131: The Hero

On the other side of the labyrinth—inside the final chamber.

Harry stared in disbelief at the Philosopher's Stone resting in his palm.

He hadn't even been sure how it happened. One moment, he was just standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, and the next—

The Stone was simply… there.

—

Harry's heart pounded with excitement.

"We did it, Neville!" he exclaimed. "The Philosopher's Stone—it hasn't been stolen! We got here before Snape!"

—

But the response he received…

Was not Neville's voice.

—

A cold, chilling voice echoed through the chamber.

"So that's how the enchantment works… Dumbledore might be old, but even old men have their own kind of wisdom."

The voice was eerily smooth.

Almost serpentine.

"Only those with a pure heart—who desire the Stone, but not for greed—can obtain it."

A dark chuckle.

"Bringing you here, Potter, was the right choice."

—

Harry's blood ran cold.

His stomach twisted with dread.

"N-Neville?"

He turned his head—

And what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

—

Neville was no longer Neville.

The round-faced, timid boy he had spent the past year with… was gone.

—

What stood before him now—

Was something else entirely.

—

A stranger wearing Neville's skin.

His eyes gleamed with an unnatural, icy sharpness—like liquid nitrogen, frigid and merciless.

His lips curled into a sneer—twisted with cruelty, contempt, and something darkly inhuman.

His very presence radiated a suffocating malice.

—

"You're not Neville."

Harry's voice trembled.

—

The imposter let out a sharp, barking laugh.

"Of course I'm not!"

—

Then, suddenly—

A furious roar tore from his throat.

"These past few months… have been the most humiliating days of my entire existence!"

"Never—never in my life have I been forced to endure such a filthy, worthless body!

His face twisted with utter disgust.

"Fat. Weak. Pathetically untalented in magic. Completely devoid of any potential."

His expression darkened, seething with hatred.

"Why was such a miserable fool even admitted into Hogwarts? The boy is barely any better than a Squib!"

—

Harry felt his entire world shatter.

He took a step back.

"You're…"

His throat was dry.

His hands shook.

"...Voldemort."

—

The name echoed through the chamber.

—

Harry's instincts screamed at him to run.

But he didn't.

—

Instead, he raised his wand—

And clutched the Philosopher's Stone tightly behind his back.

—

But Voldemort—trapped within Neville's stolen body—

Merely laughed.

—

"How amusing, Potter."

His smile was mocking.

"Do you truly believe… that you can protect that little rock from me—from the Dark Lord himself?"

—

Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward.

And Harry—his pulse hammering—instinctively stepped back.

—

Voldemort whispered, his voice a venomous hiss.

"Surrender, Potter. Just like your mother did."

—

Harry froze.

His breath hitched.

—

Voldemort's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.

"Ah… yes. I should have let you witness it, shouldn't I?"

His voice was silken.

"How she fell to her knees before me… how she begged for your life."

He chuckled, a dark, delighted sound.

"Oh, how she pleaded."

—

"My mother…"

Harry's fingers tightened around his wand.

His voice was raw.

"She… she gave up her life… for me."

—

Voldemort smirked.

"Indeed."

He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming the memory.

"She made a foolish choice."

His red eyes gleamed.

"A choice that left you with this—"

—

Suddenly, Voldemort's hand shot out.

His thick, stubby fingers pressed against—

Harry's scar.

—

Pain flared.

Burning, searing, blistering agony—

—

But then—

A sharp intake of breath.

A soft hiss of pain.

—

Voldemort jerked his hand back.

His fingers smoked, the flesh at the tips blackened and charred.

—

For the first time—

His expression changed.

His eyes widened.

—

He cannot touch me.

The realization hit Harry like a lightning strike.

—

And then—before he could hesitate—

He lunged.

—

With all the strength he had, he threw himself forward—

And wrapped his arms around Voldemort's stolen body.

—

A scream tore through the chamber.

"AAAAAAAGH!"

Voldemort's shriek was inhuman.

—

The moment Harry's skin made contact—

The flesh beneath erupted into boils.

Blistering. Bubbling. Melting.

Neville's body twisted and convulsed—his fat boiling away, his muscles and veins swelling grotesquely—

—

"YOU WOULD KILL ME, POTTER?!"

Voldemort's voice was desperate, furious, enraged.

"AND YOUR CLASSMATE—WOULD YOU KILL HIM TOO?!"

—

Harry froze.

His arms loosened.

—

"You think the Gryffindors will still call you a hero after this?"

Voldemort's voice dripped with venom.

"They will give you a new name, boy."

His smile was vicious.

"A murderer."

—

Harry's breath caught.

His hands trembled.

—

And then—

With a strangled cry—

He let go.

—

"Foolish, foolish boy."

Voldemort sneered.

"You just gave up your only chance."

—

He raised Neville's wand.

His voice dripped with triumph.

"Now… DIE."

—

A flash of green.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

—

But—

Nothing happened.

—

The chamber was silent.

—

Voldemort stared at the useless wand in his hand.

His expression darkened.

—

A voice, laced with amusement, echoed through the chamber.

"Did you really think…"

Footsteps rang against the cold stone floor.

