Die!

"What did you just call me?" Sparks of lightning danced in Yennefer's palm.

Harry paused. "I meant—Sister Yennefer."

"They're like wraiths. Ordinary magic doesn't work on them."

Geralt kicked one aside, twirling his blade, and sliced off a head. "Then you should've given me specter oil, not some weird potion."

"Specter oil doesn't work," Harry shook his head. "They're still technically human."

"Hag poison works, but their body structure no longer counts as human."

Geralt struggled to wrap his head around that.

Harry looked up at Voldemort and continued quietly, "Besides, unless we deal with him, these things will keep reviving."

"He's strong," Geralt agreed, glancing Voldemort's way. "Reminds me of someone, but..."

Harry picked up his thought, "He's observing me. Or us."

From the start, Voldemort hadn't fought directly. He created the illusion that maintaining his magic required effort—that he could only intervene at key moments to cast spells or disrupt Harry's team. It was a convincing act. Harry had almost believed it at first.

But no way these Death Eaters—barely stronger than a headmaster—could overwhelm him. At first, they gave Harry trouble, but once he adjusted, they became manageable.

He was watching.

Yes.

That's the feeling Voldemort gave off—studying him. Spells glinted in his eyes, recording everything.

"Observing?" Geralt chuckled. "A cautious enemy?"

Harry shook his head. "Counting his Horcruxes, I've killed him three times."

"He knows he's no match for me now."

Geralt nodded. "Sounds like a Leshen."

"Igni doesn't work well on him," Harry smirked. "Relax, dear Geralt, he's no Leshen. At most—"

He paused, held up two fingers toward Voldemort. "Two lives left."

"Including this one?" Geralt raised a brow.

Aard pulsed outward, knocking the Death Eaters back.

"No." Harry swung his wand.

Expecto Patronum!

A giant, radiant silver griffin burst forth, casting a glowing storm of wind and light that slammed into the Death Eaters.

As the oldest form of white magic, the Patronus was devastating against pure dark magic constructs.

The black mist holding their bodies together loosened. Their magic flickered and dimmed.

"Yennefer?" Harry prompted.

Yennefer frowned. "I can't make sense of them!"

"Their magic isn't like ours—not even like yours," she said, glancing at Harry. "It's like the power inside you."

She rubbed her palms.

"I thought necromancy was absolutely forbidden," Geralt muttered.

Harry added, "Best not to use it."

He looked up at Voldemort.

The attacks stopped. Voldemort stared down at them—at Yennefer in particular—his gaze filled with hunger and desire. He could tell—the magic in her hands was a new world, an entirely unfamiliar system.

"So how do we deal with these things?" Yennefer snapped, casting another lightning bolt that scorched several Death Eaters to ash—only for them to revive moments later in rolling black smoke. "Should we just take out that guy directly?"

"Seems like that's the only way," Harry nodded. "Geralt, can you keep them occupied?"

Geralt's face darkened. "Of course. I'll try my best."

"Just wish the weather were worse, Harry. Maybe you could give me some—"

"No," Harry raised his wand. "The weather is about to get worse."

Magic surged skyward.

The skies darkened, thunder rumbled, lightning cracked, and rain poured down.

The secondary effect of the Thunder potion kicked in.

Geralt felt the surge of power inside him—but was even more stunned by Harry's magic. "How long were we asleep? You've become a full-blown sorcerer."

"Probably as old as the entire Witcher school," Harry said, casting Rain Shield charms over all three of them. "Geralt, you're truly an old man now."

"I feel young," Geralt grinned, brandishing his sword. "Though I could use a better—"

Harry tossed him the Basilisk Fang sword.

Geralt caught it. "Well, now I have no complaints."

He was about to charge through the rain—

A gust of magic-born wind blew in.

Fountains of water rose from the lake, coalescing into the form of a woman—the same one with the jar. Her expression was gentle. "Young wizard, leave these undead things to us."

Harry noticed her wording—us, not me.

