Chapter 265
At that thought, Lord Voldemort's pale fingers tightened into a fist. His fingertips rubbed together with a faint, grating sound. His gaze dropped briefly to Peter Pettigrew, who was still writhing in pain at his feet.
The one who had ruined everything… would pay.
Terribly.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Because—
Albus Dumbledore moved.
The tall, thin old man had already evaded a Killing Curse. In the next instant, his wand rose, pointing toward Voldemort.
Voldemort reacted immediately. The earth beneath the graveyard surged upward, forming a solid wall in front of him—an instinctive defense.
But Dumbledore's target… wasn't him.
Branches lashed out from a nearby ancient tree, striking several Death Eaters before they could react. They collapsed instantly, unconscious.
At the same time, those standing closer to the tombstones were bound by invisible cords—ropes that tightened without warning, dragging them off balance and throwing them to the ground. They struggled uselessly, tangled together, unable to rise.
"Oh?" Voldemort's lips curled. "So you've cleared the field. Excellent. I've been waiting to face you properly."
His voice turned sharper, colder.
"I wonder… have you grown weaker in these past ten years? Death must be creeping closer, isn't it?"
It was almost mocking.
Moments ago, he had called them "family."
Now they were nothing more than obstacles.
"Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, "I once believed that losing everything might give you time to reflect… to change."
A brief pause.
"It seems I was mistaken."
"And you speak of death…" His voice softened slightly. "It may be too late to matter—but I will still say this. Death… is but the next great adventure."
"Repent?" Voldemort let out a cold laugh. "I may have fallen. Lost my body. Been brought to the brink of destruction by a boy's luck…"
His tone hardened.
"But I learned nothing of your so-called compassion."
"In the forests of Albania, I learned only one thing—survival of the fittest."
Then, almost deliberately—
"Teacher."
The word fell from his lips.
Harsh.
Bitter.
"Since you speak of adventure…" Voldemort continued darkly, "then allow me to send you on that journey today."
With a flick of his wand—
The earth before him twisted and rose again, reshaping into a massive serpent of sand. Its form coiled and stretched, its tongue flickering as though alive.
Voldemort tilted his head slightly.
The sand serpent mirrored the motion.
Nagini was nowhere to be seen.
With a sharp upward motion of his wand—
The serpent lunged.
It surged toward Dumbledore, enormous and violent, ready to crush and devour.
Dumbledore did not move from where he stood.
He raised his wand quietly, murmuring a spell.
The air shifted.
Cool.
Damp.
The serpent faltered mid-motion. Its speed dropped abruptly, as if unseen hands had seized it and slowed its very existence.
Voldemort's eyes flashed.
With a sharp gesture—
Flames appeared.
Thin, writhing fire-serpents slithered across the sand creature's body, hissing and burning. Steam rose as moisture evaporated, the slowing effect breaking apart.
The sand serpent regained its speed.
Dumbledore's wand moved again.
This time, like a whip.
A streak of flame burst forth—then transformed.
A phoenix.
Fire-born, radiant.
With a clear, piercing cry, it soared forward.
The smaller fire-serpents were swallowed instantly, fueling its form. It grew brighter, larger—its heat intensifying.
Under that heat, the sand serpent hardened—
Stone.
Brittle.
"Reducto!"
A precise Blasting Curse struck.
With a thunderous crack, the once-terrifying construct shattered into fragments, collapsing back into dust.
The phoenix cut through the remains, rising into the air—then diving straight toward Voldemort.
Voldemort vanished.
Reappearing atop a distant tombstone.
But the moment he stabilized—
The ground erupted.
Spikes of earth shot upward, twisting into a cage around him. He was forced to Disapparate again, barely escaping the enclosure.
His heartbeat quickened.
His movements—restricted.
Controlled.
Forced.
Frustration surged within him.
This—
This helplessness—
He had not felt it in years.
Every attack he launched was dismantled with ease. Every attempt to gain ground was pushed back. He was being forced, step by step, into retreat.
Again.
And again.
If this continued…
Would he be captured?
Without even a proper fight?
No.
That was unacceptable.
He had just returned.
His path to immortality had only just resumed.
He would not end here.
Not like this.
And yet—
The truth pressed in relentlessly.
Dumbledore anticipated everything.
Every movement.
Every escape.
Every shift in position.
The battlefield itself had turned against him.
Tombstones rose into barriers.
Sand coiled into chains.
The very earth seemed to obey the old man's will.
Voldemort countered where he could—reshaping the terrain, resisting the flow—but his strength was lacking.
He could only rely on Apparition to survive.
Then—
Something changed.
A surge.
A ripple of energy.
Voldemort felt it instantly.
He twisted aside from another attack, his red eyes narrowing as they flicked toward Dumbledore.
The old man… had frowned.
Just for a moment.
Opportunity.
Even without understanding the cause—any distraction was enough.
And then—
A figure appeared at the edge of the graveyard.
Collapsed.
As if dropped from nowhere.
It hit the ground hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop—disoriented, unaware.
Voldemort saw him.
And smiled.
A wide, vicious, triumphant smile.
"Harry Potter…"
The name left his lips like a promise.
He ignored everything else—the shifting earth, the attacks still coming.
None of it mattered anymore.
This—
This was his moment.
His wand rose.
Green light gathered.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The curse burst forward—straight toward the boy who had not yet even understood where he was.