The red lightning struck with unstoppable force.
In an instant, it shattered two layers of armor before being caught and dissolved by the third.
Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Sirius each consumed another.
Ginny and Ron burned through two more.
All nine wards—used up perfectly.
Yet John lifted his head in confusion, watching as his wand was blasted from his hand.
His gaze lowered slowly, falling on the vinewood wand raised against him.
And as his eyes traveled upward, he saw Hermione's panicked face.
The tenth strike—gentle, conflicted, the weakest of all—was a Disarming Charm.
But it was that very spell, slipping through the vanished wards, that struck John.
His eyes widened with disbelief.
The weakest spell of all had dealt a wound deeper than lightning.
For a few stunned seconds he stood frozen. Then he erupted.
Throwing his head back, John let out a roar as black magic surged from his body.
Without his wand as a conduit, the power of the Holy Grail surged and swallowed John in an instant.
Blinding colors crashed down, and the black magic cloaking him burst apart like smoke ripped open.
The crushing pressure blasted everyone off their feet, save for Dumbledore.
Black smoke and raw magic writhed and devoured each other. John's eyes turned pitch black, his face splintered with cracks like shattered porcelain.
He forced out the words with difficulty. "You've ...made your choice, Hermione."
Dazed and trembling, Hermione lifted her head and saw what John had become.
The brilliant witch's face had never before shown such confusion, panic, and helplessness.
John stepped toward Harry, who was still reeling from the soul surgery.
Voldemort's fragment had been with Harry since he was a year old, and after more than a decade, its removal left him weakened and frail.
John raised his hand, and black mist wrapped around Harry. His voice was low and heavy. "Our deal ..is complete."
He turned his gaze on Dumbledore. "I've destroyed ..your savior. That is ..my revenge."
He tossed Harry toward him. Dumbledore quickly cast a cushioning charm to catch him.
Sirius scrambled up and rushed over, but when he reached Harry, he saw Dumbledore frozen.
Following Dumbledore's line of sight, Sirius's eyes fell on Harry's forehead.
The scar was gone.
Countless tales about Harry Potter had always revolved around one feature.
The lightning-shaped scar.
And now, John had torn out Voldemort's soul.
The lightning scar healed—signaling the end of the so-called savior.
John had destroyed what Dumbledore had spent over a decade cultivating: the boy who was meant to save the world.
John swept his hand, blasting away the statue pinning Kim beneath it with a surge of black mist.
Another wave of darkness rolled out, gathering every member of the Constellation Society to John's side.
He looked at Dumbledore, his voice cold. "I told you—I would never become what you wanted me to be."
After a full year of planning, John made it clear to everyone.
The savior of the Wizarding world?
Nothing but a joke.
His words left Dumbledore speechless.
Once, that student had stood before him, declaring he would kill Voldemort.
And now—he had.
John locked eyes with Dumbledore, cold and unyielding. In those pitch-black pupils, the old man saw his own reflection.
Voldemort had been right. His mistrust had killed the John Wick who once belonged to Hogwarts.
"Accio," John raised his hand, calling for his wand.
But nothing answered.
"A marvelous power, Albus."
The voice was aged, yet refined, dripping with a languid nobility, tinged with the warmth of old reminiscence.
John's wand was in the hand of an old man.
Though he hadn't seen the sun in ages, his unusual aura could not be concealed.
Both Dumbledore and John saw him—and in fact, so did everyone present.
An old man, as ancient as Dumbledore himself, stood there with John's wand in hand. No one knew when he had arrived.
But all could see, he stood right beside Voldemort's lifeless body.
"You truly are a remarkable wizard. You were before, you are now, and you always will be."
The old man spoke to John as though they had once been long acquainted.
And as his gaze drifted to the Holy Grail floating in the air, fascination lit his eyes. "I must admit—in magic, you possess a gift that surpasses all others."
"Accio Grail." With a flick of his wand, the Holy Grail plummeted from the sky.
John reacted instantly, casting a Summoning Charm to seize it.
At the bottom of the cup's inner wall, the red Philosopher's Stone glowed faintly, its brilliance turning the golden essence inside into liquid—an unimaginable reservoir of magic.
The combined power of time and the Stone granted rejuvenation.
The old man's goal was not the Grail itself, but the liquid within.
As the golden liquid streamed down, he caught it and drank.
"Gulp.. gulp.."
He didn't drink much, but it was enough to shed the frailty of age—his body reverted to the prime of that long-ago battle.
"Ahh~"
Heterochromatic eyes gleamed with a sinister charm, set in a face both handsome and menacing.
Dumbledore's voice trembled, disbelief etched across his features. "How can it be… Gellert Grindelwald?"
