Disclaimer: Still not the owner of Harry Potter. Sorry !
Sahamosveb: Hey ! Yeah, that's a problem in the first 10-15 chapters. I didn't use the ' to show their thoughts. That's a mistake I'll take care of once the story is over. Thanks for reviewing !
steve: Well, no. He simply forgot his spell was dark magic. It's as simple as that. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I guess...
Chiku11: I admit that's a funny thing to think off hahaha !
CaskettFan5: Well, again your theories are extremely interesting ! About Moody, I agree that it could have been better to put it in the story, but I had no idea how I could write that any other way that than just Dumbledore interrogating him and arresting him in 30 seconds. It's not like Crouch had a chance against the old man. But yeah, I should have found a way to add it. Anyway, thanks again for reading !
Mikeblade: About Hadrian dying like "a pussy", let's agree to disagree. And about Snape, well I won't answer because it would spoil the story, but he won't be in it that much. So, it's not like he'll have a big impact, whether or not he is "a good guy or not".
Hank1967: Hey ! Thanks for reviewing. Indeed, it seems Hadrian changed. Is it for the better ? We'll see that later. As i said, I indeed should have added Moody's capture. Well, that's my mistake hahaha. Anyway, I'm glad you continue to enjoy the story. Take care, and have a great day !
That evening, 23H33:
"In this room, we should be out of reach of any prying ears," Alexander said, his gaze carefully sweeping the chamber for any potential witnesses.
Once his reconnaissance was complete, he turned to his companion and watched as the latter smoothly closed the door, using a spell Alexander didn't recognize. "Now, we're safe," the man declared coldly.
"As you already know, I'm Alexander Greengrass," introduced the father of two, extending his hand to the other man. He shook it, displaying a smile that the former Slytherin found rather unsettling. The man introduced himself as someone named Tom Smith. Without delay, they moved on to discuss recent developments.
At first, Alexander struggled to understand the direction of the conversation, suspecting that some hidden code lay within the mage's words. He listened intently, but his excessive focus on deciphering the conversation, rather than remaining vigilant, would cost him dearly.
Suddenly, the man who had introduced himself as Tom Smith drew his wand and slammed Alexander violently against the wall, catching him completely off guard. The impact made him groan in pain.
"What are you doing, Smith?!" Alexander hissed, his voice filled with anger, shocked by the brute strength of the wizard standing before him. Few mages possessed such physical power, as most devoted their energy exclusively to magical development, neglecting their bodies. It was this physical advantage that Hadrian had always held over his opponents. He had never neglected physical training, whether during his youth in Quidditch or later in martial arts when he joined the Aurors.
"Alexander Greengrass, it's been a long time," the man said, his wand pressed against the English lord's throat.
"Who are you?" Alexander growled in response, frustrated at being overpowered before he could even react.
"Antonin Dolohov," murmured the mage, savouring the tremor that ran through Alexander upon hearing his name.
"I'm here to offer you a deal," Antonin continued. "Either you join the Dark Lord and spy on Hadrian Potter for us, or you refuse, and in that case, your entire family will be eliminated," the Death Eater threatened, his smile twisting into an almost maniacal grin. "I've heard that your wife has been quite lonely lately. Young Astoria's coma must have greatly affected her. I'm sure she'd appreciate a little... comfort."
Alexander was seething with rage. Hearing this man threaten his wife and daughters in his presence drove him mad. The Death Eater had dared to infiltrate Potter Manor under the gaze of all the guests, abduct him, and now utter such words while looking him straight in the eye.
Suddenly, something inside him snapped. His anger had crossed all boundaries.
With a swift motion, Alexander headbutted Dolohov. The Death Eater, caught off guard, staggered back. Taking advantage of his confusion, Alexander cast a Disarming Charm. The dark wizard, still disoriented, managed to deflect the spell, but grimaced in pain as a Bone-Breaking Curse struck one of his fingers.
However, Dolohov wasn't an opponent to be underestimated. He quickly retaliated by launching a Killing Curse at Alexander. The dark sorcerer, known for his cruelty and formidable power, would leave Alexander with no chance of survival if the fight dragged on.
As the green flash of the forbidden curse approached him, Alexander, still slightly dazed from his strike on Dolohov, turned his head just in time. The curse grazed his face, leaving a searing burn in its wake.
