Fortunately for Harry, Wormtail proved to be an obedient minion, ensuring that the resurrected Voldemort was draped in a long black robe before the young Potter could be traumatized by the sight of the Dark Lord in the nude. With his flat nose and skin so pale it had a bluish tint, it was easy to imagine the other deformities he bore as a result of the dark rituals he had subjected himself to over the years.
After a quick assessment of his new form to confirm that everything was in working order, Voldemort turned to Pettigrew, disregarding the rat's cries of distress. He seized Wormtail's left arm and pushed the sleeve of his robe back past the elbow, exposing the tattoo-like Dark Mark. With a flick of his finger, he darkened the mark, causing Wormtail to howl in agony as it sent a signal to the other Death Eaters.
Within minutes, a crowd of hooded wizards arrived, their black cloaks and masks concealing their identities. They approached their Master cautiously, almost in disbelief. Voldemort stood in silence, awaiting their arrival. The moment one of the Death Eaters dropped to his knees and crawled toward Voldemort, kissing the hem of his robes, the others followed suit, each bowing down before him before retreating to form a silent semi-circle around their Master, only a short distance from where Harry was bound. The whimpering Wormtail was momentarily forgotten.
An oppressive silence fell over the scene, stretching into what felt like an eternity. Finally, Voldemort broke the stillness. Initially, his words seemed like a greeting to his followers, but soon he was berating them for their past treachery—accusing them of claiming innocence and ignorance to evade consequences, and scolding them for failing to search for him in the years following his downfall on that fateful Halloween night thirteen years ago.
One Death Eater—Avery—fell to his knees in a desperate attempt to plead for forgiveness, but Voldemort was unforgiving. He interrupted Avery's whimpering by casting the Cruciatus Curse, holding it for about thirty seconds before lifting it and announcing to his followers that he neither forgives nor forgets. To demonstrate his 'mercy,' he granted Pettigrew a new hand, momentarily easing the rat's sobs.
Voldemort then declared that Karkarov, the traitor, would be hunted down and killed for his betrayal, reminding the Death Eaters that there were no retirements in their ranks. Having dealt with his followers for the moment, the resurrected Dark Lord finally set his sights on Harry.
"And now, our guest of honor, Harry Potter," he declared. "This boy not only caused my downfall thirteen years ago, but he has audaciously claimed the noble name of Slytherin for himself, sharing it with the blood-traitorous wretch Lucius is unfortunate enough to call his daughter. Yet, despite his transgressions, I find myself in his debt: without him, my return would not have been possible."
"Master, we implore you... tell us how you achieved this miracle... how you managed to return," Lucius Malfoy begged after a moment of silence.
"An interesting story, Lucius," Voldemort replied, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "But that is a tale for another time. For now, more pressing matters await." He stepped toward Harry, running a long, bony finger over the young man's shoulder. "Do you see this, Potter? Whatever defenses your mother's mudblood magic once provided are gone. This time, nothing will save you." He turned to Pettigrew. "Wormtail, untie him!" Peter's surprise mirrored that of the other Death Eaters.
"M-My Lord?" Wormtail stammered.
"Did I not make myself clear, Wormtail?" Voldemort hissed, his voice laced with a deadly edge. "The rules of the rite of conquest dictate that Potter must be able to defend himself. If I were to kill him now, the magics of Slytherin would vanish, rather than return to their rightful owner–me. After all, the blood-traitorous wench who became Lady Slytherin is already dead." Harry, feeling the lingering power of Slytherin's magic, knew this was not true, but he kept that knowledge to himself—for now, it served him better to let Voldemort remain misled. "But do not fret, my loyal followers, for as I demonstrated, Potter no longer possesses any protections against me. And merely a child—do you truly believe the great Lord Voldemort can lose this fight?" Silence fell as no one dared to answer.
"All done, my Lord," Wormtail said nervously, using his new hand to secure Harry's wrists behind his back while pressing his wand to Harry's temple.
"Release him and return his wand," Voldemort ordered. "Did you not hear what I said? He must be able to defend himself." Reluctantly, Peter complied, letting Harry go and tossing his wand at the young man's feet. Harry slowly bent down to pick it up, his gaze never leaving Voldemort or the Death Eaters. "Now, Potter, we shall duel. It is merely a formality, but one that must be observed."
With no viable escape route, Harry hazardously agreed to the duel.
"Now, you should bow," Voldemort instructed.
"Shouldn't you bow as well?" Harry replied, attempting to sound more confident than he felt. Given the way this duel was unfolding, it meant the Death Eaters would have to wait for their leader's signal before attacking—perhaps he still had a chance.
"As much as I detest it, yes," Voldemort conceded, offering the slightest nod. Harry mirrored the gesture.
"Before we begin, Harry, I must put a precautionary measure in place." Voldemort waved his wand, creating a purplish dome around the graveyard. "This will ensure you cannot flee, Harry," he explained. "Only I and those bearing the Dark Mark can pass through this barrier." Frustration bubbled within Harry—still bound by anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards, he now had no escape.
"Let us commence," Voldemort announced.
"Confringo!" Without hesitation, Harry cast a blasting curse, creating a cloud of smoke between himself and the Dark Lord. Knowing he had no choice but to fight, he intended to do everything he could to survive. In the chaos, he hurled additional blasting curses in random directions, diverting attention away from his next move.
