Chapter 266
"Tom, you still don't understand which path you should be walking," said Albus Dumbledore slowly.
"What a waste of breath." Lord Voldemort sneered, lifting his wand in a careless, almost lazy motion.
But his target wasn't Dumbledore.
It was Harry Potter—still disoriented, still trying to make sense of where he was.
"See?" Voldemort laughed softly. "Hypocrite. You don't even have the luxury of choosing anymore. If it weren't for him, this battle would already be over. You would've captured me… dragged me back to the Ministry… put me on trial like you always dreamed."
His smile widened, cruel and sharp.
"But now? Now you have to protect this useless boy—this burden dragging you down."
"If you understood the meaning… and the power… of sacrifice," Dumbledore said coldly, "you would not say such things. And perhaps… you would not have spent these past ten years as you did."
The words struck like a blade.
Voldemort's laughter stopped instantly.
At the same time—
He saw it.
Every Killing Curse he cast at Harry… missed.
Not by chance.
Branches moved.
Alive.
They caught Harry, lifted him, passed him from one tree to another with impossible precision. The trunks were blasted apart, riddled with holes by green light—
But Harry himself remained untouched.
For a brief moment, Voldemort's already pale face seemed to drain of all color.
But it was only a mask.
A momentary illusion to mislead his opponent.
His will did not waver.
Not even slightly.
The desire to survive burned too fiercely within him.
Behind Dumbledore—
The trunk of a tree suddenly dissolved into sand.
It twisted, coiling—
Becoming a serpent.
Without hesitation, it lunged at Dumbledore's back.
"Professor Dumbledore—behind you!" Harry shouted, panic breaking through his voice.
His wand—gone.
He could do nothing but watch.
The sand serpent struck.
Clean.
Fast.
It bit straight through Dumbledore's neck—
Severing his head.
Then, almost grotesquely, it began to chew.
But something felt… wrong.
The texture.
The resistance.
The substance.
The serpent didn't understand.
But Voldemort did.
The "body" collapsed.
Not flesh.
Sand.
Dumbledore's form scattered apart, dissolving into loose grains that fell to the ground.
Then—
He appeared again.
Standing calmly behind a tall stone cross.
Voldemort showed no disappointment.
If such a simple trick had worked, this man would not be the one he feared.
His gaze sharpened.
Calculating.
Weighing everything.
His strength—
Far from its peak.
Dumbledore's—
Sharper than ever.
More than ten years had passed.
And this old man had not weakened.
Not even slightly.
The realization stirred something uncomfortable.
A trace of fear.
But—
This battle was not determined by power alone.
Yes, Dumbledore suppressed him.
Controlled him.
Cornered him.
But—
That changed the moment Harry arrived.
Now, Dumbledore could not fully commit.
Could not fight freely.
And that…
That was Voldemort's advantage.
As for the Death Eaters?
Irrelevant.
They could be punished later.
Locked in Azkaban, left to rot under the despair of Dementors—until they remembered who they truly belonged to.
Unbeknownst to him—
Things had already changed.
But Voldemort did not know that.
Instead, he found comfort in a different conclusion.
There had been no betrayal.
Or, at the very least—
No complete betrayal.
If Dumbledore had known everything—
He would not have come alone.
Aurors would have surrounded this place.
Even if the Ministry doubted him, Dumbledore could still rally support.
But now—
He stood alone.
No reinforcements.
No backup.
No other masters.
Not the formidable witch.
Not the duelist.
Those two…
Even Voldemort acknowledged them.
If they were here—
This battle would already be lost.
"Bellatrix… Dolohov…" Voldemort murmured inwardly.
He would free them soon.
Loyal.
Powerful.
Fanatical.
They were the foundation of his return.
His plans for Azkaban had long been prepared.
Once he regained his full strength—
He would rise again.
Expand.
Dominate.
And Harry's presence here—
Only confirmed his reasoning.
Dumbledore had made a mistake.
A miscalculation.
That was the only explanation.
"Harry, watch your surroundings," Dumbledore said suddenly, his voice low.
Only then did Harry notice—
The trees around him.
Their trunks twisting—
Splitting—
Turning into serpent heads lunging for his throat.
He had fallen back to the ground.
His wand—
There.
Half-buried in mud.
He grabbed it.
Barely steady.
Barely able to think.
"Impedimenta!" he shouted, voice trembling.
The charging snake heads halted mid-air.
Frozen.
Voldemort smiled.
Thin.
Cold.
Cruel.
"Crucio."
The curse shot forward without warning.
This time—
No Killing Curse.
He had changed tactics.
A living Harry Potter was more useful than a dead one.
Alive—
He was leverage.
A distraction.
A weakness Dumbledore could not ignore.
Dead—
He would only enrage the old man.
And an enraged Dumbledore…
Was far more dangerous.
Harry could die later.
Voldemort's survival—
Came first.
Before Dumbledore could react—
Harry moved.
"Protego!"
The spell burst from his wand.
This was what Hermione Granger had drilled into him.
Again.
And again.
Something strange happened.
Both spells—
Vanished.
As if they had never existed.
And then—
From the tips of their wands—
Two thin beams of golden light shot out.