The duel had begun. And neither could turn back now.
Despite his inexperience in dark magic, Alexander fought with an almost animalistic ferocity. He drew on his anger and fear for his family to withstand Dolohov's devastating assaults.
Surprised by Alexander's unexpected resistance, the Death Eater intensified his efforts. Spells flew in every direction, shaking the walls of the room. Furniture shattered, and flaming objects fell from the ceiling. Alexander quickly realised that, in addition to locking the door, the dark wizard had likely soundproofed the room. This realisation momentarily unsettled him, and he paid the price, receiving a deep cut to his hip from a slicing spell.
Yet he didn't back down. His family was in danger, and he couldn't give up now. He fought back with determination, using his knowledge of herbology and potions to create unconventional spells.
He cast a spell on a plant near the bed, causing it to grow and transform into a giant serpent that lunged at Dolohov. The Death Eater, taken by surprise, was forced to focus on the snake, giving Alexander a brief respite.
Taking this opportunity, Alexander cast a complex spell. Roots erupted from the ground, wrapping around Dolohov's legs and making him stumble. The Death Eater, trapped, unleashed a devastating spell that could have annihilated Alexander, but he blocked it just in time with a protective shield. The shield wavered under the impact and collapsed, knocking him back, but Alexander miraculously remained unharmed.
The explosion rocked the room once more, causing the walls and furniture to tremble violently. A thick cloud of dust filled the air. Amid the chaos, Alexander ran around the roots and charged at Dolohov, wand raised.
He performed a complex wand movement, chanting an incantation in an ancient language as the stone floor cracked open. Stone tendrils formed throughout the room, ensnaring Antonin, who stared in disbelief at the mage before him.
According to the stories, this man wasn't a renowned duelist. Yet before him stood a wizard of formidable skill, capable of holding his own against one of the most feared Death Eaters still alive.
Realising the stalemate, Dolohov escalated the fight, conjuring a dark, shapeless mass, resembling a viscous slime. Its very appearance defied logic, and merely looking at it caused a splitting headache.
Alexander looked at the repulsive mass with disgust as it grew to fill the room, nearly reaching the ceiling.
The formless creature began to attack the stone tendrils that Alexander had conjured, forcing him to divert his magic to defend the ground beneath him.
His energy reserves were rapidly depleting, and fatigue was setting in. If that were the only issue, he could have endured more.
But the accumulating injuries, especially the deep cut on his bleeding hip, were weakening him further. Time was against him, and if he didn't act quickly, Alexander Greengrass would die on this festive night.
Determined to unleash one final, powerful attack, he cast an explosive curse at his opponent before collapsing to his knees, planting his wand in the ground.
Another tendril sprang up behind Dolohov, wrapping around his waist and immobilising him.
The dark wizard, cornered, conjured a protective shield in front of him. The explosion sent both men flying, slamming them against opposite walls.
Alexander, gravely wounded, couldn't get up. He watched in horror as the dark wizard staggered to his feet, limping and covered in cuts and fractures, a satisfied sneer twisting his face.
The Death Eater limped toward him, picked up his wand from the ground, and pointed it at the man lying helpless on the floor. "Any last words?" he taunted.
Alexander lowered his head, unable to speak, when a new voice echoed from the back of the room.
"Looks like you're having fun here," Hadrian quipped sarcastically, entering the room with a glass of wine in hand. "Excellent work," he added, surveying the destruction.
He placed his glass... into thin air, and approached the two men who hadn't moved since his arrival. Raising his wand toward Alexander, he said, "Let's finish this."
06/24/1995, 20H15, Hogwarts, Scotland:
Harry fled at full speed, weaving between the vines that tried to ensnare him. His wand pulsed in his hand as he focused on dodging the traps littering his path, all while maintaining a protective shield to avoid being crushed by the moving branches.
"Incendio!" he shouted, exasperated. A wave of fire erupted from his wand, tearing through the wall of vegetation that encircled him. He repeated the spell a second time to ensure the obstacle was completely destroyed before resuming his frenzied run.
Haunted by the fear of getting lost, he pressed himself against the right wall, muttering directions to himself as a way to stay oriented: "Right, left, left, right." Hoping these markers would lead him to the exit, he repeated this litany endlessly, relying on the old saying: "All roads lead to Rome."
