Chapter 227
Albert stood in his place, surrounded by the darkness and gloom that engulfed the area, while before him stood Voldemort, who had returned to life once more. His pale face bore an expression of mockery mixed with contempt. Albert's features reflected an indescribable shock, as if time had stopped for a moment, while his mind tried to comprehend what was happening before him.
Voldemort smiled that cold smile he was famous for and began to move lightly left and right, his long black robe fluttering behind him like a dark shadow. He said in a tone full of sarcasm:
"Oh, look who has come to us on his own two feet! Isn't it Albert? The brave knight who faces the darkness? Come on, don't disappoint me! Draw your magic wand—isn't that what you always do? Or perhaps... have you grown tired of fighting children inside the maze?"
Voldemort continued his mockery, gesturing with his hands as if delivering a sermon to an audience.
"Oh, excuse me, perhaps I am being a bit harsh. Looking at your condition, it seems you have taken quite a beating. Wouldn't it be better if we cancelled this fight?"
But Voldemort's words weren't reaching Albert, who stood in a state of deep distraction. He heard nothing but an internal voice, a mixture of fear and determination, trying to devise a plan to escape this catastrophic situation. He only woke up from his shock when he heard Voldemort's tone turn to rage, his face clouded with fury:
"Do you dare to be silent before me? Do you dare to ignore me?!"
At that moment, Albert raised his wand hesitantly, knowing full well that his deteriorating physical condition would not allow him to engage in a long fight against the Dark Lord.
However, he also knew he had no choice but to confront him. He shouted as he cast the Disarming Charm, directing it toward Voldemort in an attempt to knock his wand away.
But Voldemort was ready. He raised his wand without hesitation and cast a powerful spell, and the two spells collided midway between them. Glowing magical sparks exploded in the air, and the thunderous sound of the collision filled the atmosphere. While the magic struggled in the middle of the distance between them, Voldemort continued to speak, as if the fight were nothing more than a game to him.
"Do you think you can stand against me, Albert? Look at yourself! You can barely stand on your feet. This is pathetic! Oh, do you know why I wanted to kill you when you were an infant? Even more than that Potter boy?"
Voldemort's tone grew sharper and angrier with every word, and he continued:
"It was because of your cursed mother! If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have lost part of my power on that fateful day!! She cast a mysterious spell on me that made me feel death itself, yet I survived somehow. But what puzzles me until now is... how did you survive my curse? I am certain I cast it upon you then! But no matter... that is over now. And now, Albert, it is time for you to die!"
Albert, who was exerting all his remaining strength to keep his spell active, felt his hands begin to tremble from exhaustion. His vision was becoming blurrier with every passing second, and the wounds covering his body were bleeding profusely. He knew very well that he wouldn't be able to hold out for long, and that a direct confrontation with Voldemort in this state would be suicide.
But at that moment, a solution flashed in his mind. If he couldn't defeat Voldemort, perhaps he could use the Dark Lord's ego and anger against him. He decided to provoke him, to make him commit a mistake that could grant him a chance to escape.
Albert began to change his strategy. He started casting different spells randomly, one after another, without giving Voldemort a chance to catch his breath. These spells weren't strong enough to cause significant damage, but they were enough to occupy and distract him.
Albert shouted in a defiant voice, despite the pain he was suffering:
"Is this all you have, Voldemort? All this power, all this evil, and you can't even defeat someone like me in this state? You, who say you will rule the world and keep only the pure-bloods, yet you yourself are nothing but a half-blood!!"
Voldemort flew into a rage at Albert's words. It was clear that his pride would not allow him to ignore this challenge. In a moment of fury, Voldemort screamed and cast a devastating spell, but it missed its target by a narrow margin due to his impulsiveness.
Albert seized that moment to perform a quick Apparition, using the last of his energy to move away from Voldemort.
On the other side of the maze, where the stands were filled with students and spectators waiting impatiently for the end of the tournament, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
In a prominent corner of the stands, Harry Potter sat beside Ron and Hermione. Behind them were Dumbledore, Hagrid, McGonagall, and Minister Cornelius Fudge, all following the event in a silence tinged with anxiety.
In those moments, Harry began to feel something strange happening to him. A sharp pain began to throb from the scar on his forehead, as if it were burning. He placed his hand on his head, feeling dizzy for a moment, and then mysterious visions began to take hold of his mind. He saw blurred images of Albert standing in a deadly confrontation with another person—it wasn't hard to recognize him: Voldemort. The images came and went quickly, like flashes of a fragmented dream, but he managed to distinguish some details. He saw Voldemort casting powerful spells, Albert struggling to stay on his feet, and darkness surrounding them both.
"Ah!" Harry cried out softly, drawing the attention of Ron and Hermione beside him. The two looked at him with concern as his features shifted between fear and shock.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked quickly, but she received no answer. Harry was still submerged in the visions he couldn't control.
Dumbledore noticed the strangeness in Harry's behavior. He approached him calmly and asked in a deep tone full of concern: "What is happening, Harry? Do you feel something?"
Harry suddenly stood up from his seat, gesturing with his hands, and said in a trembling voice: "Albert is in danger! I am sure of it!"
