The appearance of Godric Gryffindor was the biggest game-changer in the battle.
With his presence, the weight on Dumbledore's shoulders lightened considerably, and the professors watching from the sidelines felt a renewed sense of hope.
A thousand years ago, Godric had wielded both wand and sword to defeat countless opponents, earning his title as the greatest duelist of his age.
And now, he had even conquered death.
After a thousand years, just how powerful had Gryffindor become?
No one could imagine.
The scales of victory had quietly begun to tip.
"Here they go again,"
Ravenclaw sighed, resting her bony fingers on her temple, and gestured for Hufflepuff not to intervene.
Those two had their grudges, and they could settle them on their own.
"What a pathetic sight, Salazar."
Godric lifted his sword, looking at Salazar with a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "You've let someone else control your very soul."
"Spare me the lecture." Salazar's grip on his serpent staff tightened, the fire in his eyes flaring up.
"You wore that smug expression the day you opposed my ideals!"
Salazar's fury was palpable. After all the effort to return, barely minutes after opening his eyes, he had to see something as vile as this.
Disgusting, revolting!
He raised his snake-headed staff high and brought it down with a resonant thud.
Boom!
The cursed fireball above him began to swell, seeming for a moment to replace the sun itself.
Flames twisted with eerie glimmers, writhing like a nest of serpents, weaving a dance of annihilation in the sky.
The temperature surged as the bridge stones turned red-hot, showing signs of melting into liquid.
At the peak of its expansion, the blazing sun froze in time for an instant before exploding into a torrent of fire, raining down in a divine wrath to reduce all to ashes.
"Expecto Pa—"
Dumbledore reflexively began to summon his phoenix Patronus, but he didn't even get through the incantation before Gryffindor stepped forward.
His enchanted silver sword, forged by goblins to absorb corruption and strengthen itself, glowed with raw power.
He waved it casually, and the flames arced straight into the blade, drawn as if magnetized, until the fire was entirely consumed, leaving only pale smoke billowing behind him, framing the sword like a ghostly banner.
Then, Gryffindor reversed his grip and slashed outward, casting a golden arc of flame straight at Slytherin.
The blazing sword energy moved faster than the eye could follow.
Salazar had no time to react. The golden blaze struck him directly, shattering his skeletal form before he could even scream.
Dumbledore was dumbfounded.
The professors stared in disbelief.
Just like that?
"We won!!" Professor Flitwick shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Snape nodded, "With Godric's strength, victory is inevitable."
Professor McGonagall smiled. "There's nothing left to fear."
The professors' excitement was audible even across the battlefield.
But Gryffindor didn't share their enthusiasm. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Dumbledore.
"Albus, could you rein in your professors?"
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.
"Words have power,"
Godric replied with a strange expression. "Let them carry on, and our hard-won advantage might just turn against us… Oh, never mind. Too late now."
As he spoke, Salazar's shattered bones had already begun to reform.
In mere seconds, he was standing once more, looking completely unharmed.
Godric sighed. "Troublesome…"
Continuing the attack was pointless.
Salazar had become something impervious even to cursed fire.
—
"Hahahaha—"
Suddenly, manic laughter echoed across the battlefield. It was Quirrell's voice, as he skidded to his knees and slid to a stop beside Salazar, prostrating himself before the founder.
"Lord Slytherin! You've truly returned!!"
Quirrell's face was overtaken by an ecstatic grin as he trembled, bowing at Salazar's feet.
Salazar glanced down at the dark wizard who'd suddenly appeared, a flicker of confusion in his hollow gaze.
He looked up at Gryffindor, "Hold on a moment. I have some business to attend to."
Godric shrugged, making it clear he'd wait.
The lion, embodiment of courage and honor, had no need to strike an opponent from behind.
Salazar looked back to Quirrell. "I sense a connection in your bloodline. Are you my descendant?"
"N-not me! My master is!"
Quirrell hurriedly unwrapped the turban from his head.
Under everyone's shocked gaze, where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, a horrifying face emerged.
Dumbledore's worst fear was confirmed. "Voldemort, so you did survive."
But Voldemort ignored Dumbledore, his attention entirely on his ancestor. "Lord Slytherin, I am of the Gaunt family—your direct bloodline!"
"The Gaunt family, Voldemort?"
Salazar looked him over, seeing straight through to his frail soul.
"Yes, my blood flows in you, but in your current state, you're of no use. Step aside."
"Yes, my lord!"
Obeying instantly, Voldemort directed Quirrell to move back.
Jason had kept his promise. Voldemort finally saw a path to resurrection; the price of their alliance was a drop of Dionesium. All he needed now was a new body, and he'd be fully restored!
Meanwhile, Salazar readied himself to resume the fight. In his mind, the previous clash had merely been a warm-up.
Yes, he'd suffered a minor setback, but he hadn't fought at full strength.
Gryffindor had drawn his own treasured weapon, while Salazar hadn't even wielded a wand—obviously an imbalance.
But no longer.
Salazar Slytherin, too, had his own weapon of legend.
On the sidelines, Voldemort was shaking with excitement.
With his ancestor at his side, all his grudges and frustrations over the past decade would finally be avenged!
Inwardly, he was already laughing with dark glee.
Suddenly, Salazar extended a hand. "Horcrux, come to me!"
At his command, from Number 12 Grimmauld Place in London, a locket shot through the air, flying over hundreds of miles to land in his grasp.
"Hmm?"
The moment he touched the locket, Salazar felt something wrong.
After a quick inspection, his expression soured. "Which fool dared to turn my relic into a Horcrux?"
Voldemort's smirk faded.
"Disgusting!"
Salazar snarled, unleashing a surge of magic that shredded the locket's soul fragment into nothingness.
At that same moment, the face on the back of Quirrell's head contorted with agony.
But he clenched his jaw, holding back any cries of pain.
One sound, and he'd betray himself in front of Salazar!
Meanwhile, Salazar's act of summoning his weapon had prompted Hufflepuff, who had been watching the battle intently, to realize something.
She, too, had a relic passed down through history. Could it also have been turned into a Horcrux?
No, she had to check.
Stretching out her hand, Hufflepuff incanted, "Cup, come to me."
Hearing this, Voldemort nearly dropped to his knees on the spot.
---
T/N: LMAOOO