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"Confringo!"
Wes hurled the Blasting Curse at the mysterious figure with lightning speed, his wand vibrating with raw power.
This time, the curse struck true.
The impact was devastating. The cloaked figure was sent flying backward, colliding against the rough bark of a tree before crumpling to the ground. A low, ragged groan escaped their lips, but they made no effort to rise.
Then, an eerie sound split the silence—two distinct voices, speaking from the same mouth.
"Forgive me, Master..."
"Give me control of your body!"
"But, Master, your injuries—"
"Silence, fool!"
"Yes... Master."
Wes stiffened, his grip on his wand tightening. A sinister shift in magic pulsed through the air, radiating from the fallen figure. It was dark, volatile—powerful.
His heart pounded. He had suspected it, but now there was no doubt.
"It's him..."
This was no mere underling. No disposable servant. The frail vessel lying before him no longer mattered—because Lord Voldemort himself had awakened within it.
The Dark Lord who had cast the entire wizarding world into terror. The one whose name was spoken only in whispers.
Wes wasted no time.
"Protego Maxima!"
A shimmering, translucent barrier enveloped him, reinforcing his defenses. The shield glowed like molten glass, humming with protective energy.
"Sectumsempra!" he intoned, his voice sharp as a blade.
A spectral slash shot toward Voldemort, its edges gleaming with lethal intent.
But Voldemort was fast. He flicked his wand with effortless precision, and the curse was repelled mid-air, deflecting into a nearby tree. The trunk split apart with a sickening crack, its halves toppling to the ground in perfect symmetry.
Wes didn't hesitate.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of sickly green light burst from his wand, streaking toward Voldemort. But the Dark Lord vanished in a blur, his movement impossibly swift. The Killing Curse struck the earth instead, leaving a deep, smoldering scar in the dirt.
Wes barely had a second to react before something unnatural happened.
The ground trembled.
The weeds and vines surrounding Voldemort began to writhe, growing at an accelerated pace, twisting and curling like serpents. Within moments, they lunged at him, wrapping tightly around his limbs.
Voldemort snarled.
"Clever boy."
Then, without warning, a thick, black mist erupted from his body. It radiated malice, hissing as it touched the vines, dissolving them into dust. The air reeked of decay.
Wes circled the battlefield, his mind racing. Spells flew between them in rapid succession—curse after curse, counter after counter—neither giving the other a chance to breathe.
Voldemort's voice was suddenly calm, almost admiring.
"You are gifted, child. Join me, and I will grant you power beyond your wildest dreams..."
Wes let out a short, scornful laugh.
"Submit to you? A relic of the past?"
A deadly silence stretched between them.
Then Voldemort's expression twisted with fury. The air grew heavy, thick with the weight of ancient, dark magic.
"Crucio!"
The Unforgivable Curse exploded toward Wes like a crimson whip. He barely managed to roll aside in time, feeling the heat of the spell scorch the air near his face.
In retaliation, he fired back.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Voldemort sidestepped with fluid grace, deflecting the spell with ease.
Wes narrowed his eyes. He's playing with me.
Fine. Two could play that game.
"Incendio!"
A surge of fire erupted from Wes's wand, spiraling into a roaring inferno. Under his command, the flames took shape—a dragon, vast and terrible, its eyes blazing with molten gold. With a deafening roar, it lunged at Voldemort.
Voldemort's wand moved in a delicate, intricate pattern.
"Aguamenti Maxima!"
A torrential surge of water exploded outward, colliding with the fire dragon in a violent clash of elements. Steam hissed and billowed into the sky, momentarily obscuring them in a thick fog.
That was when Wes heard it.
"Wes!"
Hagrid's voice.
The half-giant came crashing through the trees, his massive frame shaking the ground. His face twisted in horror as he caught sight of the fallen unicorn—a pool of silver blood glistening beneath it.
Without hesitation, Hagrid knelt, pressing his hands over the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.
"Hagrid, take Harry and Draco. Get them out of here!" Wes shouted, his focus never leaving Voldemort.
Hagrid hesitated only for a second before nodding. He hoisted the injured unicorn onto his massive shoulder and beckoned the two boys toward him.
Draco hesitated, his pale face alight with an unfamiliar thrill.
"So this... this is what a real wizard's duel looks like...?"
But he obeyed, reluctantly following Hagrid into the shadows.
Once they were gone, Voldemort's lips curled into a slow, mocking smile.
"How touching. Risking your life for children. Foolish, but... admirable."
Wes clenched his jaw.
"Now that it's just the two of us..." He raised his wand, magic crackling around him. "We can stop holding back."
He lashed out.
"Fiendfyre!"
A monstrous inferno erupted, twisting into the form of a colossal serpent, its fangs bared as it slithered toward Voldemort.
Voldemort sneered.
"Impressive... but reckless."
With a flick of his wand, a great dome of ice encased the flames, smothering them in an instant.
Then—
"Avada Kedavra!"
Wes barely had time to react. A streak of emerald light tore through the air, screaming toward him like death itself.
Without thinking, he acted.
A small, unsuspecting squirrel darted into the path of the curse. The sickly green light engulfed it, and the creature dropped lifelessly to the ground.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed.
"Ah. So you are not as heartless as you pretend to be."
Wes exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his wand.
"And you are more desperate than you pretend to be."
Voldemort's expression darkened.
A whirlwind of spells erupted between them once more, the sheer intensity of their battle reshaping the forest around them. Trees were felled, the ground was scorched, and the very air hummed with unleashed fury.
Then, suddenly—
A ripple of magic.
Voldemort's expression shifted.
"Master, we must retreat. Dumbledore is coming."
A flicker of hesitation.
Then rage.
"You dare suggest I flee?!"
"Master, the Philosopher's Stone—"
A flash of fire streaked past Voldemort's face, narrowly missing him.
Wes straightened, dusting off his robes.
"You're looking... rather unwell. No wonder you need unicorn blood just to stay alive."
Voldemort's jaw clenched. His magic flared—furious, unstable.
And then—he was gone.
The shadows swallowed him whole, leaving only silence in his wake.
Wes exhaled, lowering his wand. He surveyed the destruction around him, his heartbeat finally slowing.
He wasn't sure whether he had won or lost.
But one thing was certain.
This was only the beginning.