Capítulo 19: Chapter 18: The War That Never Was
(General POV)
The air crackled with anticipation. The stands, packed with Hogwarts students, teachers, and Ministry officials, buzzed with excited chatter. The late afternoon sun painted the Quidditch pitch in hues of gold and emerald, a seemingly idyllic backdrop for the final act of the Triwizard Tournament.
Lavender Brown bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes glued to the swirling mist that marked the entrance to the maze. "Any minute now!" she squealed, her voice high with excitement. "I can't wait to see who wins!"
Dean Thomas, ever the strategist, was already placing bets. "My money's on Krum," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Seamus Finnigan, however, was more concerned with the culinary possibilities of the evening. "I hope they've got those cauldron cakes at the feast tonight," he said with a sigh. "Those things are brilliant."
Hermione, usually the first to engage debate, wasn't listening. A cold dread had settled over her, a growing unease.
Harry and Vincent should be back soon, she thought, her heart twisting with worry. She had a bad feeling about this and it sent a shiver down her spine. Please, let them be alright.
On the platform, Professor McGonagall adjusted her spectacles, her lips pursed in a thoughtful frown.
"Albus," she said, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the swirling mist, "Are you certain this was wise? Allowing the Tournament to continue after… everything?"
She didn't need to elaborate. The memory of the Dark Mark appearing in the sky above the Quidditch World Cup, of the terror that had gripped the crowd, was still fresh in their minds.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his blue eyes twinkling with an unsettling intensity. "We needed to project an air of normalcy, Minerva. To do otherwise would be to give in to fear. And fear, as we both know, is a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."
"But the boy… Harry…" McGonagall began, her voice laced with concern.
Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing her. "I trust him, Minerva. He is stronger than you think. And he is not alone."
Just then, a collective gasp rippled through the stands. The mist at the maze entrance shimmered, and two figures stumbled out onto the pitch.
"They're back! The champions are back!"
The band started playing and Cheers erupted, echoing across the stadium. But as the figures came into focus, the cheers died abruptly, same with the music, replaced by a stunned silence.
(Daphne's POV)
My heart leaped into my throat as Vincent materialized on the pitch. Relief washed over me, a wave of warmth that chased away the chill of apprehension that had been clinging to me for hours. He was back. Safe. But as I looked at him, a new wave of unease, a prickling sensation that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, washed over me. He looked… different. Harder, his eyes burning with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified me.
But it wasn't Vincent who stole my breath, who sent a wave of primal fear coursing through my veins. It was the figure beside him.
Tall, pale, his face a grotesque mask of power and cruelty. No nose… A chill, colder than the approaching twilight, washed over me.
Who is that? I thought, my heart pounding against my ribs. What has Vincent brought back?
(Blaise's POV)
"Bloody hell," I muttered, my jaw dropping as Van Doren appeared on the pitch, a dark figure looming beside him. "Who's that git with the… nose job?"
Theodore, his face unusually pale, grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. "That's… That's…"
He trailed off, his voice a strangled whisper.
"Who?" I asked, my gaze fixed on the grotesque figure. I'd never seen anyone – or anything – like it. The air around him seemed to crackle with a dark energy, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The figure turned its head, those red eyes sweeping across the crowd like a predator sizing up its prey. A shiver ran down my spine, a primal fear that had nothing to do with my usual Slytherin bravado.
(Voldemort's POV)
Disorientation. A blinding white light, a sickening sensation of being pulled apart and reassembled. I opened my eyes, my vision was blurry at first, my new body feeling strangely… heavy.
Where was I?
What had that boy done?
I looked around, my vision clearing. A field of sorts, surrounded by… stands? People were staring, their faces a mixture of shock and… something else… a primal fear that tasted sweet on my tongue. The air thrummed with magic, young, untamed magic, a symphony of fear and anticipation.
Then I saw it. The castle. Hogwarts.
