Fred was dead.
From the way the red-haired boy's pupils had gone dull and his chest no longer rose or fell, Dawn could tell that much at a glance.
His own body, once faint and translucent, gradually filled with color until it became indistinguishable from the people around him.
So this meant he had successfully replaced him?
Dawn raised his hand and clenched his fist, testing the sensation. Then his gaze shifted back to Fred's corpse.
And then—
His expression darkened even further.
Because he saw it.
Fred's body began to twist.
Flesh shifted out of place. The frame stretched unnaturally, lengthening before his eyes.
That youthful face warped, draining of color, transforming into something pale and grotesque, with no nose.
"Tom Riddle."
Dawn narrowed his eyes and spoke the name.
Before the transformation could complete, he moved without hesitation. A wand appeared in his hand as if it had always been there, and he fired a streak of green light.
°Avada Kedavra°
°Avada Kedavra°
The two spells were cast almost at the same instant.
Voldemort reacted just as quickly.
The green lights collided midair, forcing against each other as fragments of deadly energy scattered in all directions.
Amid the shifting glow, Voldemort lifted his head. That still-young face carried something far colder beneath it.
Recognition flickered, then settled into a chilling greeting.
"Dawn Richter. It's been a while."
"Yes. It has."
Dawn lowered his gaze, looking down at the figure rising from the ground. His tone was calm.
He was not surprised to see Voldemort here. Unexpected, perhaps, but entirely reasonable.
This place was a connection of minds.
Voldemort had split himself across countless students, controlling their bodies when needed. His consciousness existed within them.
So of course he would appear here.
The two locked eyes.
Around them, passengers fled in panic, but neither paid them any attention. The air grew heavy, like the pressure before a storm.
There was no need for words or explanations. Their intent was simple.
Kill.
No matter the situation.
Voldemort spoke first, his voice rough.
"That Weasley fool appearing here... your doing, wasn't it?"
"Who knows?" Dawn shrugged. He had no interest in indulging the conversation.
But Tom Riddle had already made up his mind. The hostility in his gaze deepened.
He had reason to be furious.
The past year had been unusually fortunate for him.
He had used the Flesh Splitting Curse to regain the ability to move freely. Then, somewhere within the castle, he had discovered a peculiar piece of magic.
The Equilibrium Spell.
That was the name written on the parchment.
Its function was simple in concept. Through blood connection and ritual, it allowed the caster to divide themselves completely among others.
Voldemort had never heard of such magic before, nor did he know its original purpose.
But the moment he saw it, he thought of something else.
The castle consciousness of Hogwarts.
The accumulated emotions and will of generations of students, shaped and influenced by the collective awareness of those currently within the school.
Magic, at its core, was simply the use of magical power.
Incantations and gestures were not essential. With enough mastery, they could be discarded. The true essence lay in thoughts and emotions driving the magic.
The stronger the emotion, the more extraordinary the result.
So when he saw the spell, an idea formed instantly.
He would divide himself among the students, influence the castle consciousness, and use it to achieve his resurrection.
To him, it was a perfect gamble.
The Quirrell fragment created by the Flesh Splitting Curse could not last forever. Waiting as a disembodied soul was meaningless.
Better to take the risk, especially with Horcruxes as a safeguard.
At the time, he still hoped for the Philosopher's Stone, so he delayed.
Only after his plans were ruined by Dumbledore and that foolish savior did he begin to act.
And everything had gone smoothly.
He spread himself across the students. Thanks to his Horcruxes, his consciousness remained intact rather than fading.
A perfect interaction between spells.
After that, he barely needed to act.
He only had to wait as his remaining consciousness gradually eroded the students from within.
He had been confident.
Until last week.
Something changed.
Students began entering strange dreams. Or rather, fragments of past experiences.
And because his mind was attached to them, Voldemort was dragged into those experiences as well.
Worse, in order to protect the bodies he intended to claim, he had to repeatedly intervene. Each time, he drove away hostile remnants that tried to take control.
In truth, the fact that Hogwarts had not descended into chaos was largely thanks to his efforts behind the scenes.
And now—
The culprit stood before him.
Whether for revenge or self-preservation, Voldemort had to kill Dawn here.
If not, Dawn might follow him back to reality.
°Avada Kedavra°
°Avada Kedavra°
They cast again.
This time Voldemort struck first, but Dawn responded just as fast.
The spells collided, then vanished in a burst of energy.
A sharp crack echoed.
Like a starting gun.
The already chaotic cabin exploded into further disorder.
Luggage scattered. Seats collapsed. Torn fabric littered the ground.
In an instant, everything around them twisted and came alive under the influence of magic, reshaping into weapons that howled through the air.