Suddenly, he froze, not even noticing the mud now covering his legs. Lying ahead of him was the motionless body of Daphne.
He collapsed to his knees, his mind unable to grasp the horror unfolding before him. From the start of this trial, a sense of doom had clung to him, but he had never imagined such a scenario. No, it was impossible. She couldn't be dead. He had seen her in the stands... the stands! This wasn't her—it was a Boggart! Roaring in anger at having fallen into such a crude trap, he rose and muttered the counter-curse: "Riddikulus."
The body didn't transform into something ridiculous. The immense amount of magic he had poured into the simple spell completely dispelled the illusion. The sheer force behind the magic testified to Harry's extraordinary strength.
"Show me the cup," he ordered, before resuming his march, guided by the direction his wand indicated.
The treacherous trial continued, and Harry had no doubt: the goal was to eliminate them all.
Every twenty steps he took, a creature would attack him, or the ground would collapse beneath his feet. Sometimes, the walls closed in, trying to trap him. One moment, he was caught in an illusory bubble that made him run in circles. The next, he was hurled ten metres backward.
Disoriented, he couldn't make sense of everything, but his patience was wearing thin.
Once again, he found himself stuck in quicksand. Conjuring a wooden plank, he laid it over the unstable ground and continued his progress, sprinting over the sinking surface.
The young hero of the wizarding world then encountered two gigantic Acromantulas. 'Ron would've had a panic attack seeing these,' he thought with a smirk, raising his wand toward their multiple eyes. He had never been particularly fond of spiders, anyway.
With a swift movement, he conjured a dozen stones before him and transfigured them into sharp stakes. The two spiders charged at him, with one leaping through the air in a prodigious jump to pounce on him.
In one smooth, precise motion, Harry hurled the sharp stakes at the Acromantulas, then slammed his wand into the ground with force. The first creature collapsed instantly, impaled by the stone projectiles. The second, still airborne after its leap, was violently dragged to the ground by a gravity spell cast by Harry.
Wasting no time, he gathered a significant amount of magic into his core and, with a quick motion, cast the Reducto spell on the remaining Acromantula. The giant spider began to shrink dramatically until it was no larger than a harmless garden spider. Harry finished it off with a simple stomp, eliminating the second obstacle in his path.
'I must be getting close to the cup,' he thought, aware that the challenges were becoming increasingly dangerous.
After a series of sharp turns, he found himself face to face with a majestic Sphinx.
"Greetings, young man," growled the fantastic creature. "Are you prepared to face my riddle? But beware! One wrong answer, and a horrible death awaits you. If you prefer, you may turn back."
Harry, determined to press on with his quest, ignored the Sphinx's warning and signalled for it to begin its riddle.
"Very well," the Sphinx replied, raising its head proudly. "Listen carefully to my words."
"I am always to come,
But never arrive.
I have all the answers,
But I never ask questions.
I am the end of everything,
But also a new beginning.
Who am I?"
Harry sat down, calming his mind and focusing on the Sphinx's words.
"Always to come, but never arrive, so it's not a specific event. It must be a concept or a word that doesn't refer to anything concrete," he reasoned.
'I have all the answers... It could be the future,' he thought, before shaking his head. 'No, the future can't be a beginning. So what could it be?'
His mind raced, searching for synonyms of "future" that might fit.
Until finally: "Tomorrow?" he ventured. Before the Sphinx could approve or reject his answer, he explained: "Tomorrow is always to come, but never technically arrives, as it's eternally in the future. Tomorrow holds all the answers we seek but asks no questions, because we can never reach it. And tomorrow is the end of everything, because it marks the end of today, and sooner or later, the end of our lives. For me, the right word is 'tomorrow!'"
The Sphinx gazed at him, then offered a smile before congratulating him. "Well done, young wizard. You have found the correct answer. Continue on your path toward the cup."
"But beware! Dark forces are at work!" it added, before turning away and resuming its original position.
Taking the warning into account, Harry resumed his journey until, in the distance... "The cup!"
A blinding blue light emanated from it. He began to approach, but stumbled. Quickly rolling to his feet, he looked to see what had tripped him, and recognized Fleur Delacour, unconscious on the ground.
Checking that she was still breathing, he whispered, "Periculum," sending red sparks from his wand that shot into the sky.