Fury, a hot, searing rage, coursed through me. That arrogant child had dared to bring me here, that wasn't the plan…not yet I would take hogwarts but only later after I had prepared better and killed Potter, Damn this insolent child.
"Now they know you're back, Riddle," a voice, amplified by magic, echoed across the field. "Or is it that ridiculous nickname you prefer… Voldemort?"
I turned, my red eyes burning with a cold fire. The boy stood before me.
"What have you done?" I hissed, my voice a venomous caress. "Who the hell are you?"
(Vincent's POV)
"It's time to face the consequences of your actions, Riddle," I said, my voice unwavering, my gaze locked on his.
He snarled, his face contorted with rage, "You will pay for this insolence, boy."
He raised his wand, a jet of green light erupting from its tip.
"Avada Kedavra!"
I reacted instinctively. "Expelliarmus!"
My spell, a jet of scarlet light, collided with his Killing Curse. The air crackled with raw power, the force of our magic sending a shockwave through the stands.
(Professor McGonagall's POV)
"Merlin's beard!" I exclaimed, my hand flying to my mouth as Voldemort materialized beside Vincent Van Doren. "He's back! Albus, we have to…"
My words died in my throat as a jet of red light shot past my head, narrowly missing me. I whirled around to see Alastor Moody, his magical eye spinning wildly, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and panic, firing spells at Dumbledore.
"Albus!"
(Dumbledore's POV)
My heart pounded against my ribs as I watched the two spells clash, a deadly dance of red and green light that illuminated the growing darkness. The boy, Van Doren, was trying to hold his own against…
My mind reeled. It couldn't be.
It's Voldemort.
I had to intervene,
I rose to my feet, But as I took a step toward the field to help vincent against voldemort, my senses screamed a warning. Danger! A prickling sensation on the back of my neck, a cold dread that I hadn't felt since…
I barely had time to raise my wand, deflecting a spell that whizzed past my head with a force that sent a shiver down my spine.
I whirled around hearing Minerva's scream my name, my gaze locking with the attacker.
"Alastor?" I gasped, my voice laced with disbelief. It was Alastor Moody, Or someone pretending to be moody.
He did not say anything and pointed his wand at me again.
Another spell, I raised my wand and our spells clashed, I was stronger than him.
Through the sparkle of the spells, I saw Voldemort and Vincent, their wands still locked in a deadly dance, a whirlwind of green and red light that seemed to illuminate the growing darkness.
Minerva was trying to help me too, I cursed that I had sent Severus Back to the castle.
(Barty Crouch Jr./Moody POV)
Panic clawed at me. This wasn't part of the plan. Van Doren wasn't supposed to reach the cup. Voldemort would return and start preparing… Now the old fool Dumbledore was sure he was back and worst of all the minister, I watched as Dumbledore moved toward the field.
I knew the dark lord was powerful but to take on Dumbledore just after his rebirth. Not yet.I had to buy him time.
I raised my wand, aiming at Dumbledore's back, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Impedimenta!"
I dodged a spell that Mcgonagall sent my way. Fighting those two would be hard, But I had to.
(Vincent's POV)
The air crackled with raw power as our wands clashed, a deadly dance of green and red light that illuminated the growing darkness. Voldemort's spells hissed through the air, aimed with a precision that made my skin crawl. He was a whirlwind of dark energy, his movements fluid and unpredictable, his attacks relentless.
"You dare defy me, boy?" he snarled, his voice a venomous rasp. "You, think you can stand against the power of Lord Voldemort?"
I didn't back down. My shield charm, reinforced by the Fortitudo rune etched across my chest, held firm against his barrage of curses. But he was slippery, more so than I'd anticipated. His spells slipped past my defenses, forcing me to duck, weave, and roll, I had some bruises on my body and blood running down face, I knew he wouldn't go down easy
"You're fast," I said, panting, sweat stinging my eyes.
I channeled my magic, the runes on my arms thrumming with power. A wave of heat surged through me, fueling my spells, making them faster, stronger, more precise.