Behind her, the water rippled, and eight more young, beautiful women emerged. Each held a harp, wand, or similar artifact.

From the forest—

The thunder of hooves.

Green-armored knights, mounted on green warhorses, carrying green axes and holly branches, galloped to the lakeshore, eyes locked on Voldemort.

Silent Avalon suddenly burst into life.

Vivian tipped her jar.

The other fairies activated their instruments.

The Death Eaters howled in agony as the black mist binding them was slowly dispelled.

Harry raised his wand.

Across the lake, an apple tree twisted, transforming into a giant hand that reached to pin down Voldemort as he tried to flee.

He slashed his wand—Fiendfyre ripped open a fiery escape.

One Green Knight raised a crossbow and fired.

A gust of green wind shot forward.

Yennefer raised a hand, touching Harry and Geralt's shoulders. "Go!"

A portal opened—she shoved them through.

The next moment—they were on the opposite shore.

Geralt shook his head and re-cast Quen.

Harry fired off spells at the flying Voldemort.

Yennefer lifted her hand.

Her magic, foreign to this world, burst forth—earth and air elements surged, slamming Voldemort into the ground.

Transfiguration!

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, flicked his wand. Trees transfigured into soft cushions, ready to catch him.

Harry flicked his wand, too.

Same spell.

The cushions became spiked pits, glinting with steel.

Crack!

Apparition—he vanished.

"Northwest," Geralt called instantly.

Yennefer grabbed them and teleported.

Voldemort had just landed.

Two swords stabbed from behind, forcing him to cast magical armor and stumble back in defense.

Aard!

Geralt unleashed a sign.

No effect.

"Signs don't work well on him," Harry muttered, casting Transfiguration again. Vines, hands, spikes erupted to block Voldemort's escape.

Yennefer cast her own spells—not wizard spells, but magic just as potent. Voldemort barely kept up.

Just Harry alone had overwhelmed him. Now—three powerful foes.

If not for Fiendfyre guarding him—

They'd have crushed him already.

But...

Even now—it only bought time.

"Geralt!" Harry suddenly shouted.

Geralt understood instantly. He slashed wide, then stepped back.

Harry reached into the Sorting Hat, pulled something out, and hurled it forward.

CRACK!

It exploded—thick frost burst out. It couldn't freeze Fiendfyre, but it caught Voldemort.

In the rainy air, the ice grew fiercer.

Geralt, now in position, launched forward, slashing—

Shlick!

A massive head hit the ground.

He seemed dead. The Fiendfyre went wild, spreading fast—burning several apple trees to ash.

"Harry!" Yennefer ran over, grabbing Geralt's wrist.

Harry came over too, ducking behind Yennefer, shaking his head. "No need."

He raised his wand.

Finite Incantatem!

The raging Fiendfyre stilled—and then, like ordinary flames, died out in the rain.

Yennefer stared, stunned.

"Harry, stop the rain and let's talk," Geralt said, looking up. "I liked the earlier weather more—for a reunion."

Harry shook his head, eyeing the corpse. "No rush."

"Dear Tom is a slippery one. Smarter than any monster we've met. He knows how to survive."

Vivian's voice rang out behind them. "Be careful!"

"He's escaping!"

"He stole everything from Avalon—he knows how to leave!"

She hadn't even finished—

Black mist rose from the headless corpse. The very air around it shimmered, turning ethereal.

"Goodbye, Potter," Tom's voice whispered. "I know your secret now."

"This half-life was worth it."

"And..."

"New friends from another world—Geralt and Yennefer, yes?"

The black mist melted into the void.

Yennefer reached out—gray mist surged from her palm.

She grasped—

"Necromancy doesn't work," she muttered, releasing it.

Harry shook his head. "He's a master of it himself. And someone's waiting for him. He won't get far."

"We've got time. Let's talk."

Vivian's face was troubled. "Young wizard... the way he escaped—wasn't the entrance. It was something else."

Harry looked at her, deadpan. "Looks like our reunion's getting cut short."

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Powerstones?

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