Suddenly, a spell whizzed past his ear. Reacting instinctively, he conjured a shield that held firm, then turned in the direction the attack had come from, searching for the caster.
"Krum?!" Harry exclaimed, baffled by the sight of the boy. Krum wore a strange collar around his neck that he hadn't been wearing in the previous tasks. His eyes were a pale white, without pupils, and he seemed blind, but consumed with a furious rage.
At that moment, Harry saw Cedric arriving from the other side, stopping as he spotted the cup.
Deciding he couldn't afford to lose another second if he wanted to end this task, Harry conjured an arc of fire, launching it toward Krum, who was knocked to the ground. Taking advantage of Krum's daze, Harry sprinted toward the cup, his intense physical training allowing him to put some distance between himself and the Hufflepuff student.
The race was tight, with Harry having to dodge the final traps, offensive spells from both Cedric and Krum—who had gotten back up—all while avoiding obstacles. But at last, he reached the cup. Without looking back, he grabbed it, shouting a final warning to Cedric: "Watch out for Krum! He's not himself!"
In the next instant, as he expected, he was transported along with the cup. "I don't know where I'm going, but I have a feeling it's not back to the starting point," the boy muttered as he landed, cup in hand, in a strange place he had never seen before.
06/24/1995, 21H54, Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton:
The second Harry lifted his head, he knew he was in deep trouble. Surrounding him was a group of about twenty men, all dressed in black. He recognized their attire almost immediately: they were Death Eaters. And the presence of Death Eaters was rarely a good sign.
In the middle of this motley group stood a man with gaunt features and deathly pale skin. This wizard, who appeared to be in his forties, seemed to hold unquestionable authority over his followers.
"Short hair, sharp features... Tom Riddle, I presume?" Harry said firmly, straightening up proudly as he pointed his wand toward the formidable Dark Lord.
Had Hadrian Potter been present at that very moment, he would have immediately sensed that something was off. Indeed, Voldemort didn't have the monstrous half-man, half-snake form that was so characteristic of him. His physical features were certainly unusual, but there was no doubt that he was a man.
Harry managed to conceal his surprise at the appearance of the mage who had murdered his parents. He knew full well that this man was alive, having seen him with his own eyes during his first year at Hogwarts. What deeply disturbed him was the physical body the dark wizard had chosen.
The attack carried out by Antonin Dolohov, along with the information gathered from Amelia Bones' niece, were undeniable proof of Voldemort's return to the wizarding world. But there was a vast difference between reading reports and standing face to face with the man himself.
Harry watched Voldemort's face contort in anger, the use of his Muggle name still affecting him as much as it had during his school years at Hogwarts.
"Never say that name again, boy!" he hissed, his eyes glowing with a strange reddish light, while his magical aura exuded formidable power. Harry couldn't deny feeling a deep terror. He was far from being a match for Voldemort in a one-on-one duel.
Eventually, noticing that even his own subordinates were beginning to falter under the weight of his power, the Dark Lord calmed himself.
With a movement of blinding speed, Harry was thrown backward by a spell cast by Voldemort, his wand landing somewhere in the cursed place where he was held captive.
The powerful British Dark Lord bound his hands with ropes and forced him to stand before him.
"Well, I believe I owe you all a few explanations, my dear friends," he declared, his voice distorting strangely on the last word of his sentence.
From what Harry could deduce, the other Death Eaters seemed as ignorant of Voldemort's plan as he was.
He let his gaze wander around, paying particular attention to the Dark Mage's monologue. He was standing in front of a tomb. Across from him stood a gloomy manor, reminiscent of the haunted houses he'd glimpsed briefly on the Dursleys' television.
Harry was facing a tomb engraved with the name "Tom Riddle." Yet, the living being bearing that name, as far as he knew, was standing right in front of him, monologuing about his immense power. Harry guessed that this must be the grave of the arrogant Dark Lord's father.
"It has been eleven years now since the world believed you defeated me, Harry Potter, when you were just a baby," the man continued. Meanwhile, Harry tried to free himself by slowly rubbing the rope with his nails.
"But the truth, my dear companions, is that the boy's mother, the Mudblood Lily Potter, used an old spell of ancient magic. She sacrificed her life in exchange for yours, Harry Potter. And as a result, I could neither touch nor harm you."