"Confringo!" I roared, unleashing a jet of searing blue flames that engulfed Voldemort in a fiery explosion.
He reappeared a split second later, a few feet away, his black robes singed, his red eyes blazing with fury. "Impudent whelp!"
He countered with a spell I didn't recognize, a jet of black energy that felt like a physical blow, slamming into my shield with a force that knocked me off my feet. I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me, my vision blurring.
Before I could recover, he was upon me, his wand a blur of motion. I rolled, narrowly avoiding a curse that scorched the ground where I'd been lying. I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest, my senses screaming a warning.
This wasn't like fighting the Dummies or those arrogant seventh-year Slytherins. This was Voldemort. The Dark Lord. A wizard of unparalleled power, fueled by decades of hatred and a thirst for domination.
Don't panic, I thought, forcing myself to breathe, to focus. Remember the plan. Remember what's at stake.
I cast a Protego, the shield charm flickering as it absorbed another blast of dark energy.
"You're strong," Voldemort said, his voice a chilling whisper. "Stronger than I expected. Surrender now and I will pardon you and allow you to join me, you're very strong for someone your age."
I just flipped him off.
He snarled and flicked his wand, and a tendril of black smoke shot out, coiling around my legs, binding me like a serpent. I struggled, but the smoke constricted, cutting off my circulation, making my legs burn with a searing pain.
"You should have stayed hidden, boy," he said, his face inches from mine, his red eyes boring into me with a terrifying intensity. "Now, you will die."
He raised his wand, aiming for my throat. "Any last words?"
"Yeah," I gasped, my voice strained, the runes on my back tingling with a desperate surge of power. "Go fuck yourself."
I channeled my magic, pouring every ounce of my will into a single spell. "Diffindo!"
The severing charm sliced through the black smoke, freeing my legs. I lunged, my wand flashing, unleashing a barrage of spells. Stupefy, Reducto, Confringo. A chaotic symphony of light and force aimed at distracting him, at buying me a few precious seconds.
Voldemort deflected each spell with ease, his movements fluid, his expression a mask of contemptuous amusement. "You fight like a child," he sneered. "Undisciplined. Unfocused."
He flicked his wand, and a wave of nausea washed over me, making my stomach churn. I stumbled, my vision blurring. He was using Legilimency, trying to pry open my mind, to expose my secrets.
"What are you hiding, boy?" he hissed, his voice a venomous caress. "What secrets do you hold?"
Not today, Riddle, I thought, gritting my teeth, channeling the last vestiges of my strength. You won't break me.
I slammed my mental shields shut, reinforcing them with every ounce of will I possessed. The nausea receded, replaced by a surge of defiance.
You want a fight, Riddle? Fine. Let's dance.
I drew on the power of the runes, pushing my magic beyond its limits. The air around me crackled with raw energy, and my vision sharpened, the world slowing down as if time itself was bending to my will.
I saw an opening, a momentary lapse in his concentration. It was a risky move, reckless, perhaps even suicidal. But I didn't have a choice.
"Serpensortia!" I roared, unleashing the snake-summoning spell.
A massive python, its scales shimmering green and gold in the moonlight, erupted from the tip of my wand, its jaws snapping, its fangs dripping venom.
Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise.
It was enough.
I lunged, my body a blur of motion, and slammed into him, knocking him off balance. We crashed to the ground and rolled out back into our feet, a tangle of limbs and wands, the python coiling around us, its hiss a sibilant counterpoint to our grunts of exertion.
He struggled, his strength surprising, his magic a dark fire that burned against my skin. But I was fueled by adrenaline and by a primal need to survive.
I grabbed his wand arm, twisting it with a vicious force that made him cry out in pain. Our faces were inches apart, our eyes locked in a battle of wills.
"You… underestimate me…" he gasped, his voice strained.