Using the distraction he had created, he dashed behind a larger tombstone, focusing on healing the deep cut Wormtail had inflicted when he collected his blood—painful and severe. Meanwhile, Voldemort watched the Death Eaters ready their wands in anticipation, but he swiftly commanded them to hold their position.
"You shall not interfere in this duel. This is between myself and Potter. If I see any of you lay so much as a finger on him, I will subject you to the Cruciatus until you beg for the sweet release of death." With his followers pacified, he turned back to the duel, which was becoming less about formality and more a desperate battle for dominance. He waved his wand to clear the smoke and searched for Harry—who was nowhere to be found.
Smirking wickedly, Voldemort cast "Fiendfire!" The cursed flames erupted, consuming everything in their path, including marble tombstones.
Fortunately for Harry, the flames missed his hiding spot, granting him precious moments to consider his countermeasure. Knowing he lacked the strength to overpower the Fiendfire, he decided to employ an alternative tactic.
"Casuus orberio!" While he would have preferred to avoid casting such powerful magic, it was the most effective way to banish the cursed flames from the area. The spell created a tear in the fabric of space, pulling everything nearby into itself and collapsing moments later.
Voldemort, caught off guard by the sudden formation of a miniature black hole, could only watch as his Fiendfire was devoured, reduced to nothing in its wake. Seizing the opportunity, Harry darted behind another tombstone, concentrating on healing his wounds amidst the aftermath of casting such powerful magic.
"Impressive magic, Harry," Voldemort hissed, begrudgingly acknowledging the young wizard's skill. "But it still won't suffice to defeat me." With a flick of his wand, Voldemort unleashed a series of Bombarda curses, launching tombstones into the air. On his eighth attempt, he correctly deduced Harry's location, yet the teen was ready—protected by a magical barrier designed to shield against physical projectiles.
As soon as the barrier was no longer needed, Harry dropped it and cast a few red beams of magic toward Voldemort, aiming for surprise. Anticipating disarming charms, the Dark Lord conjured a Protego shield, but Harry's unexpected spell bypassed it completely.
The spells, intended to replenish the target's blood supply, were harmless in each instance, but they would soon exert their effect. Voldemort, taken aback, felt an internal pressure as the blood-replenishing charm worked within him.
"Surprising tactics, Harry. A shame they won't save you," the Dark Lord taunted, quickly recovering and unleashing a barrage of curses. Harry evaded them skillfully, diving behind cover once more as Voldemort's frustration grew.
The dynamic of the duel continued in much the same manner: Voldemort's relentless offensive against Harry's evasive maneuvers, the young Potter finding solace in the remaining structures of the graveyard. Little did they know that Voldemort's dwindling energy had slowly begun to show. As the minutes dragged on, his anger grew, infusing his spells with chaotic energy—his mind fogged and motor functions slowing.
Harry could sense the shift, recognizing that it was time to initiate his counterattack. He unfastened the amulet he had worn since last summer and summoned his magic into it. The amulet expanded into a hilt-less katana, dormant in its sheath. With newfound resolve, Harry stood tall, abandoning his cover.
"Finally ready to accept your demise?" Voldemort mocked, eyeing the sheathed sword with a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
"No. The true battle begins now," Harry declared, determination etched across his features. "And I will end you." The laughter among Voldemort's followers died as uncertainty nestled in their minds.
"Make no mistake, Potter—I have traversed the path of immortality further than anyone before me. Nothing you or that old fool Dumbledore can conjure will end me." Voldemort sent a random curse toward Harry, but he dodged effortlessly.
"Believe what you wish," Harry retorted, with every intention of closing the distance between them. He raised the sword before him, initiating the unsheathing process as the Death Eaters watched with rapt anticipation. But to their surprise, the hilt held no blade. The mockery erupted anew.
"Did you forget something, Harry?" Voldemort cackled, refusing to believe a mere hilt could threaten him. Unfazed, Harry mumbled an incantation under his breath.
"I ask for thy blessing, oh, Lord of Storms. Grant me thy sword and the power to slay the beast of darkness." The air crackled with energy, enveloping Harry in a maelstrom of magic. The brilliance illuminated the night sky as he became surrounded by a fierce blue glow.
Voldemort's unease grew as the magnitude of Harry's power became evident. "What kind of trickery is this?" he murmured, instincts on high alert as Harry brandished the hilt, now infused with an otherworldly presence.
"Come forth, Worochi no Aramasa!" The summoned spectral blade, wreathed in ghostly-red flames, appeared before Harry. The Dark Lord was momentarily paralyzed as he recognized the enormity of the power before him.
As Harry lunged forward, swinging the blade horizontally, Voldemort barely managed to roll aside, narrowly avoiding the attack. Quick to recover, he released a Killing Curse, but to his shock, the blow was effortlessly deflected by the spectral blade, leaving nothing but confusion in its wake.
Caught off guard, Voldemort was further stunned when Harry charged at him again, swinging the fiery blade. This time, the spectral sword cut through the air—but it passed through Voldemort without inflicting any damage. Shock reigned over both fighters as they froze, evaluating the unforeseen turn of events.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort roared, seizing the opportunity as Harry stood momentarily stunned. The sickly green light of the Killing Curse surged forth, striking Harry just above the heart. As the magic discharged, Harry's body crumpled, lifeless, the celestial sword and aura fading into obscurity.