Chapter 121: Battle With The War-damaged Dark Lord
“Caught you!”
Vaughn caught a slight disturbance, immediately exiting his transitional state and “squeezing” out of the air. In front of him was Voldemort, who had just Apparated.
The dissipating “smoke” of his manifestation hadn’t even dispersed yet, and his expression grew more astonished!
Vaughn, who had suddenly appeared before Voldemort, flicked his wand. The vicious Sectumsempra shot out, an invisible blade impossible to evade at such close range.
With a “pu” sound.
Blood splattered, and a long gash appeared on Voldemort’s flank, blood pouring out uncontrollably.
The battle had barely begun, and the Dark Lord was already wounded!
Voldemort’s bloodshot eyes grew even more ferocious. His extensive combat experience allowed him to instantly understand Vaughn’s strategy. He ignored the wound on his flank and, as his wand parried, black mist began to emanate from him.
The ground corroded by the black mist, sizzling.
Vaughn, who had intended to press his attack, instead slid away lightly like a piece of paper.
Simultaneously, Voldemort unleashed a similar invisible blade with his wand, but the unseen force was swallowed by a semi-transparent barrier after flying about a meter.
Full-body-bind curse at maximum level!
Sturdy and highly magic-resistant!
The unknown spell cast by Voldemort couldn’t even make it tremble. The next second, Vaughn Apparated again, silently traversing behind Voldemort.
A spark of fire flared up the instant he appeared.
Boom!
Harry and Hermione stared blankly at the battlefield where the two were clashing. The violently expanding flames completely engulfed the area, blasting a large crater in the ground. Voldemort, wreathed in smoke, was blasted away by the fierce explosion.
Even so, the spell’s power entwined around him did not wane. As he was blown away and rolled, residual scorch marks on his robes erupted with several flashes, a barrage of crackling explosions.
“What spell was that?” Harry asked.
Hermione composed her shocked expression. “The Exploding Curse, a spell that makes enemies explode repeatedly!”
Harry listened, mesmerized!
Harry had never realized how powerful Vaughn was. He also knew that Vaughn’s offensive style was incredibly oppressive.
Once he gained the upper hand, his attacks were relentless, making it a luxury for his opponents just to breathe!
Don’t ask why he knew; it was experience!
As expected, Voldemort, having endured the barrage, reappeared via Apparition before he even hit the ground.
Through the smoke, Vaughn reached out a hand, grabbing for Voldemort’s arm!
“Hiss—”
Voldemort let out a hoarse shriek. In response to the cry, the fabric on his arm transformed into a viper, ferociously lunging to bite at Vaughn’s outstretched hand.
But Vaughn’s hand didn’t falter. He had to maintain control of the rhythm, and for that, even a small sacrifice was worth it!
The viper bit Vaughn, and the wound instantly turned black, but Vaughn also grabbed Voldemort.
Their forms twisted—Vaughn forcibly pulled Voldemort into Apparition!
The dangerous Space Spell was utilized to its extreme by Vaughn. Harry and Hermione only heard a sharp crackle. Voldemort was left in his original spot, while Vaughn appeared about 10 feet away.
But in his hand, bitten by the viper, he held a bloodied arm, its severed end revealing raw bone!
He had ripped off Voldemort’s arm!
“Ah—”
A raspy, pained howl echoed through the Great Hall.
Pain overwhelmed Voldemort’s senses; he could barely remember how long it had been since he was injured.
Not even Harry Potter had made him feel such pain—the Killing Curse didn’t hurt; it just killed!
Of course, the Dark Lord did not lose his reason to anger. This fury and shame would only make his emotions more malevolent.
He no longer spared Quirrell’s body. Rolling black smoke emanated from the weak, broken form, consuming and corroding everything around it.
And within the smoke, he forced the body to its breaking point to contain more of his magic power!
A green light flared—
“Avada—Kedavra!”
Avada Kedavra!
The eerie green light illuminated the black mist!
The dense, corrosive mist annihilated under the light, and electricity-like spell effects shot out.
“Ah!”
