White mist swirled ceaselessly as the black silhouette grew increasingly solid.
Just as Voldemort was immersed in joy, an inexplicable sense of danger suddenly surged within him.
Then, three streaks of sickly green light pierced through the night sky, tearing through the black fog as they flew towards him from three different directions.
Caught completely off guard, Voldemort's face twisted with shock and fury. Yet this was his most vulnerable moment—even weaker than a ghost—as he was wholly focused on cooperating with the potion's effects to craft himself a perfect body, rendering him utterly immobile.
"No!"
Amidst his enraged and astonished roar, the three curses struck him almost simultaneously.
Harry and Fudge watched in delighted amazement as the black silhouette began to twist and dissipate, the furious cries vanishing instantly. The entire space fell into absolute silence, leaving only the ceaseless bubbling of the cauldron's contents.
The turn of events had been too swift and utterly without warning.
Only after confirming Voldemort's death did Harry snap out of his daze and search for the source of the Killing Curses.
But after looking around, he was utterly dumbfounded.
Peter Pettigrew, with his sole remaining left arm, was holding his wand aloft, aimed at the cauldron—just like Barty Crouch Jr.
What in Merlin's name was happening?
Not only was Harry bewildered, but the two perpetrators themselves appeared equally shocked. Barty Jr. and Pettigrew stared at each other, their eyes filled with immense confusion.
Why did you try to kill him, too?
Wait—who cast the third curse?
Harry jolted awake. There had been three curses that struck Voldemort, meaning the third was—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Clear footsteps echoed through the dense fog. Harry and Fudge looked up; the latter was pleasantly surprised to find that the ropes binding him had loosened, allowing him to wriggle free subtly.
"You?!" Barty Jr. frowned at the approaching figure.
"It seems I underestimated you. I thought you'd fled, Vladimir," he said.
"Likewise, I never expected you to be on the other side, Barty," came the reply.
Approaching from a distance, wand raised, was none other than Vladimir, who had just fled moments ago. An expression of surprise also lingered on his face.
Barty Jr. eyed him warily before suddenly firing a silent curse, which Vladimir effortlessly deflected.
"We don't seem to be enemies," Vladimir remarked calmly, stepping past him to tend to Pettigrew's injuries with healing magic.
"You've suffered, Peter," Vladimir sighed, observing his severed arm. "A piece of flesh would've sufficed. Why be so cruel to yourself?"
Pettigrew forced a weak smile onto his pale face. "It was the only way to earn his full trust."
Then, a flush of excitement coloured his cheeks:
"Young master, we succeeded! We've killed the Dark Lord!"
Harry's head spun from the convoluted relationships unfolding before him.
Why did Vladimir want Voldemort dead? Why did Pettigrew kill Voldemort?
Why had Barty Jr. been fawning like a lapdog one moment, only to transform into a battle-hardened warrior the next?
His brain couldn't process this flood of information!
"Vladimir, how do you know Peter Pettigrew? He's an escaped convict from Azkaban—you can't trust him!"
Harry finally voiced his most pressing question, offering what he thought was a well-meaning warning.
"Thank you for your kindness, Harry." Vladimir smiled oddly. "But you're mistaken."
"About what?" Harry stared at him blankly.
"Peter Pettigrew didn't escape from Azkaban. I rescued him during the prisoner transfer."
'What?!'
Harry gaped at him in shock, about to speak when a loud shout came from nearby:
"Accio medal!"
The medal soared towards Fudge. In this life-or-death moment, Fudge displayed agility unbefitting his portly frame, rolling four or five metres before leaping up to grab the medal.
A swirling light enveloped him like a shooting star streaking across the sky, vanishing in an instant.
Harry stared dumbfounded at the sky.
Was the bloody Minister for Magic really fleeing without him?
Barty Crouch Jr. curled his lip disdainfully, utterly unconcerned about Fudge's escape. Vladimir didn't even spare a glance. Suddenly sensing something, he turned towards the cauldron.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Three green flashes shot from the cauldron. Vladimir blocked those aimed at himself and Peter, but Barty—still looking towards Fudge's escape route—reacted too late. The curse struck his chest.
Barty's body collapsed heavily, eyes wide as if unable to comprehend such a careless death.
In that thousandth of a second between life and death, countless images flashed through his mind like a spinning zoetrope.
His youth—excelling academically, passing twelve O.W.L.s with Outstanding grades, hailed as the perfect Crouch heir.
After graduation, joining the Death Eaters in rebellion against his father's coldness, committing unspeakable crimes.
His mother dying heartbroken, leading to his repentance and becoming his father's spy among the Death Eaters.
Finally understanding his father's good intentions, their reconciliation.
But his past sins were too great—even redemption came too late, landing him in Azkaban.
To protect his father from vengeful Death Eaters, he concealed his true allegiance.
Over a decade later, with Voldemort's resurgence, his father rescued him to serve as a double agent—disguised as Moody at Hogwarts, waiting to strike during the Dark Lord's resurrection...
The visions stopped abruptly, shattering as more authentic memories surfaced.
Sudden clarity filled Barty.
So... it was all a dream...
Though... if things had truly happened that way... it wouldn't have been bad.
Finally, his memories settled on a handsome face before fading completely.
Wayne... Lawrence...
Thud!
Barty Crouch Jr. moved no more, his lifeless eyes fixed on the distance.
"Wormtail, you gutter rat—what madness possessed you to betray me? Was it this new master of yours? Since when do ambitious dark wizards emerge from the frozen wastes of Koldovstoretz?"
Voldemort's voice cut like ice as a black robe flew up to cloak the shadowy figure.