Harry understood what Voldemort was referring to. The dark mage was likely talking about the second killing curse he had survived at the end of his first year. The young hero of the wizarding world remained puzzled. His parents told him he had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him. But had the soul's owner not felt the destruction of a part of his own soul? Perhaps he should discuss this in more detail with Sirius...
Suddenly, Voldemort paused. One by one, he walked past his men, all of whom appeared more terrified than the next. All except one. "Ten years. I waited for ten long years. And the only one who sought me out, when she escaped from Azkaban, was you, my dear Bellatrix."
He brushed his hand against the mask of his subordinate, and Harry could finally see the woman who haunted his friend Neville's nightmares.
Bellatrix Lestrange... appeared broken. He had no other words to describe her. Her skin was pale, her eyes hollow, and her hair had turned significantly white. Harry had no idea what she had endured, whether in Azkaban or outside, but it was clear that she had suffered greatly.
The woman managed to smile at her master's touch before he conjured the mask back over her face.
He then called all his present Death Eaters, and Harry recognized names such as Goyle, Nott, Malfoy, and... "Antonin Dolohov! You, my friend, accomplished something that none of my other men have been able to."
A vicious grin appeared on Voldemort's face, mirrored by Dolohov himself. The man stepped forward toward Harry, forcing him to strengthen his mental defences to resist the urge to lunge at him and avenge Daphne's father.
"Harry Potter. You do resemble each other quite a bit, now that I look. Yet your blood ties are relatively distant. It's very interesting," the dark mage noted, before drawing his wand and pointing it at Harry.
"You know, when our master heard of Hadrian Potter's exploits, we were very tempted to invite him to join our ranks," he continued. Harry had the feeling he wouldn't like the rest of the story.
"But when they met, they couldn't quite see eye to eye. So, they fought."
Harry wanted to insult the man but knew he was telling the truth. The many discussions he'd had with Fortuna, Sirius, and Dumbledore strongly corroborated this theory. And if his uncle had disappeared, and Voldemort was standing in front of him with a mocking smile, then...
"Of course, our master won the fight. And it was this wand that had the honour of ending your uncle's life," he concluded.
Harry's eyes blazed with a brilliant green light, contrasting with Voldemort's crimson pupils.
The ropes binding Harry exploded as he summoned his wand to him, unconsciously using wandless magic.
In the next instant, before anyone could react, Antonin Dolohov had been violently slammed against the walls of the Riddle Manor.
Voldemort didn't seem perturbed by the young boy's attack, while the other Death Eaters drew their wands and pointed them at Harry.
"NO! HE'S MINE!" screamed the Dark Lord, his powerful aura once again asserting itself, silencing his men.
The force of the explosion had blown all their masks away. Harry made sure to engrave the faces before him into his memory.
'A vampire?' he noted internally. Indeed, one of Voldemort's men was deathly pale, even worse than his master, and two fangs protruded from his mouth.
Harry and Voldemort stood face to face, and Harry realised that he had been playing into the dark mage's hands all along.
'He wants us to fight, to show his Death Eaters that he's stronger than me,' the boy deduced. That was why the dark wizard hadn't destroyed his wand upon arrival. That was why he had only been bound with a weak rope.
And that was why Voldemort had ordered his men not to touch him. He wanted his revenge on him.
Paradoxically, Harry shared the same feeling. Both wanted the other dead.
"You can't beat me, Harry. This body was crafted from the blood of my enemies," he sneered, raising Harry's eyebrows in confusion.
"I couldn't get my hands on you. But that didn't stop me from accessing your parents' bodies. What a foolish idea to bury corpses under a stasis charm."
Harry instantly understood what the dark mage had done. Unable to take his blood, Voldemort had stolen his parents' bodies and extracted the necessary blood to regain a physical form.
"You killed my parents..." Harry growled, his voice charged with restrained fury. "Caused my uncle's death," he took a step forward, his eyes locking on Voldemort with burning intensity. "And above all, you desecrated their bodies, even after their death!"
His magical aura exploded in turn, unleashing a palpable wave of energy that swept through the cemetery. Though it wasn't comparable to the Dark Lord's formidable power, it was enough to send chills down the spines of the Death Eaters present. They instinctively understood that if they didn't step back, they risked facing the young wizard's wrath.