"No," I growled, my voice rough, my eyes burning with a cold fury. "I understand you perfectly. You're a bitch, Riddle. A poor little bitch with daddy issues, I know what you crazy mother did to get your papa to fuck her."
That seemed to surprise him.
I brought my knee up, driving it into his stomach with a sickening bump sound.
He screamed or tried to as I had knocked the air out of him.
His grip on his wand slackened.
This was my chance.
He doubled over, gasping for breath, his face contorted with pain.
In a flash, I reached behind me, my fingers finding the familiar grip of the 5906. I whipped it out, the cold metal a reassuring weight in my hand.
Voldemort looked up, his red eyes wide with surprise as he saw the gun pointed at his face he tightened the grip on his wand and prepared to cast a spell. "Avad…" he began, his voice a strangled whisper.
Boom.
I pulled the trigger.
The sound echoed through all of the field, and an eerie silence followed.
The force of the gunshot threw his head back, blood and bone splattering against the emerald green grass of the Quidditch pitch. His body, no longer a vessel of power and malice, slumped to the ground, lifeless.
I approached cautiously, the gun still raised. His once-terrifying gaze was vacant, his face a ruined mask of shock and disbelief. To be sure, I fired two more shots into his head, the sound of the gunshots echoing through the stunned silence of the stadium.
Silence.
The air, thick with the stench of gunpowder and burnt flesh, seemed to crackle with residual magic.
I stood there, my heart pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I'd done it. I'd killed Voldemort. Kinda of. To completely erase him I still need to kill that damn snake, get into Bellatrix vault and the complicated situation with Potter.
A wave of exhaustion washed over me. But there was no time to rest. Not yet.
The silence in the stadium was deafening. Thousands of eyes were fixed on me, a kaleidoscope of shock, horror, and disbelief. It was a heady sensation, this power, this control over a crowd that had moments before been cheering for a spectacle, a game. Now, they were witnessing something far more profound.
I let my gaze sweep over them, taking in their reactions. Students huddled together, their faces pale, their whispers barely audible above the pounding of my own heart. Teachers stood frozen, their wands clutched in white-knuckled grips, their expressions a mixture of confusion and fear.
I had their attention.
Then, my gaze landed on Moody. He stood near Dumbledore and Mcgonagall, his wand still raised, his face contorted in a mask of shock and horror. He'd witnessed his dark lord fall, to a muggle weapon no less and the brutal finality of it all, I thought about killing him but he still had his uses, he probably knew where the snake was.
I took advantage of his shocked state.
I raised the 5906, aimed for his wand hand. He didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He just stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and… something else… a flicker of understanding, perhaps? Or maybe just the resigned acceptance of his own impending doom.
I didn't hesitate.
Boom.
The gunshot echoed through the stadium, a sharp, brutal punctuation mark to the silence.
The bullet hit his hand, his wand was destroyed and he lost a couple of fingers. The pain apparently took him out of his shocked state but before he could run I raised my wand and casted a "Incarcerous" to bind him.
I lowered the gun, my gaze sweeping over the stunned crowd once more.
(Hermione's POV)
A strangled gasp escaped my lips, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a scream. The loud sound of the gun going off still rings in my mind.
My gaze darted between Voldemort's body, sprawled on the ground like a discarded puppet, and Vincent, who stood next to him, a gun still smoking in his hand.
He's dead, a voice whispered in my head, a chilling realization that sent a wave of nausea rolling through me. Voldemort is dead.
A part of me is still wondering what the hell had happened to Harry.
(Daphne's POV)
My breath hitched, my fingers digging into the rough wood of the bench. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the world tilting precariously as the enormity of what I'd just witnessed crashed down on me.
Vincent had killed him. With a… gun?
My gaze locked on Vincent, my heart pounding against my ribs, a strange mix of awe and terror coiling in my gut.
(Blaise's POV)
"Holy… Merlin," I breathed, my voice a strangled whisper. My jaw hung slack, stunned silence. Van Doren had just shot Voldemort. In the head. Three times.
