Chapter 302: Only Death Is Final
"You destroyed everything - your promise - and my life!"
He could never truly let go of Ariana's death. Perhaps the killing curse had come from Aberforth, perhaps from Grindelwald, or perhaps from himself—but now, none of that mattered.
What mattered was that, after all these years, no one had ever truly paid the price for what had happened.
"How foolish. I actually believed you had repented." Dumbledore shook his head in disappointment.
In truth, he had read every letter Grindelwald had sent him from prison, over and over again. Countless times, he had struggled with himself, tempted to respond.
But in the end, he never did.
And now, it was clear—he had been right not to. Those letters of remorse had been nothing more than the empty words of a man skilled in deception, not a single punctuation mark worthy of trust.
"I only wish to have no regrets," Grindelwald murmured.
Meanwhile, Voldemort had already walked far ahead.
"There is nothing more to say," Dumbledore said coldly. "Tonight, everything comes to an end—you and me, Voldemort, and all of it."
"I will not have regrets either!!" Dumbledore swung his arm, and the spell blasted out like a cannonball.
Grindelwald immediately countered with his own spell, the two curses colliding in a violent clash of magic.
"Looks like I'll have to do as Voldemort suggested—break your legs and lock you away!" Grindelwald said coldly. "At least that way, you'll still be alive."
Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows of the corridor, Voldemort let out a quiet laugh. He had been watching the battle unfold all this time.
"Alright, I suppose it's time I go find Cyrus."
He turned and headed up the stairs.
At the same moment, Harry, having heard the sounds of battle, came rushing down.
They met on the 4th floor.
Separated by a long corridor, they stood at opposite ends—like the two sides of a scale, the balance of justice and evil, bound by fate, destined to decide a final victor.
"Come, Voldemort!" Cyrus (Harry) called out. He had been waiting for this moment.
He didn't have much confidence in himself, but if he wanted to suppress his fear, he had no choice but to summon all his courage and step forward. At this moment, he was like a lone lion, wandering through the wild, roaring at every enemy that dared to approach him. His mane had to spread like the flames of life, burning bright and unyielding!
Voldemort, too, could hardly wait.
But when he looked at Cyrus, it was not as an equal adversary—it was the gaze of a predator looking at its prey, a lamb waiting for slaughter.
"Dumbledore gave you the Elder Wand?" he asked.
"That's right. Are you afraid?" Harry shot back.
"Ridiculous," Voldemort said in a low voice. "Why would I be afraid? Just because you hold the Elder Wand?"
He paused for a moment, then curled his lips into a sinister smile.
"Now we both have the Elder Wand. That makes this fight fair, doesn't it?" Voldemort said. "I will prove that I am stronger than you—not because of the wand, but because of my own supreme magical power!"
And he had every reason to say so with confidence.
He had reclaimed his soul from time itself, and not just that—he had gathered an excess, a surplus of souls. At this moment, he had not only reached the peak he was originally destined for but had even surpassed it!
It was as if he were a fusion of multiple Voldemorts, except every fragment of his soul had now fully integrated into one complete entity.
The principle they all followed was the same—there could only be one true Voldemort, and the power they had combined made him nearly invincible!
But the Cyrus standing before him was no ordinary opponent either.
He carried with him the legacy of Morgana, the magical black dragon that had enhanced his magic. More importantly, he was now the master of all three Deathly Hallows—this meant that he should be undefeated!
Unstoppable!
Harry repeated this in his mind, his hands not hesitating for even a moment.
Voldemort hadn't recognized his true identity, still believing he was facing Cyrus. He had intended to exchange words, to weaken Cyrus with his rhetoric before making a move—but he never expected Harry to disregard all formalities and strike first!
"Expelliarmus!"
A crimson beam of light erupted from the Elder Wand in his hand!
It was less of a spell and more like a blazing laser!
The sheer force of the spell left Harry himself in disbelief. His arm trembled, his palm stinging from the impact.
But Voldemort was, after all, the Dark Lord. Even though Harry had launched a sudden attack, Voldemort reacted instantly. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a counter-spell.
The two spells collided, and with another effortless movement, Voldemort deflected Harry's attack with ease.
The magic didn't dissipate upon impact. Instead, it crashed into the walls like a monstrous beast, instantly reducing them to rubble.
At this rate, Hogwarts might not be able to reopen next term for months…
The thought flashed through Harry's mind, but he quickly realized that none of that mattered to him anymore.
Voldemort, however, frowned slightly.
"A Disarming Charm?"
He gave Harry a strange look. "How interesting, Cyrus. I never took you for the merciful type."
"This kind of attack won't do," he said as he stepped closer, shaking his head. "Have you forgotten who you're up against?"
With a sudden thrust of his wand, he sent a bolt of green lightning slicing through the air.
"Show me your real strength!"
Harry ducked to evade the Killing Curse.
For him, the greatest challenge was not the duel itself but playing the role of Cyrus convincingly.
He had to remain poised, unfazed by anything.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a cold voice, "I was only pitying you, Voldemort. How pitiful you are."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because today, you will die here!" Harry spat venomously.
But to Voldemort, this seemed like nothing more than an amusing joke. A short burst of laughter escaped through his nose, his entire expression dripping with contempt.
"Apologies, but you've made me laugh," he said. "You know, Cyrus, you never used to say such unrealistic things. But I suppose it makes sense—a pathetic dog only barks louder when faced with something it fears, trying to put up a front."
"Just like you are now, aren't you?"
"Oh really? Then let's see!"
Harry knew full well that it was himself Voldemort was confronting, that Voldemort's insults were aimed at him.
Yet somehow, hearing Voldemort utter the name "Cyrus" still made his blood boil.
He was burning with rage.
"Ahhh!"
There was no need to chant the spell's name. All he had to do was swing his wand with force, to envision it. His magic surged through his body, channeling through his wand, launching an attack on its own!
The immense power carried fear, despair, sorrow...
An overwhelming tide of negative energy, amplified further by the Elder Wand, making it even more ferocious!
It was like a swamp filled with agony, ready to drag the enemy deep into its depths—
Boom!
...
Boom!
Under everyone's astonished gaze, Dumbledore and Grindelwald's spells struck the ground beside them.
They exchanged a glance, wordlessly understanding one another before "engaging" in combat.
Meanwhile, in the Quidditch stands, Barty Crouch Jr. watched the scene unfold, his face shifting between red and pale.
At this point, how could he not realize that Grindelwald had deceived them?
That old man had never truly intended to help the Dark Lord.
"I need to find a way to deliver this news to the Dark Lord."
He thought.
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