Can a person truly return from death?
The answer was yes.
Someone had done it before.
Voldemort.
He had used dark magic to create six Horcruxes for himself.
Unless every Horcrux was destroyed, he could never truly die.
But what about John?
The poison Voldemort had used on him had no antidote. He had even considered using it on Dumbledore.
It was a poison of certain death. Even with Horcruxes, one could not regain a body again so quickly.
Otherwise, Voldemort himself would not have needed to wait over ten years to be reborn.
None of it made sense.
How could someone who had already died still be alive?
At that moment, Voldemort found it hard to accept.
He had struggled so desperately, just to claw his way back to life.
A student—no matter how vast his influence, that could be explained as external.
But how could someone so young possess such power?
Voldemort fixed his gaze on John, not even sparing Dumbledore a glance.
Everyone present reacted differently.
Harry was stunned and bewildered. Hermione's shock mixed with delight. Luna looked as though it was only natural.
Bellatrix's body was frozen stiff, while Lucius hurried to Voldemort's side to show his loyalty.
Drogon and Lupin pulled apart, each bearing new injuries.
Sirius burst out at last, having finally found the way through the endlessly turning atrium.
The Constellation Society members all removed their masks, one by one revealing their young faces.
John raised his brows slightly and said, "The situation seems pretty clear, Tom."
Voldemort glared at him darkly. With the Constellation Society, the Order of the Phoenix, and that old monster Dumbledore all gathered here, he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Yet suddenly, he began to laugh.
"You truly are talented, John Wick."
His cold, sharp voice praised John.
"But you seem a little too arrogant."
Voldemort sneered. "Do you think the Order of the Phoenix alone can defeat me?"
"Your followers are all locked up in the Department of Mysteries," John replied with feigned surprise. "Do you really think you still have a chance?"
"You want my life?" Voldemort screeched. "Even if I die, I will return again!"
Dumbledore set aside his questions about John's mysterious resurrection. Calmly, he said, "Simply taking your life would not satisfy me."
He cast a look of quiet pride toward John, as though fighting side by side with him brought him genuine joy.
"I am Lord Voldemort!" Voldemort shouted. "I will not die here."
He raised his wand and fired a bolt of green light at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore lifted his wand, flicked it aside, and dodged the attack.
But Voldemort immediately turned his aim on John instead.
Clearly, he intended to go after the easier prey.
"I've done what you could not, Tom."
John's expression remained calm as he raised his sword and cleaved through the incoming red light.
Dumbledore followed close, the tip of his wand flickering with tiny flames, casting them like a fisherman's line to ensnare Voldemort.
Even without Apparition, Voldemort could still fly.
He soared upward—only for two owls, one black and one white, to dive from the sky, their sharp talons tearing through his robes.
Furious, Voldemort leveled his wand at the blur of white, ready to cast a spell.
But from below, a silver flash shot upward, streaking past him and cutting off his incantation. He glanced down.
John had leapt into the air, sword gripped in his right hand. With his left, he swung his wand in a powerful arc.
Thunder~!
Lightning crashed down toward Voldemort, forcing him into a rapid fall.
Silver light flared—Voldemort caught himself, breaking his descent, twisting swiftly aside to evade.
John could see it: seventy percent of Voldemort's strength was fixed on guarding against Dumbledore.
Seizing the moment, John unleashed a Summoning charm. Voldemort's body jolted midair.
Swooh!
John raised his sword high and drove downward, looking down upon Voldemort from above.
"This is beyond your reach. You're a coward, Tom."
"Neyaaa!!" Voldemort forced the weight of his fall to vanish. Lucius rushed forward to aid him—only to be hooked and hurled away by Dumbledore's fire.
As he dropped, Voldemort whipped his wand, a jet of green light streaking past John, grazing close before vanishing into the clouds.
He gripped the Silver Wick sword, light flaring from his boots as he plunged downward.
The blade swung, sharp steel carving arcs of silver. Voldemort raised a Shield Charm, blocking the strike.
He lifted his hand, unleashing an ancient spell. A gust of wind hurled John off balance. Voldemort's wand came up, ready to release the Killing Curse.
But Dumbledore's spell struck, the ground sinking beneath them, forcing Voldemort to turn and counter.
Once again, he dragged a witch's statue in front of him as cover. Dumbledore sidestepped the curse.
John had already recovered from his stumble. The Silver Wick sword burst into flame.
"Cut through the thorns!"
Voldemort's robes billowed—he summoned serpents, venomous bodies lashing toward John.
The flaming blade cleaved them apart, the stench of charred flesh filling the hall.