He's bloody insane, I thought, a shiver running down my spine. But beneath the shock, a flicker of admiration, of grudging respect, ignited within me. He's also brilliant.
(Theodore's POV)
The silence in the stadium was broken only by the ragged gasps of the crowd and the lingering echoes of the gunshots. I stared at Voldemort's body, at the ruined mask of his face, the blood staining the emerald green grass.
A strange sense of… satisfaction… settled over me. It was as if a weight had been lifted, a shadow banished. The world, for a moment, seemed… clearer.
(Cornelius Fudge's POV)
Voldemort.
He'd returned.
Panic, raw and primal, clawed at my throat. My hand instinctively reached for my wand, but it felt like a twig, a useless bauble against the wave of dark magic that radiated from the monstrous figure.
The boy, Van Doren, stood before him, a mere speck of defiance against an ocean of darkness. But he held his ground, his wand raised, a flicker of determination in his eyes that belied his youth.
And then, a sound like nothing I'd ever heard ripped through the stunned silence. A sharp, brutal crack that echoed across the stadium.
My eyes darted to the source of the sound. Van Doren held… a gun? A Muggle weapon?
Voldemort's head snapped back, a spray of blood and bone splattering against the emerald green grass. His body, no longer a vessel of power and malice, crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Three more shots rang out, echoing through the shocked silence.
It was over. Just like that.
A fourth-year Slytherin, wielding a Muggle weapon, had just vanquished the most feared dark wizard of this recent era.
The world had tilted on its axis. Nothing would ever be the same.
My gaze darted to Dumbledore. He stood frozen, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else… a chilling premonition, perhaps?
(Dumbledore's POV)
Pain lanced through my chest, but I ignored it, forcing myself to focus on the scene unfolding before me.
He's dead.
The thought echoed in my mind, a mixture of relief and… something else… a chilling premonition of the chaos that was sure to follow. Voldemort was dead, yes, but he still had followers and the seed of hate he had planted…they would linger.
And the boy, Van Doren, stood there, a gun still smoking in his hand, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, a look in his eyes that I'd seen before, a look that whispered of power, of ambition, of a ruthlessness that chilled me to the bone.
Merlin help us all, I thought, my heart heavy with a foreboding that overshadowed even the relief of Voldemort's demise. The dark lord may be dead, I hope another one isn't rising.
(Professor McGonagall's POV)
Disbelief warred with horror as I stared at the scene before me. Voldemort… dead? Shot by a… Muggle weapon?
I wanted to intervene, to reprimand the boy for his reckless use of a Muggle weapon, for his blatant disregard for the laws and traditions of the wizarding world. But I couldn't move. I was frozen, paralyzed by the shock of it all.
(Vincent's POV)
"Voldemort is DEAD!" I roared, my voice amplified by magic, echoing through the stunned silence of the stadium.
I let the words hang in the air, letting the crowd absorb the weight of them, the finality. Then, I continued, my voice lower, laced with a chilling calm.
"He's gone. The self-proclaimed Lord of Darkness, the champion of blood purity, reduced to… this." I gestured to his mangled corpse with a disdainful flick of my hand.
"He preached strength, he preached power, he built his cult on fear and hate. But in the end, he was nothing but a coward. So terrified of death, so desperate to cling to his pathetic existence, that he hid behind twisted ideologies and hollow promises. He sought power, but he never understood its true source. True power isn't about blood or lineage. It's about will. It's about choice. It's about fighting for what you believe in, even when the odds are stacked against you."
"He preached that purebloods were superior to half bloods and muggleborns but I took him down with this", I raised the gun, "An "inferior" muggle weapon, let's this be a remind to us all that "muggles" may not possess magic but they're not weaklings."
I took a breath.
"He's gone. And he won't be coming back. I will make sure of it."
The silence held for a heartbeat, a fragile bubble of shock and disbelief. Then, it shattered.