The man tilted his head and gave a wicked smile. "One person changed little Tom's mind. His insecurity made him feel he needed an ally."
And clearly, there was no greater ally than the Dark Lord who came before.
Gellert Grindelwald—vanished since the great battle of 1945, the First Dark Lord.
While Dumbledore had been preoccupied with Azkaban, Voldemort had gone elsewhere.
Nurmengard.
There, Grindelwald had been freed, striking a bargain with the Dark Lord.
He had always been waiting—or rather, waiting for this very moment.
Grindelwald addressed Dumbledore. "Perhaps we do need some time to catch up. But now isn't exactly the right occasion, so…"
"Expelliarmus."
Caught off guard, Dumbledore's wand flew from his grasp straight into Grindelwald's hand.
Holding the long-lost wand, Grindelwald showed no joy, no sentimentality.
"John, you're an outstanding alchemist," Grindelwald said, turning his gaze toward him.
"But your obsession with certain things… has made you weaker."
With that, Grindelwald, without hesitation, snapped the red oak wand in his hand.
John's expression twisted in fury. "Stop—!"
From the broken wand burst forth a soul.
Unlike before, this one was far stronger.
Voldemort devoured several more of his own fragments.
The moment he emerged, he glanced briefly at Grindelwald before preparing to dive back into his body.
John became a swirl of black mist, Silverhand's sword flashing as he appeared in front of Voldemort in an instant.
Grindelwald, unhurried, flicked his wand toward the Holy Grail, casting a shattering curse.
Save the Grail?
Kill Voldemort?
The thought split John in two, and in that instant he let out a furious roar.
His entire plan was thrown into chaos.
The souls sealed within the Grail were the true key.
So he chose to save the Grail.
Voldemort could be killed another day.
John could only watch, helpless, as the soul he had fought so hard to extract slipped back into its vessel.
Voldemort's eyes opened once more, his heart resumed its beat.
But this time, he was more complete than before.
The split fragments of soul had been drawn back into him.
Conflicting thoughts collided within, and after a brief moment of assimilation, his eyes returned to those crimson slit pupils.
"That feeling… it has been too long." Voldemort's cold, high-pitched voice rang out.
His strange gaze flickered, first locking on Grindelwald, then shifting to the Holy Grail.
The Grail that could restore youth, grant immortality.
Greed spread across his face.
His eyes swept over the battlefield—the Death Eaters erupted in wild cheers.
Across from them, the Order of the Phoenix looked stricken, like mourners at a funeral.
Voldemort had returned to life.
And now, a second figure had emerged.
Voldemort and Grindelwald.
Dark Lord and Dark Lord.
Dumbledore raised Harry's wand.
How could one possibly stop such a pair?
John shielded the Grail, his eyes sweeping over that pair.
Two figures descended from the sky, hovering at his side—Basil and Riddle.
Clutching the Grail tightly, John's silver hand now held only a single super magic crystal.
And across from him stood two Dark Lords.
It seemed they were all about to be crushed in one fell swoop.
The three sides fell into silence.
Voldemort's voice dripped with pleasure and chill. "Now, your time of death has come."
The two Dark Lords would never truly cooperate.
But for the moment, removing the greatest threat first was not a bad option.
Once again, the roles of offense and defense reversed.
The Death Eaters began to move as well, closing in on their side.
Dumbledore ordered the others to ready themselves.
The lifts clattered repeatedly—it was more Death Eaters.
Kingsley's fate was unknown—it was Grindelwald who had released them.
This flood of Death Eaters, pouring out in full force… Voldemort could even seize the Ministry of Magic in one stroke.
"John?" Malfoy looked to him for an answer.
"It was all so perfect," John muttered to himself.
He lifted his gaze toward the Order of the Phoenix, the black mist around him beginning to recede.
Fixing his eyes on that overwhelming power, he sighed, his voice cold and resolute: "Then let's kill them again."
Blue fire flared within the fireplace.
Behind John, Fleur tore the necklace from her neck and handed it to him.
"What makes you think you can stand against me?" John's voice cut through the air.
The Authority of Dominion shattered.
Tommy was the first to step out of the fireplace.
From afar, he bowed low in John's direction.
One after another, fully armed security teams marched out of the flames.
Once again the fireplaces roared to life, and dozens of Aurors and Hit Wizards stepped out.
Barty Crouch Sr. arrived, and at the sight before him couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath.
Tommy bowed respectfully. "My lord, we'll always be at your side."
John raised both hands, tilting his head slightly. "Do you like the gift I prepared for you?"
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Nearly a hundred beams of light shot out from behind him, raining down on the Death Eaters like a storm.
Dark Lord?
White Lord?
Who wasn't a king here?
________
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