Ding-dong!
At the crisp chime of a Magic Phone notification, Lucius Malfoy's location popped up on Lynn's screen.
Lynn leaned in to look.
But Dumbledore moved surprisingly fast, nothing like a man over a hundred years old. He only glanced at the information once before slipping the Magic Phone straight into his own pocket.
"Albus?" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out.
Dumbledore didn't answer.
He just glanced at Lynn, a flicker of apology in his gaze—though Lynn missed it entirely.
A flash of fire flickered.
Fawkes carried Dumbledore away from Hogwarts once more.
Lynn stood there, stunned.
He stared blankly at the spot where Dumbledore had vanished, mouth hanging open, unable to react for a good while.
Fine if the old man wants to leave—but he swiped my Magic Phone too?!
He reached instinctively to summon Levi and give chase.
But just as he raised his hand, a grip closed around his wrist.
Professor McGonagall's hand.
Firm, tight, giving him no chance to break free.
"You need to rest now, Mr. Lynn!"
Her tone left absolutely no room for argument.
Lynn: "..."
He sighed, letting Professor McGonagall lead him back toward the castle.
The Magic Phone?
Dumbledore would give it back. Probably.
...
Meanwhile, at the Riddle graveyard.
The night wind blew, rustling fallen leaves across the ground. Moonlight sat hidden behind clouds, leaving only a scatter of broken stone pillars casting heavy shadows through the dark.
Harry, bound to the statue, was still gasping for breath.
His wrist kept bleeding, but next to the throbbing pain in his scar, that barely registered.
The pain came in waves, tide-like, making it nearly impossible to think straight.
Still, he forced his eyes open, watching everything unfold in front of him.
"We meet again."
Harry didn't speak.
He just stared fixedly at Lord Voldemort, teeth clenched, enduring the searing pain of his scar.
Lord Voldemort didn't seem to mind the silence.
He turned to look at the Death Eaters still sprawled on the ground around him.
"Rise, my servants."
His voice wasn't loud, but it reached every ear clearly.
The Death Eaters slowly lifted their heads, staring at the reborn Dark Lord before them, eyes brimming with fanaticism and awe.
"Welcome back, Master!"
Someone shouted.
"Long live the Dark Lord!"
More voices followed.
Lord Voldemort raised a hand, silencing them.
His gaze settled on Harry again.
"Now—"
He drew the word out.
"Let's see whether that legendary savior can truly save himself."
He started toward Harry.
The Death Eaters cleared a path automatically.
What followed at the Riddle graveyard amounted to a kind of test—whether "the boy who lived" could really earn that title.
Over the course of it, both sides exchanged plenty of opinions and got to know each other a bit better.
Along the way, a fair number of unpleasant things happened too.
In short—
Lord Voldemort and Harry traded insults, and as it turned out, Lord Voldemort was no match for him in a war of words.
Bound, bleeding, and sweating through the pain, Harry's tongue never dulled. For every word Voldemort threw at him, he shot back ten.
Lord Voldemort took the bait.
His expression grew grimmer by the second. "Very well. Since you're so eager to show off, I'll give you the chance."
He waved his wand—
the ropes binding Harry snapped.
Harry dropped to the ground, wincing in pain, but forced himself back up regardless.
Lord Voldemort stepped back, putting distance between them.
"Come, bow to me, Harry."
He gave a small, mocking bow of his own.
"At least observe some dueling etiquette... I'm sure Dumbledore would want you to die with a bit of grace..."
The gathered Death Eaters burst out laughing.
They looked at Harry the way one might look at a pig headed for slaughter.
They understood well enough the Dark Lord wasn't going to kill this brat easily.
He'd die only after suffering plenty first.
Harry pressed his lips together and stayed still.
"I said—"
Lord Voldemort's smile vanished.
"Bow."
He pressed his wand down.
Harry felt as if his spine was about to snap; an unseen, immense force bent him forward into a perfectly correct bow.
The Death Eaters' laughter grew louder still.
"Excellent." Lord Voldemort nodded, satisfied. "Now, let's begin the duel properly."
He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
Scarlet light shot from the tip!
Harry couldn't dodge.
It hit him, his whole body convulsing violently, a piercing scream tearing out of him.
"Aaaaaagh—!!!"
He collapsed, curling into a ball, shaking uncontrollably.
The Death Eaters laughed without restraint.
Lord Voldemort laughed too.
"Get up, Harry!" he called out. "Just like your father!"
Harry gritted his teeth, forcing himself back up.
His legs trembled, his face paper-white, but he stood anyway.
"Expe—"
Before he could finish.
"Crucio!"
Scarlet light again.
Harry fell again, screamed again, curled up again.
Lord Voldemort watched him the way one might admire a work of art.
"Get up."
Harry climbed back up.
Again and again, spell after spell.
His screams echoed across the graveyard, each one thinner and more piercing than the last.
The Death Eaters, once loud with laughter, gradually fell quiet.
Eventually, Voldemort grew bored.
He looked at Harry, crawling back up once more, a cruel curve tugging at his mouth.
"How tenacious," he said mockingly. "Still refuses to yield. Still wants to duel me, apparently."
Harry gasped for breath, his whole body shaking, but his eyes stayed fixed on Voldemort, refusing to give an inch.
Lord Voldemort raised his wand. "Let's give Harry a rest... he must be in a great deal of pain by now."
With that—
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light shot from the tip of his wand!
Harry raised his own wand at the exact same instant.
"Expelliarmus!"