The cauldron's smoke dissipated completely as a tall, gaunt man stepped forth. Harry saw the face that had haunted his nightmares for the past three years—paler than a skull, with two large, blood-red eyes and a flat, snakelike nose. No, it was practically noseless, with only two slit-like nostrils.
He wasn't looking at Harry, but at the trembling Wormtail and the frowning Vladimir.
Compared to his sworn enemy, what he despised more was betrayal!
Because betrayal meant someone believed he wasn't the strongest, that there was someone more worthy of following—something Voldemort could never tolerate.
Who could possibly rival him besides Dumbledore!
"Quite cautious. Did you prepare double portions of the potion?" Vladimir spoke.
The frigid air carried a murderous aura so sharp it made Harry's bones ache, yet Vladimir remained utterly composed as he analysed the situation.
"At the moment of death, your soul left your body, only to be immediately fused back by the potion. It seems this formula is even more remarkable than I imagined."
"You're definitely not that brat. Who are you?"
Voldemort stared intently at Vladimir, suddenly struck by an absurd illusion.
He felt an inexplicable closeness to the man before him, as if they were intimately connected.
Impossible!
He'd killed his father with his own hands. His uncle had died in Azkaban. His mother had perished shortly after giving birth to him.
Could there still be someone from the Gaunt family alive?
For a fleeting moment, Voldemort's belief in his own uniqueness wavered. His killing intent surged violently. A howling wind gathered overhead as thick black clouds formed the shape of a massive skull, radiating overwhelming pressure.
Harry held his breath, utterly at a loss for what to do or what he could do.
All he could manage was to memorise as much information as possible.
If he survived this, he'd tell Dumbledore everything.
"Before introducing myself, I should clarify that while Peter Pettigrew betrayed Voldemort, he never betrayed Tom Riddle."
Vladimir produced a gemstone from his hand. His appearance began shifting until he transformed into a tall, handsome young man.
Voldemort's crimson eyes widened in shock. Harry couldn't suppress his reaction either:
"Tom Riddle?!"
"Harry, it's been two years... We meet again."
Tom smiled at Harry before turning his gaze to the speechless Voldemort.
A flash of green light erupted as their Killing Curses collided mid-air, sparking blinding flares.
Tom staggered back two steps. In terms of magical power, he was clearly outmatched, but he could still hold his ground.
"I am you, and you are me. I know exactly what you're thinking.
"Now isn't the time for our final confrontation, Voldemort. I'll come for you in a month.
"If I were you, I'd kill Harry immediately and flee. Who knows when Young Master Lawrence might show up?
"What if he arrives with Dumbledore? You'd never escape then."
With an upward flick of his wand, Tom severed the magical clash. The gemstone in his other hand glowed brightly, and just like Fudge earlier, the two vanished into streaks of light.
Voldemort roared with impotent fury, firing curses wildly into the sky to no avail.
How could a Horcrux become human?!
His seventeen-year-old self had been resurrected. There was now another Tom Riddle in this world—a future Voldemort!
And why did he keep mentioning 'Young Master Lawrence'?!
Voldemort roared with madness, venting his fury. Though regaining his body should have been a joyous occasion, two of his subordinates had betrayed him simultaneously, and now another version of himself had appeared. All Voldemort wanted now was to kill Tom, kill Peter, kill Lawrence!
How dare they make him address them as 'Young Master'!
"Harry!"
Voldemort whirled around, flicking his wand to release Harry from his restraints before returning his wand to him.
"The Chosen One, is it? My destined nemesis, is it?
"I'll deal with you first, then kill that other version of me. I'll prove to the world that no one can stand against me!
"Crucio!"
Harry had never experienced such torment. Every bone in his body felt like it was burning, his eyeballs rolling wildly. He wished he could die right then.
If possible, he'd have cursed Voldemort out, too.
'If you're so powerful, go settle scores with Wayne and that Riddle from earlier! What's the point of torturing me?'
"You've studied duelling, haven't you, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked softly, his red eyes gleaming.
"Stand up. Pick up your wand!"
"I want you to watch as I kill you! I want to see the light leave your eyes, just like when your parents fell before me!"
Harry jerked his head up, struggling to his feet. Glaring at Voldemort with murderous eyes, he panted:
"Have it your way then!"
"Excellent." Seeing Harry's stubborn gaze, Voldemort seemed pleased rather than angered. Using magic to force Harry into a bow, he himself gave an elegant half-bow.
Despite his grotesque appearance, Voldemort's mastery was undeniable in this moment.
"Let us bow to each other. Etiquette must be observed... Dumbledore would surely want you to show good manners... Bow to death!"
Voldemort raised his wand, as did Harry, who quickly cast a Shield Charm without even speaking the incantation.
Seeing this proficient move, Voldemort looked slightly surprised: "It seems you do have some talent. Mastering nonverbal spells at your age is outstanding. Good... looks like I can torment you a while longer."
He was pleased—at least his prophesied opponent wasn't completely worthless. If Harry had been incompetent, it would have been humiliating.
Before Harry could cast another spell, the Cruciatus Curse hit him again.
"But didn't Dumbledore tell you Shield Charms can't block certain spells? Then again, that hypocrite would never teach you about Dark Magic. Pathetic." Voldemort sneered, relishing Harry's contorted expression.
"Fiendfyre!"
Activating his last resort, Harry endured the pain of the Cruciatus Curse as his negative emotions peaked.
Gathering every ounce of power he could muster, he screamed the incantation.
BOOM!
Blue flames erupted, coalescing into a monstrous two-headed firebird that roared towards Voldemort.
"Voldemort, I'll see you dead!"