This statement shocked everyone around him. Ron and Hermione looked at each other in astonishment, while Fudge raised his eyebrows, wondering if Harry had lost his mind. As for Dumbledore, he stared at Harry with a sharp, questioning gaze, trying to analyze the situation.
Dumbledore approached him further and asked: "How do you know this, Harry? Who told you?"
Harry tried to calm himself a little, then spoke slowly, trying to explain what he was feeling: "It's the scar, Professor. Since the beginning of this year, I've felt that there is a link between me and—You-Know-Who. Sometimes... I can see what he's doing, as if I'm seeing the world through his eyes."
Silence reigned for a moment, then Dumbledore looked deep into Harry's eyes. What Harry was saying carried logic, especially since Dumbledore knew the nature of Harry's connection to Voldemort through the scar and the curse that bound them. Dumbledore began to feel genuine alarm. If Harry's visions were correct, Albert's life was in real danger.
Dumbledore signaled to Professor McGonagall, who was standing a few seats away, and said in a calm but firm voice: "McGonagall, make sure everyone clears the area immediately. There is a serious matter we must deal with."
McGonagall stepped forward, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing further explanation, and began directing the attendees to leave the stands quietly to avoid chaos.
As the stands were gradually cleared, Dumbledore turned to Harry and said: "If you are right, Harry, this means Voldemort has returned... and Albert is now in a confrontation we cannot easily intervene in. We must move cautiously."
Harry looked at Dumbledore, his eyes filled with worry and fear, but he said firmly: "We must do something, Professor. We can't leave him alone there!"
Dumbledore replied, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder to calm him: "I know that, Harry, but we need a plan. We cannot take risks without knowing their location and what they are facing."
At that moment, the sound of the cold wind carried with it a sense of impending danger, as if everything around them was whispering that the darkness had begun to spread once again.
Albert stood with a shaky stance, his breathing accelerating, his body exhausted, but his eyes shone with a faint determination. Before him, Voldemort stood tall, his shadow dancing with the dim light of the flames, his eyes burning with overwhelming hatred. Voldemort saw the hesitation in Albert's stance and thought for a moment he had broken his spirit. He smiled mockingly and said loudly, deliberately filling the space with his voice:
"The boy Albert! Have you begun to feel my greatness?! Come on, is this all you have?! Where is your courage now? Did you expect to defeat me?!"
But instead of showing any sign of surrender, Albert suddenly turned toward him and spoke in a loud voice, full of hatred and defiance:
"Be silent, Tom! Yes, Tom! Because you are nothing but a ridiculous name. Do you really think you will rule the world when you are the son of a half-blood?! You, who support pure-bloods, but you yourself are a stain on your own ideas! You are a living curse, contradicting everything you claim to believe in!"
For a moment, silence hung over the place. A fleeting shock crossed Voldemort's face before turning into a dominant rage. Albert's words seemed to pierce his deep psychological defenses—those truths he had tried to bury all his life. Voldemort could not control himself; he screamed insanely, his voice echoing in the place like the roar of a monster:
"Die, you wretch!! Die now!!"
Voldemort began firing killing curses randomly and successively. Beams of black magic flew in every direction; some hit the ground, causing small explosions, and some cut through the air toward Albert, who was barely fending them off.
Albert, despite his physical and mental weakness, exploited this irrational anger to his advantage. He knew that Voldemort, in his fits of rage, could make mistakes. He began to move nimbly toward the object of his plan: the Triwizard Cup, which was glowing with a cold blue light amidst the darkness.
But the path was not easy. Voldemort continued using lethal magical spells like the "Plague" curse, which spread deadly toxic clouds, and the "Cleaving" curse, which created huge tears in the ground, trying to drop Albert into an endless abyss. Despite this, Albert dodged them with difficulty, and every step toward the Cup took everything he had left of his energy.
In a moment of ultimate fury, Voldemort paused briefly, raised his wand high, and shouted in a decisive voice:
"Avada Kedavra!"
A brilliant green beam shot out at lightning speed, heading toward Albert. It was the powerful and lethal beam—the curse that no other spell could counter. Albert saw the beam heading toward him, but he knew his exhausted body and weary mind could not perform Apparition, which was the only means of escape. However, he did not give up.
He quickly turned his gaze to the Triwizard Cup, which was only a few steps away. He gathered all his remaining strength and lunged forward, ignoring the pain in his body and the blurred vision hindering his focus. He reached his trembling hand toward the Cup, and exactly at the moment the green beam was about to touch him, his hand touched the Cup.
At that moment, the Triwizard Cup lit up with a magical blue light, and Albert's body began to vanish into the air, pulling the remains of the blue light with it. The beam of the Avada Kedavra curse hit the ground behind him, causing a thunderous explosion, but Albert had already disappeared.
Voldemort was left in the middle of the darkness, screaming in anger and defeat. Albert, despite his wretched state, had managed to achieve his plan and escape the clutches of death.
When Albert opened his eyes after the transition, he found himself standing on the ground of the starting platform, amidst the cheers of the stands and cries of surprise. His blood covered his face and hands, and prominent wounds appeared on his forehead and hands—but he was alive. He looked up and saw Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore rushing toward him. He could not speak, but he knew he had escaped death.
To be continued...