Red light met green.
The two beams collided violently in midair, exploding into a blinding flash!
The Death Eaters stared at the sight, disbelieving.
How was this possible?!
This kid had blocked a Killing Curse with a Disarming Charm?!
What kind of joke was this?!
But something even stranger happened next.
The two beams tangled together, grinding against each other with a piercing shriek.
Then—
without warning, both the green and red light vanished entirely, replaced by golden light.
That gold grew brighter, more intense, and in the blink of an eye, it fully enveloped both figures locked in the spell battle.
The Death Eaters panicked.
"What's going on?!"
"What happened?!"
"Master!"
Lord Voldemort raised a hand, signaling them to stay put.
Just then—
illusory spirits began floating out from the wand, one after another. Translucent, glowing faintly, strikingly vivid against the darkness.
The first to emerge was a middle-aged man—messy hair, round-rimmed glasses, a gentle smile on his face.
The second was a young woman—long red hair, green eyes, beautiful and kind.
The third, fourth, fifth...
More and more spirits kept drifting out of the wand.
Lord Voldemort's eyes widened, staring at the sight in disbelief.
The spirits floated in the air, looking down at everything below.
"Harry, you've done so well."
"Hold on, dear."
Harry looked at the two speaking to him, and his eyes went red instantly.
Time was running short, and the spirits knew it.
They turned toward Lord Voldemort, one after another rushing to swarm the Dark Lord where he stood.
Tangled up in the spirits, he couldn't break free for a moment.
Harry gritted his teeth and bolted toward the Triwizard Cup. His legs still shook, his body still ached, but he ran fast anyway.
Closer.
Closer still.
The Triwizard Cup was right in front of him!
Just as he reached for it—
Lord Voldemort finally tore free of the spirits.
He raised his wand, aimed straight at Harry's back.
"Avada—"
Before he could finish the incantation—a burst of fire suddenly flared at the edge of the graveyard, and a figure stepped out of the flames.
"Tom!"
The voice rang out, resonant, echoing across the graveyard.
Lord Voldemort's spell went off in a hurry, the Killing Curse missing wide, sailing past Harry's ear and slamming into a distant tombstone.
Rubble scattered!
But Harry had already grabbed the cup.
The next second, the world spun.
His figure vanished from the spot.
Only Lord Voldemort, Dumbledore, and a group of stunned Death Eaters remained in the graveyard.
Lord Voldemort stared at Dumbledore, boundless fury burning in his scarlet eyes.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He raised his hand and fired a Killing Curse.
Facing it, Dumbledore naturally wasn't about to take any chances.
He shifted his footing slightly, leaning aside; the green light flew past the hem of his robes and struck a statue behind him. It shattered instantly, rubble flying.
At the same time, his own wand was already rising.
A spell shot out, heading straight for Lord Voldemort's face.
Voldemort snorted coldly and threw up a black shield with a flick of his wand. The spell struck it, sparked, and vanished.
Back and forth they traded spells; for a while, magic flew thick across the graveyard, green and red light weaving together.
But oddly enough—
both of them looked entirely at ease.
Dumbledore moved calmly and steadily, every spell timed with precision, neither pressing forward nor retreating.
Lord Voldemort matched that same composure, even a faint, unreadable smile at the corner of his mouth.
That only made the watching Death Eaters more afraid to act.
They huddled in the shadows, not even daring to breathe too loud.
If their own spell accidentally hit and ended up helping Dumbledore, dying a hundred times over wouldn't be enough to satisfy the Dark Lord's rage.
So they had no choice but to watch as the two strongest wizards of the age traded blow after blow.
Just then, Lord Voldemort spoke, tone relaxed.
His voice came out raspy and cold, tinged with something mocking.
"Dumbledore."
He spoke even as he cast. "You've gotten old."
Green light shot out.
Dumbledore sidestepped it, returning a spell of his own.
Voldemort blocked it casually and kept going.
"Lost your old edge."
He paused, the curve of his mouth deepening. "How many more years can you keep protecting Potter?"
Translation: you're washed up, old man. Why didn't you kill me right away? And that Potter of yours doesn't seem all that impressive either.
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
Gentle, calm, even carrying a trace of kindness.
He spoke slowly as his wand moved.
"These old bones of mine—"
A spell shot from the tip.
"Can still shine for the wizarding world a good while longer."
Voldemort blocked it, brow furrowing slightly.
Dumbledore went on, unhurried.
"The next generation of wizards—"
His wand swept twice more, three spells firing off almost together.
"There will surely be one who can take my place—"
Voldemort stepped back, raising his shield, expression shifting slightly.
Dumbledore finished:
"And carry on protecting the wizarding world."
Translation: it's not that I can't kill you—I just can't finish you off completely. Just wait until my students grow up. We'll see how you fare then.
Lord Voldemort's expression darkened.
He understood exactly what that meant.
The two settled into a standoff, neither speaking further.
Only spells kept flying back and forth, without a moment's pause.
The Death Eaters stayed hidden in the shadows, holding their breath.
Time crept by, minute after minute.
No one could say how long the standoff would hold.
Just then—
golden-red firelight lit up the graveyard again. It came without warning, even brighter than the flash that had announced Dumbledore's arrival.
Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore both stopped at once, turning toward it.
A figure stepped out of the flames.
He wore a black hooded robe, the hood pulled low, hiding most of his face. Only part of his chin and his tightly pressed lips showed.
Wand in hand, he'd used Fiendfyre to clear his way in without a word.
---
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