In the present world's Hogwarts, flames had begun spreading.
Not just the Great Hall—corridors, library, classrooms... Except for the Hospital Wing treating the wounded, isolated from the battlefield by their last shred of rationality, every battlefield had coincidentally produced stray Incendio spells.
Thus tongues of fire gradually licked up the thousand-year-old castle's ancient stones.
"Terry, can Professors McGonagall and the others really stop You-Know-Who? I mean, that's the Dark Lord—only Professor Dumbledore can match him..."
Padma curled into a ball before the jar containing Sterling, as if this provided more security.
"We can only trust the professors now. Since Professor Dumbledore confidently entrusted our safety to them, we should just believe in them."
Mainly the prophecy hadn't predicted anything happening to them; otherwise, he'd have been running outside Hogwarts holding Sterling's jar long ago.
Terry patted dust off himself, using Levitation Charm to lift the second-year Gryffindor he'd just put to sleep with a Stunning Spell onto a table recently moved from the Potions classroom, then bound him with some unknown vine-like herbs.
This was the twelfth student—but not the twelfth Gryffindor.
If not for today, Terry wouldn't have known Snape's image was so terrible even in younger students' hearts.
Seven Gryffindors, four Hufflepuffs, and one Ravenclaw.
That Ravenclaw had originally loved Potions but had been driven from the subject by Snape's deadly sarcasm, thus "harboring a grudge" against him, planning to bomb his office and find his secret potion notes.
Suddenly, a tremendous sound rang out, accompanied by walls collapsing.
A scene also uncontrollably unfolded before Terry—opposite Professors McGonagall, Vitam, and Snape stood black-robed Voldemort, grinning wickedly as he spread his arms wide. His body bore many wounds, rolling black smoke leaking from them.
But the three professors' conditions were worse. Vitam's left leg had become a pool of red sand. Professor McGonagall's robes were in tatters, with a deep gash across her face.
Only Snape seemed uninjured—no external wounds, didn't look particularly desperate, but he'd already collapsed on the ground, seemingly unconscious.
Voldemort spread his arms wider. Black lightning burst from his fingertips. Then a golden sword emerged from the void.
It cut open a gap—the other side was a strange kaleidoscope-like space. The blade carried misty pink-blue light particles as it swung down, severing Voldemort's head clean from his shoulders.
The scene vanished. Terry collapsed, sitting hard on the ground.
"Terry! What's wrong? Invigoration Draught—where is it..."
Padma anxiously searched everywhere. Terry stopped her, showing a relieved smile.
He could finally relax now.
In that glimpse through the gap just now, he'd seen a pair of familiar eyes—Sterling's eyes.
"We just need to wait."
"We just watch like this?"
Ron scratched his head. After removing all his armor, he sat on the ground beside Sterling, watching Harry locked in combat with the mysteriously appearing black-robed man.
"Yeah, so this is Harry's final act—also the only one he's playing with full commitment."
Sterling watched with interest. Ron couldn't recognize him, but as someone who'd briefly fought Voldemort, Sterling clearly saw this was the version he'd encountered, though aged somewhat.
Since that Killing Curse he'd initially cast had been dodged by Harry's desperate roll, he hadn't used the Killing Curse again, only employing various Dark Magic to fight Harry. But even so, Harry still had no real ability to resist effectively.
Of course, this Voldemort was originally fake, not fully recreating Voldemort's actual level.
Harry's spirit, though... rose steadily as the battle progressed.
At first it was just Stunning Spells mixed with Knockback Jinxes and fire spells, later becoming Expelliarmus, until now—Sterling clearly saw him mouth "Avada."
But his mouth just opened without producing the spell. His expression darkened, and he ultimately still used a Knockback Jinx to hit the ground, widening the distance between himself and Voldemort.
Voldemort's combat level seemed to dynamically change to match Harry's level. Except for the initial "overture," as long as Harry didn't actively attack, he wouldn't move either.
Harry stared at his wand, his expression unreadable.
He raised his wand, again mouthing "Avada," but as if he'd lost his voice, he could only powerlessly lower his wand.
Sterling knew this was unwillingness—unwillingness to use the spell that had once taken his parents' lives, despite it being the most efficient magic against Voldemort.
Sterling thought he'd continue using the Disarming Charm.
He was truly skilled at this magic. They seemed to naturally possess some bond—his Disarming Charm. If Sterling dueled without using massive magic power to overwhelm it, Sterling couldn't even counter it properly.
Beyond Sterling's expectations, Harry discarded his wand.
He brought his hands together. Then brilliant golden light emerged in his palms, gradually condensing into a sword hilt.
"Magic Power Shaping?"
Sterling opened magical vision. In Harry's body, a phantom pattern was gradually solidifying.
That was a broken golden sword.
Harry swung forcefully. A rushing flow of light emerged from the sword hilt, solidifying into a gleaming blade.
Then he pushed off the ground, actually covering several meters of distance in a single leap.
Sterling's physical condition could achieve this, but even the trained Ron temporarily couldn't—yet the sub-healthy Harry...
Before Sterling could figure it out, he discovered Voldemort on the other side actually experiencing a decline in power—each spell weaker than the previous. Conversely, Harry's sword grew increasingly brilliant, like he was gripping flowing molten gold.
Sterling nearly stood up immediately, startling Ron.
This is... the weak overcoming the strong?!
The core of Hero Magic—the power Sterling hadn't yet used—under firm conviction's support, used conviction as fuel to extract power, briefly bursting into beyond-limit abilities whilst simultaneously suppressing the conviction's opposite, preventing them from displaying their original strength. Magic Power Shaping plus overcoming stronger opponents—this was true, complete Hero Magic!
Harry Potter aimed at Voldemort's neck, swinging the final sword.
Simultaneously, in Sterling's magical vision, that golden broken sword floating above Harry's heart suddenly burst with dazzling light as this sword swung. A thick beam like a pillar of light descended, enveloping Harry Potter entirely.
Then the broken sword transformed into a lightning-shaped blade, settling onto Harry's forehead, merging with that scar.
And that sword cut open a gap.
Outside the gap was a dim chamber, the smell of rust and foul odor seeping through.
Harry's light sword slashed forward. Blood flowers bloomed. The gap also closed.
In the real world, the closed-eyed Professor McGonagall heard something fall heavily to the ground.
She opened her eyes. The smoking head rolled to her feet. A black wisp of smoke shrieked, penetrating the wall and escaping into the night.