"…that Neville Longbottom's pathetic magical abilities…"

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Golden eyes gleamed under the torchlight.

"…would be enough to let you cast the Killing Curse?"

—

Voldemort turned, his teeth gritting with fury.

"Nolan von Draugr."

—

It was him.

Nolan stood there, his stance casual, but his presence unshakable.

In one hand, he held a dagger—its blade glinting coldly under the flickering torchlight.

In the other, his unicorn-horn wand, steady and unwavering.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his golden eyes filled with mockery.

—

"Nice look, Voldemort."

He tilted his head, his tone filled with amusement.

"A chubby little Gryffindor. Was this your lifelong dream? To be fat and hopeless?"

His gaze swept over Voldemort's stolen body—Neville's round face, his plump hands, his soft, unthreatening features.

"I heard from Dumbledore that you barely ate anything when you were a student. Always malnourished, looking half-starved… just like Harry Potter here."

—

Nolan took a step forward.

Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"Even if you escape today, Voldemort…"

He smiled.

"For the rest of eternity, people will talk about you like this—"

His eyes gleamed with vicious delight.

"'The Dark Lord once disguised himself as a fat, magic-less Gryffindor just to survive at Hogwarts.'"

—

Voldemort nearly exploded with rage.

—

Once—his pride had towered as high as mountains.

He had stood above all others—treating them either as his servants or as prey.

The Dark Lord had never imagined that one day, his arrogance would be crushed underfoot by—

A child.

—

A mere boy had trampled upon his dignity, grinding it into the dirt.

—

To Voldemort, this was a fate worse than death.

—

His face twisted with fury, his rage nearly choking him.

"You think I can't kill you, Nolan von Draugr?!"

His voice was venomous, burning with hatred.

"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT—THE GREATEST DARK WIZARD IN HISTORY!"

—

But Nolan only laughed.

"The greatest?"

His expression was full of mocking disbelief.

"Have you ever heard of Grindelwald? Or Merlin, a thousand years ago?"

His voice turned scornful.

"Compared to them, what exactly are you?"

—

Voldemort bared his teeth.

"I AM IMMORTAL!"

His voice was raw with fury.

"Grindelwald and Merlin are dead. Forgotten by time. But I—"

His red eyes burned with a manic gleam.

"I AM ETERNAL!"

"I CANNOT BE DEFEATED!"

His wand shot up, his voice trembling with power and rage.

"AND YOU—NOLAN VON DRAUGR—YOU ARE MY ENEMY!"

—

"CRUCIO!"

—

A bolt of dark, crackling energy shot from Neville's wand—

Fueled by all the magic Voldemort could squeeze out of this weak, borrowed body.

It was the strongest Cruciatus Curse he could cast.

—

And Nolan shattered it with a flick of his wrist.

—

The curse dissolved—like a wisp of smoke, vanishing into nothing.

—

Voldemort froze.

Even Harry—who had been watching in horror—could barely process what had just happened.

—

"My Cruciatus…"

Voldemort's voice was hoarse—disbelieving.

—

Nolan let out a cold chuckle.

"For someone so obsessed with the Unforgivable Curses, you sure are bad at handling them yourself."

His wand rose.

"Crucio."

—

Searing agony.

A scream tore from Voldemort's throat as he collapsed onto the stone floor.

—

The pain was unbearable.

His borrowed body convulsed, his limbs jerking wildly—his muscles twisting and tearing apart under the curse.

—

For the first time since possessing Neville—

He felt helpless.

Weak.

Like prey.

—

"STOP!"

—

A desperate cry—

From Harry.

—

"STOP! THAT'S NEVILLE'S BODY!"

—

Nolan raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unimpressed.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"And?"

—

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

—

Nolan's eyes gleamed crimson.

A dangerous, almost inhuman color.

—

"Potter."

His voice was low, almost gentle.

"Don't make excuses for your hesitation."

"Be grateful that Voldemort is foolish enough to stay inside Longbottom's body."

He smirked.

"Because it makes him so much easier to deal with."

—

Nolan lifted his hand—

And tossed his dagger onto the ground in front of Harry.

The blade landed with a sharp, metallic clang.

—

Harry stared at it, his pulse hammering in his ears.

—

"Pick it up, Potter."

—

His voice was soft.

Hypnotic.

Dangerous.

—

"Grip it tightly."

—

A slow pause.

Nolan's golden eyes locked onto Harry's—

Gleaming with an unreadable emotion.

—

"And start cutting."

—

Harry felt his blood turn to ice.

—

"Cut off Longbottom's limbs."

—

His stomach lurched.

His hands shook.

—

"As long as he stays alive, Voldemort's soul will remain trapped inside him."

—

Nolan smiled.

"This is your chance to be a hero, Potter."

"Your chance to fulfill your duty as the Chosen One."

—

Harry could barely breathe.

Sweat dripped down his temples.

His fingernails dug into his palms.

—

The dagger lay motionless before him—

But to Harry, it might as well have been a thousand tons heavy.

—

He couldn't move.

He couldn't think.

—

Nolan watched him.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes cold.

Waiting.

—

Waiting for Harry to decide.

—

And Harry realized, with horror—

That this moment…

This single decision…

Would define him forever.