The only problem was that the subject chosen for the product demonstration was a bit too hardcore.
Ordinary people basically couldn't use him. It might even produce the opposite effect.
Fortunately, the person responsible for the demonstration was just as hardcore.
In fact, even more so.
"How much longer?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"What do you mean, how much longer?" Morin replied, feigning ignorance.
"I can see it," Dumbledore said plainly. "There have already been at least three chances to end the battle. Gellert would never miss all of them unless he chose to."
He paused.
"So there's only one explanation. What end time did you agree on?"
"Naturally," Morin said, gesturing toward the field, "after demonstrating all the functions of the new wand."
Dumbledore frowned.
"All the functions?"
"Otherwise, wouldn't that be a waste?"
"A waste?" Dumbledore looked genuinely puzzled.
Are you the kind of person who can tolerate loss?
But he already knew Morin well enough to expect the explanation that followed.
And as expected, it was strange.
And disturbingly convincing.
"Of course it's a waste," Morin said righteously. "How many pieces can Voldemort split himself into? Experimental subjects like him are rare. Use one, and you have one less."
He spread his hands.
"So why wouldn't we make full use of him before disposing of him?"
Dumbledore nodded out of habit.
Then stopped.
A waste, my foot.
If Voldemort knew he was being treated like a limited-edition test subject, he'd probably crawl back from death just to kill you.
Fortunately, Dumbledore could still distinguish priorities.
And more importantly-
He was already part of Morin's plan.
"If this continues, they'll run out of magic," Dumbledore said.
As one of the most powerful wizards alive, he could clearly sense the remaining magical density over the Quidditch pitch.
Normally, magic would replenish naturally from the surroundings.
But Morin's "Vacuum" barrier had isolated a semicircular zone completely.
"Voldemort is using Quirrell's body," Morin said calmly. "His consumption is naturally higher than Mr. Grindelwald's."
He shook his head.
"On top of that, several of his spells were blocked directly by the wand, consuming almost no mana. His reserves were limited to begin with, and he's spending them recklessly."
"By the time Voldemort runs dry, Mr. Grindelwald will still have some left."
Dumbledore sighed.
"I have the distinct feeling you're planning something Voldemort would strongly object to."
"You'd be right," Morin nodded. "There's one final function left to demonstrate."
"Sss-" Dumbledore drew a sharp breath. "Can Gellert handle it?"
Morin glanced toward the field.
"Just look at Professor Quirrell's condition," he said. "Beating up a disabled opponent, under my guidance."
He shrugged.
"The only thing Mr. Grindelwald needs to think about is how to do it with style."
Below, Voldemort was indeed cornered.
It wasn't that he hadn't thought about retreating.
It was that Grindelwald wouldn't let him.
Every attempt to disengage was interrupted by another spell.
He briefly considered abandoning the body and fleeing in soul form-
Then noticed the transparent "Vacuum."
That explained why spells vanished instead of exploding.
With that thing in place...
Could he even escape?
Damn it.
How did they find me?
And that cursed wand-
In Voldemort's view, without its absurd functions, he would have had the advantage.
And this body-
His resentment deepened.
Spells poured from his wand faster and faster.
But no matter how many he cast, he was still only one person.
Grindelwald could handle that effortlessly.
Especially now.
Simple.
For Grindelwald, at least.
For the watching students-and even most professors-this barrage would have meant betting on which spell killed them first.
"How did you know?" Voldemort roared.
He could feel his magic dwindling.
"It was obvious," Grindelwald replied calmly. "Too many inconsistencies."
"Gringotts was robbed. Only a handful of people could leave unscathed. At the time, the only worthwhile target was the Sorcerer's Stone."
"So we narrowed it down. Who had the strength, and who needed it."
He continued smoothly.
"Then we placed the stone and waited."
"All guesses."
"But correct ones."
"From the moment you approached that place, we noticed you. Everything afterward was preparation."
"For today."
"To defeat Voldemort."
"Or one fragment of him."
"What are you talking about?" Voldemort said coldly.
"Soul-splitting magic," Grindelwald said lightly. "Quite ruthless."
"I know you'll return."
"But it won't be this you."
As he spoke, his wand began to change.
It grew.