Voldemort, far from intimidated by this display of force, watched Harry with a sadistic smile. "Yes, Harry, that's it. Release that hatred, that anger," he urged, pleased to see the boy of light being consumed by his darkest emotions. "Let them guide you, make you stronger."
Blinded by rage, Harry raised his wand, ready to unleash his vengeance on the man who had caused so much suffering to those he loved. But before he could utter a single spell, Voldemort abruptly stopped him with a gesture.
"Now, now, Harry, haven't you learned any manners?" the dark mage said with a mocking tone. "This is a duel, after all. So first, we must bow."
He spoke these words in a soft, almost paternal voice, in stark contrast to the cruelty in his eyes. An invisible pressure fell upon Harry, forcing him to bow before his sworn enemy.
But Harry wasn't fooled. He realised that Voldemort was trying to mentally subjugate him, to break him psychologically before the duel had even begun. Drawing on his inner reserves, he focused his will and pushed back against the Dark Lord's spell.
Voldemort, surprised by the unexpected resistance from the young wizard, raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Interesting," he murmured. "I did not expect such strength from you, Potter."
Straightening up proudly, Harry returned a haughty look, refusing to yield to intimidation.
Voldemort raised his wand, mimicking Harry's gesture. "Next, we raise our wands," he continued in a monotone voice. "And..."
But before he could finish his sentence, two powerful bursts of spells shot from their respective wands, lighting up the cemetery in a blinding glow. The air crackled with magical energy, and the ground vibrated under the force of their attacks.
Pandora's box had just been opened. The long-awaited duel between Harry Potter and Voldemort had finally begun, and its outcome was far from certain.
06/24/1995, 22H30, Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton:
For nearly twenty minutes, the battle had raged. Spells flew through the air, explosions tore it apart, and the ground trembled beneath the power of the two wizards. Despite being only fourteen, Harry was holding his own against the most powerful Dark Lord of the modern era.
The air was heavy with magic, creating a suffocating and oppressive atmosphere. The two titans fought relentlessly, wielding their wands with astounding dexterity and power.
Harry had come a long way since his early days at Hogwarts. The inhuman training he had endured under Hadrian's guidance, the endless hours of pushing his body and mind to their limits, had forged a formidable warrior.
Memories of the physical and mental tortures he had endured flashed through his mind, fueling his rage and determination. Everything he had gone through had led to this exact moment—this ultimate duel against evil incarnate.
However, he had to admit, he was outmatched. Voldemort was faster, more powerful, and had a far greater arsenal of spells than he did. The raw power of the Dark Lord was terrifying, and every spell he cast was devastating.
But Harry had two advantages Voldemort didn't: his physical strength and his youth. His agility allowed him to dodge spells more easily, and his stamina outlasted that of the Dark Mage. These small advantages, often overlooked, had kept him alive so far.
Voldemort cast a powerful spell, sending sharp blades of wind hurtling toward Harry. The young wizard dove to the ground just in time, barely avoiding the deadly attack. He immediately retaliated by manipulating the earth beneath Voldemort's feet, causing him to stumble and lose his balance.
Seizing the opening, Harry cast an animation spell on the reaper statue that adorned Voldemort's father's grave, taking control of it. The Dark Lord, caught off guard by the unexpected attack, tried to destroy the stone statue with a simple flick of his wand.
But Harry was quicker. He unleashed a chain of devastating spells, forcing Voldemort onto the defensive. The Dark Mage, now cornered, cast a Bone-Breaking Curse at Harry. The young wizard recalled a technique he had learned from Daphne. He let the spell come toward him, focusing all his magic into his wand, and then sent it back toward Voldemort with doubled power.
"I can't do this too often," he thought, aware of the exhaustion the technique caused. "Not only does it drain my reserves, but if I mess up..."
Against all odds, Voldemort managed to shield himself from the reflected spell, but he was nonetheless thrown off balance and stepped back slightly. The stone statue, still animated by Harry, took advantage of this moment to strike Voldemort with its scythe, slicing a long gash across his torso.
Despite the power of the blow, which would have killed a normal man, Voldemort didn't collapse. He merely stepped back, a grimace of pain on his face, revealing a deep wound beneath his robes.
