Voldemort recoiled.
"What are you?" he hissed, fury and something far rarer creeping into his voice—fear.
"Demigod-level beasts… serving a child? Answer me!"
Darkrai did not reply.
He never did.
Instead, the shadows moved.
A sphere of condensed darkness formed in Darkrai's hand—silent, heavy, absolute.
Shadow Ball.
It slammed into Quirrell's body, driving him backward with a sickening crack.
At the same instant—
Ceruledge vanished.
And reappeared behind Quirrell.
Shadow Claw.
Blue-white spectral blades tore through the air, ripping straight through Voldemort's manifestation. The scream that followed was not human—it echoed like tearing souls.
Armarouge stepped forward, eyes blazing.
Flamethrower.
Fire unlike any wizarding flame erupted—pure, controlled, merciless.
Quirrell didn't even have time to beg.
His body was reduced to ash, robes collapsing into a blackened heap on the stone floor.
Silence followed.
Then—Voldemort screamed.
"No—NO—!"
Darkrai's single crimson eye glowed brighter.
Bad Dreams.
The chamber warped.
Voldemort's spirit was dragged into a nightmare loop—endless deaths, endless failures, Lucien's calm smile watching from every reflection.
For the first time since his fall—
Voldemort fled in terror, ripping his soul free and vanishing with a shriek that echoed through Hogwarts' wards.
Gone.
Dumbledore Arrives
Moments later, the door burst open.
Albus Dumbledore stopped dead.
Harry lay unconscious on the floor—alive, breathing.
And standing over him—
Darkrai.
Ceruledge.
Armarouge.
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses slowly.
"…Ah," he said softly. "I see Lucien has been thorough."
Darkrai inclined his head slightly—recognition.
"You again," Dumbledore murmured. "It has been some time."
He looked to the others.
"And you must be…?"
Ceruledge placed a hand over his chest.
"Ceruledge."
Armarouge followed, voice steady and warm.
"Armarouge."
Darkrai spoke last, voice like distant thunder.
"The boy was attacked. The parasite fled. The host was destroyed."
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly—relief, sorrow, and awe crossing his face all at once.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "All of you."
He gently lifted Harry, magic cushioning the boy.
"I will take him to the hospital wing."
As Dumbledore turned, Darkrai paused.
The Philosopher's Stone, lying forgotten beside the ashes, floated gently into his grasp.
Dumbledore noticed—but said nothing.
Some things… were better left to Lucien.
Lionhardt Dormitory – Night
Darkrai slipped through space itself, reappearing beside Lucien's bed.
Lucien was awake.
He always was.
Darkrai relayed everything—Quirrell, Voldemort, Harry's fall, the fear, the escape.
Lucien listened silently.
When it ended, he exhaled softly.
"…Good," he said.
Darkrai placed the Philosopher's Stone into Lucien's hand.
Lucien glanced at it once—then stored it away without ceremony.
"Thank you," Lucien said quietly. "All of you."
Ceruledge and Armarouge bowed.
Darkrai lingered a second longer—then vanished with the others, guardians returning to the shadows.
Lucien turned.
Penelope stirred as he pulled her into a gentle hug.
"It's over," he whispered.
She relaxed instantly, trusting him without question.
Lucien closed his eyes.
Harry was alive.
Voldemort was terrified.
The Stone was safe.
And Hogwarts slept peacefully—
unaware how close it had come to burning.