The instant he saw the green light, Harry’s forehead throbbed with pain. He screamed and fell to the ground.
Beside him, Hermione, who had been intently watching the battle, broke out in a cold sweat, her limbs stiff.
As a spell that directly “killed” souls, even though it wasn’t targeted at her, even though she wasn’t close, and even though she had indirectly encountered the Killing Curse on Halloween last year.
But last year, Vaughn had shielded her. This time, she truly saw what the Killing Curse looked like!
As the green light spread across her vision, darting out like a giant serpent tearing through the fog.
The mere leaked aura was enough to render Hermione completely unable to react—
What a despair-inducing magic! Annihilation, destruction, decay… it seemed all concepts related to death were contained within that light of magic, causing one to tremble and fear, to shrink under its terror, just by looking at it!
Time slowed down.
This was not an illusion, but Hermione’s genuine sensation!
She saw Vaughn, facing the Killing Curse, gently twist a hourglass-shaped pendant he held—at some point, he had taken the Time-Turner from the fire dragon’s neck.
The sound of the pendant turning, in the abruptly silent space, was incredibly clear. It was a sound like a clock’s spring, sharp and distinct.
Tick!
Tock!
Each turn of the pendant stretched time by a minute. The ticking grew slower and slower, each pause sounding like an echo in an empty room, hollow and drawn out!
Then, it froze!
If time stopped, what would the world become?
This was a grand and complex question, one Hermione couldn’t immediately grasp. But at this moment, she clearly saw the scene time stopping had created in this space—
Everything froze like a realistic painting, including light: the firelight, the light of the Killing Curse, and the light from this space whose origin was unknown… these photons, stripped of their motion, like colorful amber, solidified in the air, making everything in view hazy and brilliant.
Only thought remained active, but it was very, very slow, as if the original linear path had been stretched out many times.
Vaughn, as seen through Hermione’s eyes, was also moving very, very slowly.
“He can still move…”
Hermione’s sluggish thoughts rejoiced.
Yes, although very slowly, Vaughn could still move freely.
“Time…”
Vaughn looked at the large patches of frozen light in his vision, and at the Killing Curse, which had been about 3 feet away from him before time stopped.
As one of the most powerful Dark Arts in the wizarding world, the Killing Curse was brutal and fast, its speed nearly matching the Disarming Charm. If it could be easily dodged, it wouldn’t have earned such a formidable reputation!
More troublesome than the Disarming Charm was that there were almost no means to defend against it.
Fighting Voldemort, Vaughn naturally guarded against the use of Unforgivable Curses. Time-stopping was an attempt at practical application after his previous experiments with time had yielded results.
So far, the effect was good.
Gazing at the within-reach Killing Curse, Vaughn suppressed the curiosity in his eyes.
His slowly moving gaze swept over the frozen space.
“Pity such a method can’t be used in reality.”
Time is not an independent substance, nor is it an objective reality（but it objectively exists）; rather, it is the motion and continuity of things.
To control time, one must first be able to control everything!
This was, of course, impossible in reality.
Thinking regretfully, Vaughn turned back the Time-Turner with one hand, and with the other, his wand trembled slightly in the sluggish flow of time.
A silent Levitation Charm spread along the ground fissures caused by the explosion moments earlier.
The frozen time infinitely extended the transmission of sound.
Silently, many small stones floated up, gathering around Vaughn as if drawn by gravity, like celestial bodies.
The next instant, time resumed!
Rumble!
The roar, originally bound by the time stop, erupted. Amidst the deafening sound, as the Killing Curse re-assaulted him, Vaughn’s wand swiftly tapped the small stones that had gathered around him.
Under the effect of magic, they rapidly twisted and transformed.
They became vivid animals, filling the area before Vaughn in the blink of an eye.
The green light crashed into them!
Memories from his past life allowed Vaughn to understand that the Killing Curse did have defensive methods. Dumbledore would “in the future” demonstrate to people why he was feared by Voldemort through Transfiguration!
However, before attending Hogwarts, Vaughn didn’t understand how Transfiguration could counter the Killing Curse.