The idea of being wounded by "his own father" enraged the Dark Lord. He resumed his assault with renewed fury, forcing Harry to concentrate to withstand the dark aura surrounding him.
Harry relied heavily on transfiguration in his combat. He conjured objects and controlled them to shield himself from Voldemort's onslaught.
Suddenly, the Dark Lord, exasperated by Harry's agility, cast a powerful slashing spell aimed at the young wizard's throat. Harry, convinced that his end had come, saw his wand lift instinctively, far faster than his arm could have moved, deflecting the deadly curse just in time.
'That's strange,' thought Harry, his heart racing. 'It seems like our wands, being brothers, can't deal fatal blows to each other.'
He then recalled Ollivander's words when he had bought his wand. His and Voldemort's wands were made from the same phoenix feather core, linking them in a unique way. This probably meant that...
"He can't kill me... and I can't kill him. At least, not with this wand!"
Harry saw Voldemort come to the same realisation, his eyes widening in surprise. A wave of pure energy violently knocked him backward as Voldemort summoned the wand of one of his hidden Death Eaters.
The Dark Lord didn't give Harry time to get up and conjured a massive fire snake, hurtling straight toward him. Harry recognized the spell immediately: "Fiendfyre! Damn," he muttered, preparing for a fierce battle of willpower.
Despite his pain, the wounds covering his body, and the blood loss weakening him dangerously, Harry focused all his strength and determination to repel the fire snake. A titanic duel ensued, the air crackling with magical energy.
Against all expectations, Harry managed to push back the fiery serpent, causing Voldemort to stagger backward. The borrowed wand cracked in the Dark Mage's hand, unable to handle the unleashed magic. Harry realised it was about to break.
In a last-ditch effort, he pulled several stones from his pockets, returning them to their normal form. Runes were inscribed on these stones, each with different effects, but when combined, they could summon powerful lightning bolts capable of striking his enemy.
Closing his eyes, he ensured that the stones were properly connected before planting them into the ground. As soon as they were in place, they activated, and lightning bolts rained down on Voldemort, hurling him violently into the rubble of his old family manor.
However, to Harry's great surprise, the Dark Lord rose again, unharmed. "Elemental resistance? Damn it!" Harry muttered, watching Voldemort advance toward him, protected by a magical shield that deflected all his attacks.
Suddenly, with lightning speed, Voldemort lowered his shield. A new bolt of lightning struck him, but he didn't stop. Before being thrown back again, he managed to cast a powerful explosion curse at Harry.
The explosion finally shattered the borrowed wand, but Harry knew he couldn't dodge or block the spell. He braced himself for the worst, closing his eyes and waiting for the impact.
But suddenly, time seemed to slow down. The orange bolt froze in the air, suspended in eternity. A suffocating silence fell over the cemetery, broken only by a distant "tick-tock" and a dull, irregular heartbeat.
Then, as if repelled by an invisible force, the curse receded, moving away from Harry before exploding in the middle of Voldemort's followers. The heartbeat ceased abruptly, replaced by dead silence.
Harry looked at the lifeless bodies of Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe Sr., and the vampire, lying motionless, victims of the devastating curse. A wave of nausea washed over him at the horrific sight, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was the only thing keeping him standing.
Taking advantage of the confusion caused by the explosion, Harry spotted Antonin Dolohov emerging from the rubble, wounded but still dangerous. The Death Eater appeared in front of him, holding out two vials filled with an unknown liquid.
"Look at these memories in a Pensieve," he rasped. "Watch out for Snape. Voldemort forced him to make a vow. He's working against you, whether he wants to or not. And take care of Daphne."
Before Harry could react, Dolohov thrust the cup into Harry's hand, reminding him that it was a portkey. A swirling sensation engulfed him, and he disappeared from the cemetery, leaving chaos and destruction behind.
The last image he burned into his memory before vanishing was of a storm of black fire descending on Voldemort, accompanied by an inhuman scream of rage that echoed through the night.
06/24/1995, 22H43, Hogwarts, Scotland:
Harry landed at the entrance of the maze, his body battered and his mind teetering on the edge. The music and cheers from the Hogwarts students reached him like distant echoes, drowned out by pain and exhaustion. A hand gripped his shoulder, jerking him back to reality. It was Sirius, his eyes filled with concern. Behind him stood his girlfriend, Daphne, whose expression was far from the cold demeanour with which he had first met her.