Thicker.
Longer.
Harder.
Until it reached eyebrow height.
Only then did everyone notice-
It wasn't tapered.
It was evenly thick from end to end.
It no longer looked like a wand.
It looked like a staff.
Under the sun, the metal bands at both ends gleamed brilliantly.
After the earlier demonstrations, nearly every student had developed an intense interest in the weapon.
A multi-purpose wand was far more appealing than a single-function one.
So they wondered.
What were those metal bands for?
Decoration?
They found out soon enough.
"What are you doing?" Voldemort stepped back.
Having his greatest secret exposed was one thing.
Seeing Grindelwald pull out a staff was another.
"You're almost out of magic," Grindelwald said, spinning the staff once and nodding in satisfaction.
"I still have some."
"But I won't use it."
He raised the staff.
"I've decided to demonstrate an extreme combat scenario for my future students."
"When both sides are out of magic."
"And recovery takes time."
At that moment, many students wanted to turn and look at Morin.
They couldn't move.
But they'd all attended his classes.
They knew what this meant.
No.
It can't be.
"Watch closely," Morin's voice echoed across the pitch. "The future Professor Wardling is about to demonstrate a very practical technique."
"Assume both sides have no magic."
"If your wand can transform like this..."
"And you've trained accordingly..."
"You can beat him."
"With a stick."
The stadium wanted to erupt.
It couldn't.
That didn't stop the shock.
That was Voldemort.
The Dark Lord.
The name that terrified the wizarding world.
And he was-
About to be beaten?
The thought thrilled them.
Then scared them.
When did they become this bold?
"When people see the thing they fear most being beaten," Morin said calmly, "it's hard for fear to survive."
"That's useful for our plan."
"I think you just want to sell wands," Dumbledore said flatly.
"If you insist," Morin nodded. "I call it efficiency."
"No one has ever treated me like this!" Voldemort screamed.
"I recall Albus setting a cabinet on fire in front of you," Grindelwald said mildly. "That may have frightened you."
"But it clearly wasn't enough."
"So today, I'll teach you properly."
He stepped forward.
The staff swept horizontally.
It looked ridiculous.
Completely out of place.
But-
Voldemort froze.
This wasn't how duels worked.
Spells.
Distance.
Dodging.
Who charges with a stick?
"Impedimenta!" Voldemort shouted, choosing a low-cost spell.
The staff glowed.
The same spell emerged.
They collided.
Bounced off.
"If you don't use magic, I won't," Grindelwald laughed. "If you do, I respond."
The staff didn't slow.
Quirrell tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The staff struck his head.
A sharp crack echoed.
Quirrell collapsed.
"Get up! Get up!" Voldemort screamed, trying to force control.
No response.
Quirrell was unconscious.
This was the core problem.
Voldemort's physical body was weak.
His control lagged.
Against Grindelwald-
Someone who could duel Dumbledore-
It was hopeless.
Seeing the staff rise again, Voldemort abandoned the body.
Black mist erupted.
His face twisted as he fled.
Grindelwald didn't pursue.
He examined the staff instead.
"The metal bands do improve durability," he mused. "Much harder to crack."
Students groaned inwardly.
That's a wand?
Then what are we holding?
Twigs?
So the bands were reinforcement?
Just how hard did you want to hit people?
Morin's earlier legal anecdotes resurfaced in their minds.
It... actually sounded effective.
Magic-saving.
Versatile.
And honestly-
Hitting someone must feel great.
"Is this really appropriate?" Dumbledore asked.
"Just guidance," Morin said casually. "I didn't alter their memories."
He whistled.
"In mental magic, you surpass me," Dumbledore said. "So tell me-how old are you, really?"
"It's rude to ask a lady's age."
"You're a lady?"
"No. But equality applies both ways."
"...A hundred?"
Morin coughed.
"No."
"Less?"
"Definitely under a hundred," Morin said confidently. "At most... forty."
Dumbledore nodded.
"That sounds right."
He raised his wand toward the fleeing Voldemort.
"I'll finish this."
"Please," Morin gestured. "Be my guest."
The kill didn't matter to him.
The goal had already been achieved.
The reputation of the new wand-
No.
The new staff-
Had been beaten into existence.