Hearing Quirrell speak, Harry and the others—especially Ron and Draco—felt their stomachs twist.
They had grown up on stories of Voldemort. Facing the real thing was different.
"Well, well. Potter. Weasley. Abbott. Old friends. And a Malfoy too? How delightful."
Voldemort's voice was cold and amused.
"Your father joined us once. In the end he chose betrayal. Now you've thrown in with my enemy. Will you make the same wise choice?"
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to say he would never turn on his friends, but the words stuck. The Malfoy way had always been survival first.
Norberta poked her head out of his robes and nudged him.
Harry and the others—even Ron—watched him with quiet trust.
Something warm and stubborn bloomed in Draco's chest.
"No," he said, voice steady. "I'm not on your side. Not ever."
Voldemort sneered.
"Then let's see how long that lasts."
Quirrell's wand snapped up. A curse blasted toward them.
Tom stepped in front of the group, calm as ever. The glowing green stick in his paw—the Killing Curse Voldemort had fired earlier—swung like a blade and knocked the spell aside.
Voldemort's composure shattered.
"That's my Killing Curse! How the hell are you using it like that?!"
Tom didn't answer. He charged, green light slicing through every curse Voldemort threw.
The others stared. Even Voldemort was struggling. Quirrell's body wasn't built for this kind of fight, and Tom moved like he had been waiting for it.
Voldemort stumbled, lost his balance, and went down hard. His wand flew from his hand.
"Damn it!"
Furious, he stopped holding back. He poured power through Quirrell's body without care for the damage. Blood welled up across Quirrell's skin.
"Master, this isn't what you promised—"
"Oh, but it is," Voldemort said coldly. "You wanted power. Now you have it. Paid for with your life."
Quirrell's body burst into black smoke and rushed at Tom.
"Not happening."
Ariana's voice rang out. Her arms turned to living black mist—Obscurus—and lashed forward, wrapping tight around the smoke and pinning it in place.
Voldemort screamed in shock and rage.
"How are you controlling an Obscurus?!"
Ariana didn't answer. She just pulled the bonds tighter.
Tom appeared in front of the trapped smoke and shoved something inside it.
"Here. Try this."
The special dung bomb the twins had made detonated inside Voldemort's smoke form.
The effect was instant and vicious. The stench exploded from the inside out. Voldemort gagged, lost control, and his form solidified. He hung in midair, bound by Ariana's Obscurus, snot and tears streaming down his face.
"You—ugh—little bastard! You'll pay for this!"
Norberta didn't like the threat one bit. She opened her mouth and sent a jet of black fire straight at him.
Voldemort, weakened and bound, couldn't dodge. The fire hit Quirrell's arm and began burning it away without leaving even ash.
Quirrell tried to cut it off, but Voldemort stopped him.
"Master, why?!"
"Because you're useless," Voldemort hissed. "You failed me at Gringotts. You failed with the unicorn. You failed with the Stone. Your life will settle the debt."
The black fire spread. It consumed Quirrell completely—arms, body, and finally his mind.
When it was over, Quirrell was gone. Only a translucent black shadow remained—Voldemort's soul.
"You win this round, Lovegood, Weasley, Potter, Abbott, Malfoy. But remember—I cannot die. When I return, you'll learn what real fear feels like."
He turned to flee.
Tom's soul form started to leap out after him.
Then a calm voice spoke from the doorway.
"Tom. Since you're here, stay awhile."
Dumbledore stepped into view, holding up a large sack.
Tom blinked.
[Is that my sack?]
Dumbledore smiled and sealed the bag around Voldemort's soul with a tap of his wand. The dark lord's threats cut off instantly.
Voldemort's voice turned to pure disbelief inside the bag.
"Impossible! A sack can't hold—wait, what is this?!"
Tom stared at Dumbledore.
[Old man… you stole my sack?!]
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Not stole. You left it behind the last time you and Ariana visited. I was simply studying it a little."
Tom gave him a long, deeply unimpressed look.
Dumbledore's smile didn't waver.
"Anyway, thank you for the sack. It made things much easier. And Harry—wait. Ariana, your arms… is that an Obscurus? But how—"