"Harry? What happened?" Daphne asked, her voice trembling. Harry tried to respond, but Sirius spoke first.
"Voldemort?" he questioned, his brow furrowed. He had guessed the terrible truth from the look in his godson's eyes. Moreover, he knew, from the information gathered by Fortuna, that the Dark Lord was likely back.
Harry gave a weak nod, gritting his teeth to contain the pain coursing through him. Daphne wrapped her arms around him, her tears soaking his shirt. "Harry James Potter, you are the bravest and stupidest person I know!" she exclaimed, guessing the nature of his ordeal.
Fighting against the weakness threatening to overwhelm him, Harry motioned for Dumbledore to come closer. The old wizard helped him to his feet and discreetly cast a healing spell. He had probably overheard the conversation between Harry and Sirius.
"Daphne," Harry murmured, his breathing becoming more laboured, "take these vials. Come to Potter Manor when you have time. They'll give us answers about your father."
Then, turning to the headmaster, he added in a weak but firm voice, "Professor, be wary of Snape. You may trust him, but he's bound to Voldemort by an unbreakable vow. Even if he wanted to help, he no longer can."
Dumbledore's hand trembled slightly before he regained his composure. "I understand. We'll take you to the infirmary, and I'll handle this matter afterward."
"Lucius Malfoy, Goyle Sr., and maybe others were killed tonight, Professor," Harry added, his voice growing fainter. Daphne clasped his hand in hers, searching for words of comfort that wouldn't come.
Unfortunately, at that moment, the Minister of Magic and his Undersecretary arrived, alerted by their conversation. "Mr. Potter," the Minister exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow, "may I ask—what does this mean?"
"Voldemort is back," Harry replied, his voice cracked by fatigue and pain.
"You should rest, Mr. Potter. Making such statements in the presence of the Minister... Are you suggesting that something this important could have escaped the Ministry's vigilance?" interrupted Dolores Umbridge, her sharp voice slicing through the air like a knife. Even Dumbledore couldn't help but grimace at her unpleasant tone.
"Dolores, the boy's condition doesn't allow for a detailed explanation. If you wish to question him, please return later," the headmaster interjected, clearly not eager to engage with the Minister's puppet at that moment.
Offended, Umbridge positioned herself in front of Dumbledore, blocking his path. Harry, exhausted, took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. He noticed Cedric, Fleur, and Krum in the corner. The necklace around the Bulgarian's neck was gone, and the three wizards seemed to be conversing calmly, likely unaware of what had just been said.
The crowd was divided. Most were cheering, but Harry spotted Hermione, Neville, and his other close friends staring at him with concern, aware that something serious had occurred.
Beside him, Daphne, Sirius, and Dumbledore were trying to guide him toward the infirmary, while the Minister, his Undersecretary, and two Aurors blocked their way.
"Albus, the boy cannot go to the infirmary! He must be taken to St. Mungo's to have his mind healed! Imagine the panic he'll cause if he spreads such nonsense!" Fudge exclaimed, clearly panicking.
Once again, his secretary's sharp voice rang out: "This boy is lying! He's just seeking attention. You-Know-Who, alive? Nonsense!" After her tirade, she turned toward the Minister, who nodded. She continued: "This is an order from the Minister! Hand over the boy!"
For the first time since their meeting, Harry saw the headmaster lose his composure. A terrifying magical aura emanated from Dumbledore, silencing everyone around them.
"I believe, Dolores, that you should reconsider your priorities. Harry Potter will be treated within the school grounds. The Ministry has no authority over my students. Hogwarts is under my jurisdiction. I suggest you leave immediately," he ordered firmly, leaving no room for argument, before snapping his fingers.
Four house-elves appeared behind the individuals blocking Harry's path and grabbed them from behind.
In an instant, they vanished.
Dumbledore relinquished his support of Harry to Sirius and Daphne, choosing instead to calm the students, who were shocked by his outburst.
As for Harry, he was led to the infirmary, his strength ebbing away. His thoughts were becoming increasingly muddled.
This eventful evening had taught him one key lesson: he was too weak.
'This time, there's no going back. Next time, it will be him or me!' he thought before slipping into unconsciousness