"Come out, Tom Riddle, or, as you call yourself now: Cyrus?"

Voldemort's voice was hoarse, he spoke softly, but his voice was heard around every corner, as if he was whispering.

There was no other movement in the flames, which made him slightly dissatisfied. But Voldemort was not angry, and his anger was reserved for the lowly servants and the filthy mudbloods, and he was much more tolerant of a man who might be his own.

His ten fingers are flexible

Hogwarts: Suffered, I'm Voldemort Chapter 45: Cyrus: Only losers are called the Dark Lord It's a hand-hit, please wait a moment,

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