It wasn’t until he enrolled and was taught by Professor McGonagall that his Transfiguration mastery began to deepen from “changing inanimate objects into animate ones” to “changing animate objects into inanimate ones.”
It wasn’t until he obtained Barty Crouch Jr. as an excellent research subject.
The secrets of the Unforgivable Curses began to unveil themselves to him, such as the tendency of Dark Magic towards life—even if it was only false life!
Ah—
The instant the green light touched the Transfigured animals, the wails of the dead echoed in their ears. The sound was hollow and distant, seeming to resonate in the air, or perhaps from a more ethereal realm.
Silently, the “life force” of the Transfigured animals was extinguished. They reverted to their essence of stone, collapsing like dust.
But their mission was complete.
The Killing Curse was neutralized, and the green light vanished, leaving only the residual light in their retinas to speak of what had just happened!
This outcome was within Vaughn’s expectations. The experienced Voldemort, though astonished, did not dwell on it too much.
The brief exchange had allowed him to get a slight grasp of Vaughn’s combat style.
Advocating offense, ferocious, dominant!
If he couldn’t completely suppress him with magic, Vaughn would swiftly counterattack, solely to continue vying for initiative and rhythm!
Indeed, the next second, Voldemort saw Vaughn’s form distorting more than ten feet away, like a rapidly rolling ball of smoke, diving into the air.
Crackle!
The faint sound of spatial displacement echoed behind him. Voldemort, who had been prepared, retaliated with a spell towards his rear, while simultaneously initiating Apparition.
Voldemort paid no mind to whether his spell hit Vaughn Weasley; he didn’t even glance back, as he sensed that the broken body, injured and forced to use the Killing Curse, was nearing its limit.
His vision rapidly shifted due to spatial distortion, and in a flash, he entered a peculiar spatial state.
He looked at the hazy mist around him, at the scenery rushing past as if plastered onto a curved mirror.
Then, he saw his target.
Harry Potter!
Voldemort understood.
In his current state, it was essentially impossible to defeat Vaughn Weasley quickly. The failure of the Killing Curse moments ago had sealed that outcome.
Moreover, if he delayed further, Quirrell’s body could collapse at any moment, and he would once again become a lonely shadow, neither man nor ghost, drifting between heaven and earth.
Who knew when he would see the light of day again!
Therefore, no matter how annoyed and furious he was, Voldemort’s mind remained clear.
He knew his most important objective was resurrection.
With the Philosopher’s Stone in his possession, if he could escape this space, the Dark Lord could make a comeback!
Vaughn was undoubtedly the biggest obstacle to escaping this space, but Harry was simultaneously his greatest safeguard.
If he could just capture Harry!
The Dark Lord was patient and wise. He had endured 11 years hiding like a mouse in the wilderness, and he certainly wouldn’t be ashamed of his retreat now.
When he spotted Harry, he unhesitatingly began to Apparate, preparing to exit the displacement state.
Then, his eyes suddenly widened—hands reached into the distorted, mirror-like tunnel where countless scenes were blurring past!
Those hands were fair and slender, as distinct and powerful as when they had gripped Voldemort’s arm not long ago.
Voldemort suddenly felt a prickle of dread!
Vaughn Weasley was forcibly invading his Apparition!
And the invasion was incredibly fast!
In an instant, Vaughn Weasley’s elongated body squeezed in from outside the “mirror.” He saw the other’s calm eyes and felt those fair, slender hands clench his neck.
Voldemort could sense a strange power interfering with Apparition, the same feeling as when the other had ripped off his arm!
The same method, arrogant and audacious!
Damn red hair!
Their gazes met. Voldemort’s expression was contorted, malevolent emotions surging within him—it was his rage, and also the raw material for Dark Magic.
Grayish-white magic emanated from him. The distorted spatial tunnel of Apparition rapidly collapsed under the contamination of the magic—
He was forcibly Manifesting!
This was undoubtedly extremely dangerous. Voldemort felt a sharp pain in his back, and a large amount of blood swirled and sprayed out.
On the other side, Vaughn’s chest and shoulder also suffered gaping wounds.
Separation!
But it was too late.
