledore.

A hollow laugh rolled across the stadium.

"I, Lord Voldemort, have returned."

The Dark Lord hovered above the pitch, arms spread slightly, savoring the panic below.

During the brief chaos of the match, his first move had already been completed.

Dumbledore and the entire Ministry leadership had been taken out in minutes.

Clean. Silent. Efficient.

If Rowan wanted to become Minister as fast as possible, this was the only way.

Letting the fake Voldemort cause chaos and then swooping in to save the day would still leave him tangled in years of political infighting. Too slow. Too messy.

Removing the entire leadership at once made everything simpler.

As for Dumbledore—

He was too sharp. Too perceptive.

And he made Voldemort look far more dangerous.

Both problems solved at once.

"Voldemort!"

The name tore through the crowd like a blade.

British witches and wizards turned ashen. Foreign spectators weren’t much better.

Even outside Britain, that name carried weight.

Like a mass murderer who’d nearly destroyed a country suddenly stepping onto your street.

"You don’t need to be afraid," Voldemort called out calmly.

"I’ve changed."

He gestured toward the unconscious captives.

"I’ve taken them prisoner, yes. But I haven’t harmed them. They’re merely asleep."

He descended lightly onto the commentator’s platform.

Ludo Bagman stumbled backward into the crowd, white-faced.

"Witches and wizards of the world," Voldemort continued smoothly.

"I am Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord you were taught to fear. The monster of bedtime stories."

A pause.

"All lies. Convenient lies."

"I did what I did for our kind. Not for personal power."

"I dream of a world where we no longer hide in the shadows."

"A world where we can walk openly through every city."

"A world where loving a Muggle doesn’t mean abandoning magic and pretending to be ordinary."

"A world where wizards guide humanity’s future instead of shrinking from it."

"The Ministry is rotten. They steal gold while Muggles build weapons that already rival our deadliest spells."

"Have you forgotten 1945? One Muggle bomb wiped out an entire magical district. Hundreds of witches and wizards died in seconds."

"Fifty years later, their weapons are stronger. Faster. Everywhere."

"If we keep hiding, one day they will discover us."

"And then they will erase us."

"So join me."

"Join Voldemort."

"Let us build a world ruled by magic."

"We are the rightful masters of this world."

His voice rolled through the stadium, amplified by magic, filling every corner.

A hundred thousand people stood frozen.

And disturbingly—

Some of them were nodding.

It wasn’t strange.

People were selfish.

Wizards were no different.

When someone promised them safety, dominance, and a better future, many were willing to listen.

That was exactly what Rowan wanted.

If Voldemort remained a British problem, defeating him would make Rowan Minister.

But if Voldemort ignited a global conflict—

Wizard versus wizard.

Wizard versus Muggle—

Then the man who ended that war wouldn’t just become Minister.

He would become the ruler of the world.

Grindelwald had tried once.

He had nearly succeeded.

And now Rowan was finishing what the first Dark Lord had started.