"So Snape isn't the one either?"
"No." Hermione shook her head, her expression strange. "I saw... never mind."
"What did you see?" Harry asked, confused.
"Enough to prove he isn't a bad person," Hermione said, shaking her head again. "But I promised Professor Morin I wouldn't talk about it."
She paused.
"What about Professor Quirrell?"
"It's him," Harry said quietly. "But Professor Morin already has a plan. On the day of the duel, they'll strike together."
"That's the day after tomorrow," Hermione gasped.
"Yes..." Harry lowered his voice further. "Professor Morin said we need to be fully prepared. Mr. Wardling was brought in specially by him and Dumbledore. He's an expert at fighting Dark Magic."
"What?" Hermione froze. "Is Professor Quirrell's Dark Magic really that strong?"
"Quirrell's might not be," Harry said. "But Voldemort's definitely is."
His voice dropped to almost nothing.
"Voldemort is attached to the back of Quirrell's head."
Hermione: "!!!"
"How did you escape?" she asked instinctively, then quickly glanced around. "Where's Ron? Where did he go?"
"Professor Morin rescued us," Harry said awkwardly. "Otherwise, we would've been caught."
"As for Ron... he's feeling a bit unwell."
"...Alright." Hermione didn't press further. "Just remember to tell him not to talk about this."
She hesitated.
"So... there's nothing we can do now?"
Her tone inevitably carried some disappointment.
"Not exactly," Harry sighed, then explained what Morin had said about there being many Voldemorts.
"That's good news then!" Hermione said immediately.
Harry blinked.
Because she wasn't from a pure-blood wizarding family-both her parents were ordinary people-Hermione didn't carry the instinctive fear of Voldemort that wizard-born children did.
Her mindset was simple.
He's powerful. I'll deal with him later.
After everything she'd learned recently, her confidence was at an all-time high.
...
"Who do you think will win?"
"Obviously the new Mr. Wardling!"
"I've never seen a worse professor than Professor Quirrell."
"No," Morin muttered as he overheard them, "you'll see worse next year."
He paused.
"...Wait, maybe not. If Grindelwald stays, both positions are filled. Lockhart might not get a chance."
At this moment, everyone was taking their seats at the Quidditch pitch.
Nearly the entire school had come.
This time, it wasn't for Quidditch.
It was for a duel.
Since Voldemort's disappearance, large-scale conflict in the wizarding world had dwindled. Formal duels-especially ones of this scale-were practically unheard of.
The last one people still spoke about was the legendary duel between Grindelwald and Dumbledore.
Only a handful knew the truth.
That duel had never been to the death.
The outcome had been decided long before it began.
But today was different.
If everything went according to plan-
This would be the first Dark Lord versus the second.
Something truly worth watching.
Morin had already set up his camera.
Fortunately, cameras existed in this era. Wizarding ones too.
If anyone asked, he could always say it was a special device crafted by a master using rare materials and unique magic.
The Quidditch hoops and equipment had been cleared away.
Professors were scattered throughout the stands, positioned deliberately.
Their task was simple.
Protect the students.
Of course, even if they failed, it wouldn't matter.
Morin alone could shield everyone present.
Dumbledore stood at the center of the pitch as arbiter.
In the current wizarding world, no one was more qualified.
Prestige. Reputation. Perceived strength.
All unmatched.
Professor Quirrell-Voldemort-stood at one end of the field.
His face was dark.
Morin deliberately avoided using telepathy on him. No need to alert him.
Still, Voldemort's thoughts were easy to guess.
For days, he'd tried to reach the Sorcerer's Stone.
Every attempt ended the same way.
Snape.
Pacing.
Even when Voldemort used magic to lure him away, it was pointless. More protective spells had been added to the door.
Breaking them required time.
Time Snape wouldn't give him.
Voldemort had considered revealing his identity to turn Snape.
But success was uncertain.
If Snape turned on him-even silently-Voldemort, bound to Quirrell's body, couldn't be sure of victory.
Forced possession was costly.
Maintaining it drained him constantly.
And Snape was far stronger than Quirrell.
After long consideration, Voldemort chose caution.
Even if he lost the duel, he could stay at Hogwarts longer.
That meant time.
Time to try again.
Time to contact former followers.