With a crackle.
The distorted space completely collapsed. Two bloody figures stumbled out. Voldemort’s red eyes stared fixedly at Vaughn, looking at the wounds on his chest and shoulder, at his eyes which had remained as calm as a deep pool from beginning to end.
And behind Vaughn, the emaciated, black-robed body that had lost its head!
Voldemort was familiar with it. It had once belonged to Quirrell, and 1 second ago, it had belonged to him!
And now, it was like a suddenly blind person, hands raised in confusion, staggering a few steps before collapsing with a thud.
Clink, clank!
A scarlet gem dropped from the headless body, reflecting a brilliant sheen, and rolled to Vaughn’s feet.
Vaughn raised his hands and released.
Voldemort’s head fell, bouncing a few times before stopping before the scarlet Philosopher’s Stone.
“Vaughn… Weasley…”
Voldemort’s lips moved. His voice was barely audible without a body, but he still tried to speak. His blood-red eyes also took on a blood-like hue, straining to turn towards Vaughn, not even paying attention to the Philosopher’s Stone he had been so fixated on.
“I… remember you…”
“My honor, Dark Lord.”
Vaughn’s voice was as calm as his gaze. The wounds on his chest and shoulder seemed to have no effect on his emotions. Only his slightly trembling hands as he bent down to pick up the Philosopher’s Stone revealed his pain.
And inner joy!
Voldemort saw the joy in his heart. “You… thought you, defeated… me?”
“Of course not.” Vaughn picked up the Philosopher’s Stone, examined it against the light, and a smile appeared on his pale face. “You are now just a lingering remnant soul. There’s no pride in defeating you. I’m just happy I succeeded, and you can’t take the Philosopher’s Stone!”
Voldemort stared at Vaughn, then after a moment, he twitched his lips. “Heh—Then, I look forward to our next meeting…”
As his words fell, dense black smoke surged from the head, coalescing into a distorted, hideous face. It wailed, as if being pulled by something or being rejected, tumbling away and vanishing in an instant.
Vaughn made no attempt to stop it.
Voldemort in this state was unstoppable. He was neither living nor a ghost, and no magic or physical means could affect him.
It was like no one could harm a shadow.
Otherwise, no matter how much Dumbledore wanted to nurture Harry, he wouldn’t have allowed Voldemort to exist until now.
Just as he thought of Dumbledore, Vaughn heard his detested voice: “My dear, exquisite magic, brilliant tactics, you have just defeated the Dark Lord!”
Turning around, Vaughn saw that Harry and Hermione had fainted. Old Dumbledore stood behind them, hands clasped in front of his abdomen, smiling cheerfully at him.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m injured, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“What kind of injury is this? It’s just a separation!”
“Do you want me to help you separate something to try?”
“I’m over a hundred years old; I can’t afford that… *cough*, can I have the Philosopher’s Stone back now?”
“We’ll talk about the Philosopher’s Stone later, Albus. I’m injured!”
“…Didn’t I give you 3 drops of Fawkes’ tears earlier? For a mere separation, one drop of tears can heal it.”
“That was for Hermione, Harry, and Ron.”
“…So, you want another drop?”
“I’ve lost so much blood, I’m practically dying. I don’t think one drop of tears can heal me. What do you think?”
“…”
…
Harry woke up from a nightmare, opening his eyes to a blurry ceiling.
A hoarse, seemingly familiar but different voice asked, “Harry, how are you feeling now?”
Looking towards the sound, Harry could only see a blurred outline. He subconsciously asked, “Where are my glasses?”
He saw the blurry outline fumbling for something nearby and handing it to him, saying, “I was so worried, but Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore both said you were fine, just affected a bit and fell asleep.”
Harry fumbled, putting on his glasses while thinking.
Where was he?
Were the previous experiences all a dream?
Why did the person in front of him seem familiar? The voice was indeed familiar, but it sounded like they had a carrot in their mouth. In his memory, none of the people he knew spoke like that.
All sorts of doubts made him look immediately after putting on his glasses.
He was startled.
What a huge… head!
A head that had swollen several sizes was thrust in front of him. Harry leaned back before seeing the body “hidden” beneath the head.
Then, he finally found a sense of familiarity on that clothing. His eyes widened, his voice trembling:
“Ron?”
“…Of course I didn’t die. Though when I charged forward, I thought I was dead for sure, after all, the traps were meant to guard against Dark Wizards!”
“I don’t know what happened. I just fainted, and when I woke up, I found myself alive. But it didn’t feel good at all, because there was a giant fire dragon lying in front of me…”
Ron rambled on to Harry, recounting his “resurrection” experience. His large head with its big, sausage-like mouth quivered, making Harry struggle to suppress his laughter.
Until he finally couldn’t help it and burst out laughing with a “poof.”
Ron was displeased. “What are you laughing at? I’m telling you something tense and exciting!”
“I’m sorry, Ron, I just… *puff*… *cough*, I just can’t quite believe it yet…” Harry apologized with great difficulty, and to avoid bursting into loud laughter and hurting Ron’s pride, he quickly changed the subject. “So, you saw the fire dragon before we did?”
Speaking of which, Ron’s swollen head seemed to glow. “Of course. I think I might have triggered some hidden condition in Chessboard Town, like self-sacrifice, demonstrating noble virtue or something, which is why I was directly teleported to the Dragon’s Lair.”
He deliberately ignored the fact that he had been on the fire dragon’s side all along. After all, fire dragons were evil, and what he did was so righteous!
“Don’t many stories say that heroes pass hidden trials and get direct clearance? Unfortunately, Chessboard Town’s design didn’t capture the essence; it just threw me into the Dragon’s Lair with no follow-up. After that, I just watched you and Hermione fight Voldemort…”
Saying this, Ron clicked his tongue regretfully, his two plump sausage lips quivering again.
Harry almost laughed again and had to look away, but he keenly caught the information revealed in Ron’s words: “You could see us?”
“Yes, there were many Muggle televisions in the Dragon’s Lair, likely magically modified. I saw you tracking Quirrell and storming the fire dragon’s castle.”
Harry looked at him nervously. “Then… is anyone else in the Dragon’s Lair?”
“No.” Ron shook his head, but before Harry could sigh in relief, he added, “You’re asking about Vaughn and Dumbledore, right?”
Harry nodded quickly.
Ron sighed. “I think they were always there… At least when we left that Painted World, Dumbledore brought me out. Vaughn was there too; he was injured!”
Hearing this, Harry, who had been overwhelmed with joy upon suddenly realizing Ron was alive, finally recalled what happened before he fainted.
He immediately sat up. “Vaughn was injured? How is he?”
Ron was about to answer when a voice responded first. “Vaughn is fine, Harry. How are you? How are you feeling now?”
It was Dumbledore.
Dressed in a white robe, the seemingly solemn yet kind Headmaster walked in with a smile.
He nodded at Ron. “Mr. Weasley, since Harry is awake, you should return to your sickbed to rest. If Madam Pomfrey sees you wandering around, she’ll be angry. Dragon dung is very toxic, and you were exposed to a lot of it. You need a good rest.”
This statement contained a lot of information. Ron stammered as if wanting to retort, but finally, he trudged to another sickbed and buried his large head in the covers.
Harry paid no attention to Ron’s embarrassment. He looked at Dumbledore, his gaze hesitant.
After a moment, he still asked softly, “Dumbledore, were you and Vaughn really there the whole time? Watching me and Hermione, watching us fight Quirrell and Voldemort?”
Hermione had already said that Voldemort had deliberately revealed this to sow discord and make him doubt.
But undeniably, for Harry, this question was a thorn in his heart. If he didn’t get an answer, that thorn would remain there.
He hoped to hear an answer different from Voldemort’s words.
However, under his hopeful and anxious gaze, Dumbledore, sitting by his bed, calmly nodded. “Yes, Harry, Vaughn and I were there the whole time.”
“…When?”
Harry’s voice was dry.
Dumbledore answered honestly, “After Quirrell and you entered, Vaughn and I returned from the Ministry of Magic. The time difference was no more than 5 minutes.”
Although he was rather reckless, Harry was not stupid; on the contrary, he was quite intelligent.
From the time difference Dumbledore mentioned, he perceived the information contained within it, even piecing together part of the “truth.” Some questions that had been puzzling him were now all answered.
Why the School had never investigated the black-robed figure.
How Snape managed to send Dumbledore and Vaughn away.
It was all a meticulously arranged scheme. Snape, Dumbledore, Vaughn… they had arranged everything long ago. Only he, Harry Potter, naively thought he was saving the world!
Thinking of his anxiety when he learned Quirrell was preparing to steal the Philosopher’s Stone but couldn’t find Dumbledore and Vaughn, Harry’s expression showed a hint of self-mockery. “Come to think of it, there were quite a few suspicious points. The most obvious was Snape… A professor, and I overheard him talking with Quirrell.”
“At my most confused, I overheard him and Quirrell ‘plotting’ again, and I gained crucial information… How could there be so many coincidences…”
He muttered, shrinking into his blankets, unwilling to see Dumbledore anymore, even less willing to speak.
Dumbledore looked at his thin back, his gaze complex. After a moment, he sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Harry, but I still want to explain to you that Vaughn actually always opposed me letting you meet Voldemort. It was I who insisted. I’m sorry, child.”
Harry’s shoulders twitched. After a long pause, his muffled voice came:
“I want to be alone.”
Dumbledore’s lips moved a few times, but in the end, he said nothing more, leaving behind a “I’ll come to see you again later” before leaving the Hospital Wing.
He understood Harry’s childish temper. Anyone would have emotions if they discovered their thrilling experience was orchestrated by the people they trusted most.
He only hoped Harry could understand soon.
However, Harry’s current refusal to communicate made him feel somewhat dejected.
Yet, this dejected mood vanished abruptly upon his return to the Headmaster’s Office—
The weather was beautiful today, as if the heavens themselves were celebrating the end of the Savior’s trial. The bright morning sunlight cast a gentle warmth, neither harsh nor cold.
The office window was open, and a gentle breeze blew in, rustling the curtains. Beyond the curtains was a clear blue sky.
Beneath the curtains, Vaughn, tightly bandaged, lay leisurely on the bay window seat.
“Vaughn, is the book placed at this angle okay?”
“A bit further… Yes, at this distance.”
“Here, try Dumbledore’s coffee. An old Headmaster in a portrait told me about it; he said it tastes great.”
“Mmm, it’s indeed good. You try some too.”
“Hehe.”
Watching the young boy and girl basking in the sun beneath the curtains, giggling and leaning against each other, Dumbledore suddenly felt the sunlight shining on them was so bright, he could barely keep his eyes open…
Hermione spent the entire day with Vaughn in the Headmaster’s Office.
The girl was very popular with the portraits, especially several witches who had hung on the walls for centuries, bored of seeing the faces of past Headmasters. They were delighted to see a young, studying witch and affectionately called Hermione “studious Granger.”
It turned out that Hermione’s personality, while perhaps not popular with her peers, was highly favored by teachers.
Hermione also enjoyed chatting with the portraits. She was curious about everything, brimming with a thirst for knowledge, and the portraits were happy to answer her various questions, passing the “boring time.”
By the time evening arrived, and Hermione had to return to Gryffindor Tower, several witches were still reluctant to part.
“Little girl, come visit us more often when you have time. Life here is too dull. We only face Dumbledore’s face, which is like a desert, every day. Utterly lifeless.”
“Yes, child. I’ve accompanied 6 Headmasters. You know, these fellows were already old men and women when they became Headmasters. I’ve almost forgotten what the vibrancy of youth looks like.”
“Then why don’t you visit other portraits in the castle?” Hermione asked. As far as she knew, the portraits in the castle could visit each other.
The portraits sighed. “We cannot leave without permission. We were all once Headmasters and held the secrets of Hogwarts. Those secrets are only for the current Headmaster to know. To prevent us from being deceived, most of us swore an oath when we donated our portraits that we cannot leave this room without the Headmaster’s permission.”