"Master, let me help you!"
Lucius, breaking free of his restraints, flung a spell at Dumbledore.
Without even glancing back, Dumbledore sent a house-elf statue forward to block it, then seized Lucius in its grasp.
Lucius howled and thrashed. John cast him a brief look, then turned away.
Because in truth, he was waiting.
The rhythm of the attacks slowed, and John looked as if he were running out of strength.
While Dumbledore pressed Voldemort, John drifted toward the edge of the battlefield.
From time to time, he flicked out a couple of spells—Voldemort brushed them aside with ease.
...
Harry realized that in a battle like this, he couldn't intervene at all.
A sense of frustration welled up inside him.
What stung even more was the thought that John, someone his own age, was able to fight there while he could only stand and watch.
Hermione, meanwhile, had no time to notice Harry's feelings. Seeing her best friend alive and well before her, her emotions surged and tumbled.
"Who is he?" Harry noticed someone's gaze fixed on him.
He turned and saw, beside Percy, a man with golden hair.
The way he was being watched made Harry deeply uncomfortable. In that man's eyes, he seemed to be nothing more than something useful—a tool.
Sirius's sudden arrival pushed the unease aside for now. Supporting him, Harry asked, "Are you okay, Sirius?"
"I'm fine," Sirius answered with a strained smile, clutching his left ribs. "Might have broken a few, though."
Glancing toward the fierce clash ahead, Sirius muttered in disbelief, "That's a student?"
"That's John."
"Oh.." Sirius subsonically clutched his rib.
Even if John wasn't the one directly holding Voldemort at bay, just being able to trade blows in that battle was an extraordinary feat.
If it were anyone else rushing in, they'd only become a burden to Dumbledore, unable to help at all.
"Why isn't Voldemort running?" someone asked in confusion.
Harry thought for a moment before answering, "The Dominion Charm. Back in the graveyard, I saw it—it's some kind of magic that prevents Apparition."
"That's brilliant! This time we can finish Voldemort for good!" Ron shouted excitedly.
Not just him—Harry thought the same.
In their eyes, with Dumbledore there, Voldemort's defeat was certain.
But Lupin's heart was heavy. He had never imagined that the student could actually be Johnny Silverhand.
The Johnny Silverhand he knew was never that simple.
His gaze fell on John, who lingered near the edges of the fight, contributing only in passing. There was a probing look in his eyes.
Right now, the situation looked overwhelmingly favorable. As long as Dumbledore defeated Voldemort, everything would be over.
All the more so because reinforcements had yet to arrive.
Once everyone gathered, not even Voldemort could escape.
Everything seemed to be moving in the right direction.
But…
Could it really go this smoothly?
Just as Dumbledore, wielding the Elder Wand, was locked in battle with Voldemort, John suddenly stopped and stepped out of the fight.
He walked over to the Constellation Society and said, "Time to get ready."
Inside the Ministry's atrium, the fireplaces embedded in the walls suddenly flared to life.
In the next instant, ten beams of light shot straight toward Dumbledore.
Everyone's expressions changed.
From the flames within the fireplaces, Death Eaters began to emerge.
Voldemort knocked aside Dumbledore's spell and sneered, "Dumbledore, your end has come."
Dumbledore turned his head, watching as ten Death Eaters stepped out from the fire. Just as the spells were about to strike him, he swung his wand in a sweeping arc. A goblin statue rushed forward, arms spread wide, shielding him.
The barrage blasted dents and craters into the statue's body.
Voldemort actually had a backup plan!
It seemed his past failures had finally taught him caution.
"Sacrificing a few insignificant pawns to lure the Aurors away—Dumbledore, now you're the cornered beast."
To Voldemort, those who followed him were nothing more than tools to be discarded at will.
They weren't even deemed worthy of bearing the Dark Mark—yet Voldemort's true elites had all followed him into the Ministry.
With a flick of his wand, he freed Lucius from the grip of the house-elf statue.
"One of my loyal followers escaped his cage, brought me intelligence, and offered me a strategy."
Voldemort's gaze turned toward one of the Death Eaters who had just arrived. "Barty Crouch Jr.—you've done well."
From the group, Barty Crouch Jr. stepped forward without a word.
"Barty Jr.?" Dumbledore's expression finally shifted at the sight of the young man.
He had been present at that trial—had seen Barty dragged away, then later read of his supposed death in Azkaban.
And yet, here he stood, alive and breathing.
How could this be?
Sirius, too, vaguely remembered the young man's wails echoing through Azkaban, and seeing him now struck him as utterly impossible.
The tide had turned. Offense and defense had switched hands.
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