I cannot win, Voldemort thought. I must lose.
Winning would contradict everything he had shown so far.
That was why he sensed nothing wrong.
When Harry and Ron entered his office earlier, Morin had masked them completely. None of Voldemort's traps reacted.
His senses were dulled by possession.
Missing it was natural.
Dumbledore's performance was flawless as well.
On the day the duel invitation arrived, Dumbledore summoned Quirrell, comforted him for half a day, and advised him to withdraw.
Voldemort refused.
He insisted that while he stuttered, he possessed combat ability. If he backed down from a formal duel, how could he continue teaching at Hogwarts?
So he accepted.
Then, two days later, Dumbledore summoned him again.
More pleasantries.
Then a request.
Hogwarts professors rarely displayed real combat for students.
A duel was a matter of honor.
Both sides would fight seriously.
Since both were qualified to teach, they must possess sufficient strength.
It would be a shame for students to miss such a spectacle.
Therefore-
The students would attend.
At that point, Voldemort couldn't refuse.
And he had his own plan.
Hostages.
If needed.
If not, fine.
But if exposed-
He could threaten the students.
Based on Voldemort's understanding of Dumbledore, the Headmaster would let him go.
Of course, if Dumbledore knew his identity, he would never allow this.
Which meant-
The disguise was perfect.
The more Voldemort thought, the more confident he became.
Even Dumbledore couldn't stop him from killing an unarmed student at that distance.
That false confidence led him further astray.
At the opposite end of the pitch stood a man in his thirties.
Shoulder-length hair.
Heavy eyeshadow.
A rebellious, dangerous charm.
Students watching through binoculars quickly noticed him.
Even from afar, he felt charismatic.
"Strange outfit, but it works."
"He's not handsome like Professor Morin-he's mature-handsome."
"I still think Professor Morin's the best."
"Both are good!"
"If he wins, does that mean both Defense professors are handsome?"
"Did you want Quirrell to win? Haven't you smelled enough garlic?"
"Anyone normal is fine!"
The trend became one-sided very quickly.
It wasn't surprising.
One stuttered, smelled of garlic, read from textbooks, and acted strangely.
The other looked normal.
And handsome.
First impressions mattered.
And Quirrell's was terrible.
"Silence."
Dumbledore rose.
A purple firework exploded above the pitch, amplifying his voice across the stands.
The students quieted immediately.
"This duel is conducted under my arbitration," Dumbledore announced.
"The challenger is Mr. Wardling Grees."
"The respondent is the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor-Professor Quirrell."
"The winner shall hold the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"No restrictions on spells."
"No restriction on duration."
"The battlefield is limited to the Quidditch pitch."
"Lethal means are permitted."
"The duel continues until surrender."
"No assistants."
"Please confirm. If there are no objections, we will begin preparation."
The gravity of his words sank in.
Especially-
Lethal means permitted.
This was not a performance.
People could die.
That was intentional.
Dumbledore already knew Quirrell's identity.
With Grindelwald and Morin present, he wasn't worried.
This was a lesson.
The world was dangerous.
Even Hogwarts wouldn't always protect them.
After graduation, nothing would.
This was the only warning he could give.
Whether they listened-
That depended on them.
What other principal would arrange a duel between two Dark Lords to teach students a lesson?
History's best, without question.
The vast pitch fell silent.
Nearly a thousand eyes focused on two distant figures.
They were small from the stands.
Yet overwhelming.
Fortunately, both were used to creating scenes like this.
Attention meant nothing.
"Professor Morin..." Hermione whispered nervously. "Are you sure Mr. Wardling can beat Voldemort?"
"That's the Dark Lord..."
"Don't worry at all," Morin said quietly. "Try removing 'Grees' from his name and read it again."
"Wardling Grees... Wardling G... Grinde-"
Hermione's eyes widened.
"GRINDELWALD?!"
She nearly screamed.
Her body tried to jump up-
And froze.
The first Dark Lord.
Dumbledore's legendary rival.
The one who survived their duel.
"Shh."
Morin raised a finger.
"Now do you understand?"
"You knew from the beginning?" Hermione whispered, shaken. "Does Principal Dumbledore know?"
"He helped convince him," Morin said with a laugh.
Hermione's mind went completely blank.
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