Dawn and Voldemort moved in perfect symmetry.
They fired killing curses while transfiguring their surroundings into attacks.
At the same time, each summoned controlled Fiendfyre, blue and yellow flames rising to counter incoming threats.
The fire roared, yet under their command, it remained precise and contained.
The temperature inside the cabin climbed rapidly.
Passengers screamed.
Dawn tore off his robe, levitated it, and used it to lift himself into the air, avoiding the suddenly tilted floor. Then he restored the aisle with a counter-spell and dropped back down.
What would happen next?
Dawn narrowed his eyes and stared through the heat-distorted air at Voldemort.
In this strange realm of thought, would events follow their original course? Or had everything diverged from this point onward?
Would the curse still spread on its own?
Or would it remain attached to him unless he actively passed it on?
Dawn burned away incoming projectiles and turned them into a flock of birds that dove toward Voldemort.
He believed the latter.
Which meant that unless Voldemort learned the nature of the curse and spread knowledge of the collective consciousness, the Curse of Anubis would strike again soon.
He remembered clearly.
The interval between the first and second outbreaks on the plane had been six hours.
The next would be shorter.
So when the curse struck Voldemort again, that would be the decisive moment.
Dawn steadied himself.
His strength did not surpass Voldemort's. In truth, he had not yet reached the level of Voldemort or Dumbledore.
If he wanted to end this quickly, he had to wait.
He suppressed his killing intent, letting it sink into his eyes as he circled cautiously.
He had already confirmed that he had returned to reality through Fred's body.
But he refused to gamble.
If he failed to kill Voldemort here, would they both end up sharing Fred's body?
That outcome was unacceptable.
So—
He had to kill him.
Dawn's eyes burned red. His thumb pressed against his index finger, ready to draw blood.
Then he stopped.
No.
He only had a mind here. Just like before, he could not see the trait patterns.
Without that, he could not manipulate or create magical creatures. It frustrated him, but this was not the time to dwell on it.
He focused again, keeping his distance, waiting.
If this connection lasted long enough, he would win effortlessly.
He had calculated before that after three more outbreaks, the healing potion would lose its effectiveness.
At that rate, within eighteen hours, Voldemort would die from complete heart failure.
But—
He did not know how long this connection would last.
Time here did not match reality exactly, but it was not too far off either. And the students only entered this state while sleeping.
Which meant: There was no way Fred would remain asleep for eighteen hours uninterrupted.
The cabin was in chaos.
Passengers burned in Fiendfyre, their screams echoing as they turned to ash.
Yet the plane itself remained steady.
It almost felt real.
Dawn glanced at the terrified crowd before turning his attention back.
At that moment—
His eyes sharpened.
A figure appeared behind Voldemort. A jackal-headed warrior holding a spear.
It had come.
Dawn tightened his grip on his wand.
Behind him, Voldemort felt it too.
A chill crawled up his spine. His pupils shrank.
The curse was returning.
It was not a one-time effect.
He cursed under his breath, blaming the Weasley boy for dying too quickly and leaving him without answers.
Without hesitation, he conjured a wall in front of himself and coated it in controlled Fiendfyre.
Then—
Blood erupted from his mouth.
His heart tore free from his chest and fell to the floor.
The heat began to cook it instantly.
Voldemort did not hesitate. He grabbed a healing potion and drank it, stabilizing himself.
He had already learned through previous experiences that while his appearance matched the original body, the items carried by that person still existed.
During the fight, he had searched and found several potions. It was exactly what he expected.
After all, Dawn had survived this before.
The Weasley boy had simply been too foolish to think of it.
Voldemort prepared himself, waiting.
He expected Dawn to attack now. Losing a heart was not something that could stop him.
But—
Time passed. Nothing came.
The wall stood untouched.
Voldemort frowned. Even with his arrogance, he knew Dawn should not be so passive.
Cautiously, he dismissed the wall and looked ahead.
Then he saw it.
A cruel smile spread across his face. "So that's it... Dawn Richter, you're finished."
Dawn was kneeling on the ground, pale, blood spilling from his mouth.
In front of him lay his own heart.
His expression twisted.
Damn it.
Damn it!
He had considered the possibility but ignored it.
The curse affected him as well.
Even though Voldemort now occupied the role of his past self.
Perhaps it was because Fred carried both of their minds. Both the invader and the host were part of this moment.
And worse—
The Phoenix immortality did not work here.
Dawn pushed himself up, dodging a killing curse by a hair's breadth.
He rolled into the corner of the cabin, using broken seats as cover against the incoming spells.
It was only a temporary measure.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor