Voldemort's consciousness stirred and expanded. His eyes opened.
Before him stretched an endless grassland, extending to horizons that seemed farther away.
Not far away, dominating the landscape with awe-inspiring presence, a giant tree towered up. Its trunk was so massive that hundreds of people linking hands couldn't have encircled it. The branches spread wide enough to shade entire villages. The tree rose so high it seemed to pierce the very sky itself, reaching toward something beyond this place.
This was the true form of the Tree of Wisdom in the spiritual world.
A victorious smile curved Voldemort's lip. This form he wore here was different from either John's borrowed flesh or the mist-constructed body he'd just abandoned. This was his soul's true appearance.
He could sense that this spiritual world was far vaster than he had initially imagined when he'd first detected its existence.
And the soul of the Tree of Wisdom itself was far stronger than he had estimated from outside observations. Now, experiencing it directly, feeling its presence, he recognized that it was actually comparable to his own in raw power.
"Finally..." Voldemort murmured to himself.
He began taking steps toward the giant tree, his spiritual form was moving across the grassland.
Just as he had explained to Adrian before entering this realm, a powerful soul could devour a weaker soul. This was his goal, his ultimate purpose in coming here.
Once he could successfully devour this ancient tree's soul, once he could absorb its essence and make its power his own, his own damaged soul would reach a level of strength never before achieved. He would transcend the limitations that had plagued him since splitting his soul to create Horcruxes. He would become complete again—no, more than complete. He would become something new, something greater.
He understood now what he had perhaps only suspected before.
The soul was everything for a wizard. More than magic, more than learned knowledge, more than any physical attribute. The soul was the source and substance of true power.
If he succeeded in this spiritual conquest, if he could consume the Tree's essence and integrate it with his own, he would rule the entire British wizarding world in an invincible state. Perhaps even the entire world would fall before him eventually.
No wizard alive or dead would possess the power to challenge him.
At that point, eternal life would no longer be a fantasy maintained through dark rituals and hidden soul fragments. It would be true immortality, absolute and unbreakable, achieved not through dividing his soul but through strengthening it beyond any possibility of destruction.
That would be true eternity, not the illusion and vulnerability brought by Horcruxes that could be hunted down and destroyed.
However, there was still one potential variable that troubled him—that fellow named Adrian Westeros who'd proven to be far more capable than expected.
Unfortunately, his body in the outside world had reached the absolute limit of its stability and function. It couldn't have maintained itself much longer regardless of whether he'd entered the spiritual realm or not. And in its final, degrading state, it lacked the power to kill that troublesome young wizard.
But it didn't really matter in the end. Once he devoured the Tree of Wisdom's soul and reshaped a new body using this vastly increased power, once he emerged from this spiritual conquest as something approaching a god among wizards...
Well, then Adrian Westeros would learn the true meaning of futility.
Voldemort stretched out both hands toward the giant tree as he drew closer to it. Dark energy began to surge around him like a tide. This was the essence of his soul manifested.
He could sense the giant tree's silent wail of distress, could feel it trying to resist his approach, attempting to muster defenses against this invasion of its inner world.
But what could it really do? The Tree had never fought another soul before. It had no experience with this kind of spiritual combat, no techniques for defending itself against direct assault.
And for Voldemort, this resistance was nothing more than the death throes of defeated prey. It was the trumpet call heralding his victory.
The entire grassland began to shake violently as his dark energy spread across it. Great sections of the vibrant grass withered and died, turning brown and crumbling to dust. Cracks appeared in the sky as if reality itself was breaking under the strain of what was happening.
"Give up your resistance," Voldemort laughed with manic triumph, his voice was resounding across the dying landscape. "Your power, your essence, your very existence will ultimately belong to me! You cannot fight what I am, what I've become! Submit and make this easier on yourself!"
The Tree of Wisdom began to shake violently, its massive branches were thrashing as if caught in a hurricane.
Just then, at what seemed like the moment of Voldemort's complete victory, a flash of silver light appeared between him and the tree.
The light expanded and took form, and suddenly Adrian's figure appeared directly in front of the Tree of Wisdom.
His spiritual form looked exactly like his physical body. He stood between Voldemort and his goal, waved the wand in his hand, and a barrier of silver-white energy erupted.
All of Voldemort's advancing dark energy struck this shield and stopped, blocked completely, pushed back and dissipating into harmless wisps.
"It seems I've arrived just in time," Adrian said calmly.
Voldemort's maniacal laughter stopped abruptly, cut off as if someone had slashed through the sound itself. For the first time since beginning this spiritual invasion, genuine fury appeared in his crimson eyes.
"How is it possible for you to enter here?!" Voldemort roaringly asked.
You must understand, invading another being's spiritual world was an extremely difficult thing under the best of circumstances. It required specific knowledge, careful preparation, and enormous magical power.
The first absolute requirement was that one's own soul had to be significantly stronger than the target's. You couldn't force your way into the inner realm of a soul more powerful than your own—the resistance would be too great,. It would be like trying to break down a fortress wall with your bare hands.
Voldemort had carefully examined Adrian's soul before launching this attack. He'd studied it as thoroughly as possible from the outside, measuring its strength and composition.
And his assessment had been clear—Adrian's soul was powerful for someone so young, but it was far from reaching the level necessary to invade another soul's inner world.
Secondly, spiritual projection of this nature required the caster to completely abandon their physical body in the outside world.
To stop him, this young wizard had actually gone to such lengths? Had actually taken such an enormous risk, casting his soul out of his body and projecting it here?
Adrian didn't answer Voldemort's furious question immediately. Instead, he walked slowly closer to the Tree of Wisdom, moving until he stood directly against its massive trunk. He leaned back against the bark, and his spiritual form began to glow more brightly.
"You've got one fundamental thing wrong, Tom," Adrian's voice echoed across the entire grassland. "What you've invaded isn't just the Tree's world. You've invaded my world as well."
With his words, the entire grassland began to change in.
The places that had been eroded and corrupted by Voldemort's dark energy like the withered grass, the cracked and dying earth began to rapidly recover their vitality.
Green spread out from where Adrian stood, flowing across the landscape like water, healing the damage that had been inflicted. The cracks in the sky began to seal themselves.
Voldemort watched in growing shock and disbelief as Adrian's form seemed to overlap with the Tree of Wisdom itself, the two figures were occupying the same space, merging together while somehow remaining distinct.
"Impossible..." Voldemort took an involuntary step backward. "How could you possibly... what are you?"
Adrian had always felt there was something abnormal about his soul.
Only now, when he'd abandoned his physical body and entered the spiritual world of the Tree of Wisdom, did he suddenly understand the full truth.
His soul contained the mark of the Tree of Wisdom. And the same was true in reverse. The Tree of Wisdom contained a substantial piece of his soul, had absorbed it and integrated it over years of proximity and connection.
To explain it more precisely—the Tree of Wisdom contained half of Adrian's soul, and Adrian's soul contained half of the Tree's essence.
To invade the Tree of Wisdom's spiritual world was to invade Adrian's spiritual world. To attack one was to attack both.
And here, in this place that was as much his as it was the Tree's, Adrian possessed power that went far beyond what he could command in the physical world.
He had abandoned his physical body and fully entered the spiritual world of the Tree of Wisdom specifically to stop Voldemort. And Voldemort, who had expected to find a single ancient consciousness to devour, had instead encountered something far more dangerous.
Adrian's consciousness fully merged into the trunk of the Tree of Wisdom, his individual form dissolving into the greater whole while his awareness remained perfectly clear and focused. His voice echoed across the entire grassland.
"You're the one who has lost, Tom Riddle," Adrian said.
In an instant, before Voldemort could react or attempt to flee, the Tree of Wisdom burst forth with unprecedented radiance.
Light erupted from every branch, every leaf, every fiber of the Tree's spiritual form.
Voldemort discovered with rising horror that the aura of power radiating from the merged consciousness before him had reached an utterly terrifying level.
Even his own soul, damaged and incomplete though it was, had always been formidable.
He was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord who'd come closer to immortality than any wizard in history. His soul had endured death, resurrection, and the creation of multiple Horcruxes. It should have been nearly indomitable.
But now, facing this merged consciousness, this unified being of Tree and wizard, Voldemort's soul began to tremble. The trembling started deep within his essence and spread out.
He tried desperately to mobilize his power, to summon the dark energy that had allowed him to corrupt this realm moments ago. He reached for the malice and ruthlessness that had sustained him through decades of dark magic.
But it was useless. Completely and utterly useless.
He could do nothing against this overwhelming presence. His power, so dominant when attacking the vulnerable Tree, became insignificant when confronted with the merged consciousness's active defense.
Just as he had said in the physical world, just as he'd explained with such confidence—a powerful soul devours a weak soul. The strong consume the weak, and power flows from defeated to victor.
But now, in this moment, Voldemort understood that he was the weaker party.
"Goodbye, Tom," Adrian's voice came like a final judgement.
Almost in an instant, Voldemort's soul was crushed.
There was no explosion, no spectacular display of combat magic, no final desperate struggle.
The end came with surprising quietness.
Just light, pure, dazzling, cleansing light that surrounded Voldemort's soul and compressed it with irresistible force. His essence was pulverized, shattered into constituent fragments, and those fragments were further broken down until nothing remained.
This was silent annihilation, the complete erasure of a soul that could never be recovered or resurrected.
Voldemort's existence was completely erased.
The Dark Lord who had once terrified the entire magical world, who had killed countless innocents and enslaved hundreds to his will, who had nearly conquered Britain twice was ultimately turned to nothingness in the spiritual world of the Tree of Wisdom.
The light gradually receded as the execution completed. The grassland returned to something approaching calm, though it would take time for the damage from Voldemort's invasion to fully heal.
But the Tree of Wisdom stood tall and undamaged.
The outside world seemed frozen in time.
The sky still obscured by the remnants of Voldemort's mist barrier, had begun to lighten slightly.
Dobby struggled to open his eyes, consciousness was returning in slow, painful increases. His small head throbbed where it had struck the tree trunk, and his entire body ached from the impact and the lingering effects of Voldemort's banishing spell.
Intense pain made him groan.
"That's right! Boss!" The memory returned in a sudden rush, and Dobby's eyes went wide with panic.
He suddenly remembered the battle he'd witnessed before losing consciousness—the terrible duel between Adrian and Voldemort, the multiple Killing Curses that had struck his master's earthen shield, the subsequent silence.
Dobby looked around frantically, his large eyes were searching the plantation for any sign of Adrian or the Dark Lord.
The plantation was deathly quiet now. The unnatural mist had mostly dissipated, wisps of it were still clinging to the ground but no longer forming an impassable barrier.
The magical pressure that had made the air feel heavy had lifted.
Only the Tree of Wisdom stood there silently, as it always had, glowing faintly with its usual soft light. Its presence was peaceful, calming, exactly as Dobby remembered from countless previous visits.
Could it be... had everything been just a nightmare? Had none of it really happened?
Dobby shook his head, trying to clear the confused thoughts. No, it had been real. He could still see the scorch marks on the ground where Voldemort's dark magic had struck. One greenhouse was partially collapsed, its walls were shattered.
The signs of battle were everywhere.
Just as Dobby was struggling to understand what had happened, the Tree of Wisdom suddenly moved in a way he'd never seen before.
All of its leaves fell simultaneously. Though there was no wind at all, they lifted into the air. They gathered above the Tree's canopy, spinning and swirling to form a massive green vortex that slowly descended.
Dobby held his breath, watching in awe and confusion as the magical display continued.
The falling leaves danced through the air, gradually beginning to sketch out a shape. They moved in coordinated patterns, forming an outline, then filling in details. The vortex of green slowly condensed and took on definition.
A human silhouette emerged from the swirling leaves.
Dobby's jaw dropped open in shock as the figure became clearer.
"Sir!" Dobby whispered, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him.
Adrian slowly appeared, descending to the ground as the last of the leaves settled into permanent transformation. His feet touched the soil gently, and he stood there looking exactly as he had before the battle.
In his hand, he held two objects that gleamed in the sunlight, two leaves, each glowing with a soft light.
These were Voldemort's final remains. Pure soul energy, sufficient to save both Harry and his sister.
"Alright," Adrian said, his voice was slightly rough but steady. He moved his stiff neck carefully, testing his body's functionality after the traumatic experience of soul projection and spiritual combat.
Everything seemed to work properly, though there was an odd sensation running through him.
He looked down at Dobby, who was staring up at him with tears streaming down his, and managed a tired smile.
"Time to get down to real business," Adrian said softly, holding up the leaves so they caught the light. "We have people to heal, Dobby. And questions to answer. But first..."
He swayed slightly on his feet, the full exhaustion of what he'd been through was finally catching up to him now that the danger had passed.
"First, I think I need to sit down for a moment."
The battle was over.
Voldemort was truly, permanently destroyed this time.
The war had ended today.
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