The battle in the depths of the Chamber lasted barely a heartbeat.
Voldemort, even in his prime, was no true match for Dumbledore in a direct clash. Now, facing the Headmaster alongside Damon—a master of spells and transfiguration whose destructive precision was terrifying—the Dark Lord's chances dwindled to nothing.
As Fiendfyre roared against the Phoenix Flame, the underground chamber itself seemed to awaken. Countless blades of light sliced toward Voldemort, while Damon stirred the chaotic magic of the Chamber and even the castle above.
Hogwarts already possessed ancient wards that blocked Apparition. Those barriers, weakened by the twin layers of the Supreme Flame, now quaked under Damon's interference, twisting the unstable magic further. For the moment, not even Voldemort could Apparate away.
A cruel joke of fate—two overwhelming powers against one. If Voldemort escaped now due to mere carelessness, his dreaded aura would be forever diminished.
Sensing Damon's intervention, Dumbledore's eyes brightened with relief. Voldemort, breaking free of the fiery chains with a blazing shield, only grew darker and more grim.
"Do you think I would flee?" His tone dripped with venom, though the thought had indeed crossed his mind.
"This vessel is failing. Do you believe you can kill me? I am immortal!" His voice rose to a roar. "It is you who will die!"
With a vicious sweep of his wand, the Fiendfyre writhed and twisted, shaping itself into colossal serpents that lunged against the Phoenix Flame, striking toward Damon. At the same instant, a flash of green death lanced from Voldemort's wand—so swift none could react in time.
Dumbledore transfigured instinctively, erecting a defense—but Damon was already faster. Their spells overlapped dangerously. Two wizards casting transfiguration on the same object was perilous; power could clash, the spell collapse.
Damon's thoughts raced. Dumbledore can block him. There's no need for both of us to risk it. One defends, the other strikes.
"Professor," Damon's voice cut sharp through the chaos. "I leave defense to you."
Ceasing his transfiguration, he lifted his wand. Blinding spears of white light materialized—not one, but a storm, bursting into existence around him.
"Sagitta Divinus—Pluvia."
Dumbledore instantly grasped Damon's intent, focusing fully on countering the Killing Curse and breaking Voldemort's shields.
Three radiant spears detonated forward, smashing into the Fiendfyre serpent. Their sheer kinetic force flung the beast back, one crimson spear dissolving the cursed flames entirely. Fiendfyre—destroyed, even if only in part.
All three combatants felt the impossibility of it, but none had time to wonder. Voldemort had studied this very magic during his exile, obsessed with countering it after Quirrell's failure.
The ground split open, birthing waves of serpents that leapt upward, devouring and exploding against the divine spears. After three volleys, only a single spear's remnant force remained—yet it struck true.
The light pierced Voldemort's shoulder. His body ruptured, half torn apart. The other spears had been stopped, but this one alone had defied his defenses.
Why? His mind reeled. It isn't the Killing Curse—why can it ignore my shield?
Vitality drained rapidly. His grip on Lockhart's body slipped; consciousness frayed. Lockhart would soon awaken.
"Damon White—do not think this is victory! I am immortal! When the Dark Lord returns again, it will be during your fourth year!"
Blood poured from the serpent-like eyes, igniting into blue flame the instant it touched air. Voldemort's host-body erupted, blazing brighter even than the eternal Phoenix Fire.
"Then let us die together!"
Boom!
The Chamber exploded.
"Damon, together!"
Dumbledore's wand slammed to the stone. Damon summoned the hundred spears that still orbited him, fusing them into a single Demon-Breaking Lance, bracing against the inferno. He drove his wand into the ground.
"Finite!"
"Finite!"
Two voices, two wills, unleashing the ultimate undoing charm. Their combined magic eclipsed even the Killing Curse in might.
Under their command, the Fiendfyre surged upward, a pillar of fire that tore into the heavens. It harmed no one. And at last, it died.
The chamber fell silent.
Moments later, the two figures rose into the night sky, their breaths easing only when no trace of Fiendfyre remained. They met each other's gaze—silent, weary smiles passing between them.
But all of Hogsmeade had seen the twin pillars of flame. The truth was undeniable. Word spread like wildfire across Britain, even into distant wizarding lands. Those who remembered Dumbledore's past duels trembled—none wished to relive that age.
And just as Dumbledore and Damon intended, they had created an event impossible to ignore—though it had spiraled far beyond their plan.
Before the storm gathered outside, an old wizard and a young one sat quietly within Dumbledore's office, sipping lemon tea as if the world beyond did not exist.
"What do we do now? This has turned into a disaster," Damon murmured, sipping calmly, eyes steady.
Dumbledore drank as well, worry flickering across his face, yet mingled with relief. After this three-way battle, he had glimpsed Damon's true nature: far more magnanimous and powerful than expected. The boy would never walk Voldemort's path.
And as for guiding Damon's choices? Dumbledore was not dead yet. Time remained.
"Before we discuss the future," the old man said softly, his gaze heavy with guilt, "I must apologize to you."
Damon raised a brow.
"As Tom said, I did not fully trust you at the beginning. I tested you—harshly, unfairly. It was wrong. Perhaps it sounds like an excuse, but you deserve to know why."
The fire
crackled softly between them, shadows dancing on the office walls.
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(End of Chapter)