A roar erupted from the stands, a wave of sound that washed over the stadium, drowning out the lingering scent of gunpowder and death. Cheers, shouts of joy, and a collective sigh of relief – a symphony of emotions unleashed.
"Van Doren! Van Doren! Van Doren!"
They chanted my name, their voices a thunderous wave of gratitude and awe.
I had done it.
I was their champion.
I had just gained an immense amount of followers, friends and maybe enemies.
The part of my plan was almost done, now all I had to do was get rid of the remaining horcruxex and Voldemort's remaining followers, but the most powerful and influential ones died at the graveyard, and the rest were still in azkaban and would remain there.
And as I stood there, the cheers washing over me, This wasn't the end of the fight. It was just the beginning.
Just then, another figure appeared on the pitch, stumbling out of the swirling mist at the maze entrance.
It was Harry.
(Harry's POV, Just after Vincent and Voldemort disappeared)
The silence in the graveyard was absolute. The echoes of Voldemort's laughter, of Wormtail's frantic chanting, of my own terrified screams, had faded into the night, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.
I stood there, my heart pounding against my ribs, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
What had just happened?
Where had Van Doren taken Voldemort?
Why?
My gaze darted around the graveyard, searching for… something… anything… that might offer a clue. My eyes fell on the spot where the burnt corpses were. Another wave of nausea washed over me, bile rising in my throat.
I stumbled back, my legs shaking, my mind reeling. I had to get out of here. I had to get back to Hogwarts. To Dumbledore, I had to warn him.
But how?
The Triwizard Cup.
It had been knocked away in the chaos, sent flying by the force of… whatever that spell had been that Van Doren had cast. I scanned the grounds I do not know for how long, my heart sinking as I saw the Cup lying near the edge of the clearing.
I staggered towards it, my legs feeling like lead, my head spinning. My fingers brushed against the cool metal, and a jolt of energy, a familiar tingling sensation, shot through me. This was it. My way out.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and gripped the Cup tightly.
Please, let this work.
The world dissolved into a blinding white light, a vortex of sensation that ripped me away from the graveyard, from the stench of death and decay, from the chilling silence that held the secrets of the night.
Thud.
I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me, my vision blurring. I lay there for a moment, dazed, my ears ringing, my head spinning.
Where… where am I?
I pushed myself up, my arms trembling, my heart pounding against my ribs like a frantic bird. My vision cleared, and I saw the stands, the Quidditch pitch, the familiar outline of Hogwarts Castle against the twilight sky.
I was back.
But… something was different. I could hear cheers, people screaming Van Doren's name.
But the teachers and headmaster stood frozen, their wands clutched in white-knuckled grips, their expressions a mixture of shock and fear.
And then I saw him.
Vincent.
He stood in the center of the pitch,he looked worse for wear, there were bruises on his face and some dried blood.
My gaze shifted to the ground at his feet.
Voldemort.
His body lay sprawled on the emerald green grass, his robes stained with blood, his face… I couldn't look. I couldn't tear my gaze away from those three dark holes in his head.
Dead.
He was dead.
What… what had happened? How…?
My mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the scene before me. Vincent, Voldemort's lifeless body…
And as I stared at Vincent, at the cold, calculating expression on his face, The events started replaying in my head and terrifying realization dawned on me.
He'd planned this. All of it.
I remember he was waiting for me at the cup. Just before I touched it he appeared and touched it too, he could've taken it before I got there.
And he had disappeared the moment we landed on the graveyard, leaving me alone there.
The Triwizard Tournament. The portkey. The graveyard. The Ritual. Voldemort's return. His death.
He's a monster, a voice whispered in my head, a chilling certainty that sent a shiver down my spine.
But beneath the fear, another emotion, a confusing, unwelcome flicker of… gratitude?
He'd killed Voldemort. He'd saved us all.
But at what cost? I wondered, my gaze lingering on the gun in his hand, a symbol of a power I didn't understand, a power that frightened me.
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