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HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 465
🕑 Added 2025-12-13 14:14:53 +0000 UTCChapter 465: The Dark Lord Withdraws
In the second stage of the duel, neither of them wasted another word.
Sean took a single step forward and vanished.
Voldemort raised his wand at once, ready to unleash a sweeping curse to flush him out, when a razor‑sharp killing intent sliced in at his right neck. He reacted instantly, jerking his head to the left. Even so, a long, narrow cut opened along the side of his throat, and blood began to seep slowly down.
“Severus’s Sectumsempra…”
He murmured the name under his breath, his expression darkening. Stepping back, he swept his wand in a tight circle. Blue‑white mist spun up around him, whirling at high speed. Invisible blades screamed in from all directions and were caught and broken by the circling light. For just a moment, faint, jagged rents in the air itself showed where the cutting curse tried to bite through before being diverted.
At first, Voldemort remained composed.
He had seen Snape’s Sectumsempra before and knew very well how dangerous the spell was. But as the seconds ticked by, Sean’s casting speed rose higher and higher. The slashes came faster and closer together, until Voldemort could no longer block every strike.
Rip.
The cloth of his left sleeve dropped to the floor, neatly sliced away.
A line of blood opened along his right thigh. It was not long and not deep, but it was a wound all the same—a clean break in Voldemort’s defences.
His face went utterly black.
He lashed his wand.
The blue‑white mist around him detonated outwards like a tidal wave. Floor tiles tore free and exploded, stone pulverised to dust. Lightning crawled through the air in wild, snaking arcs.
Caught in the blast, a figure flickered into view.
Sean.
For the first time, his level‑5, max‑rank Disillusionment Charm had been shattered head‑on.
As expected of Voldemort.
Sean filed away a silent note of respect, then blurred backwards, retreating at speed. Voldemort had no intention of letting him go. He poured on the pressure, driving Sean with a hailstorm of spells that filled the air.
Sean dropped back until his shoulders almost brushed the wall. He let his eyes flick down, gauged the size and thickness of the floor tile beneath his feet, then hooked his fingers into the gap between the slabs and wrenched.
The heavy stone tore free.
He swung it up like a shield, taking the brunt of the spellfire on its surface while he quietly gathered power. In the instant the tile exploded into shards under the curses, Sean snapped his wand forward.
“Thunderclap!”
A lance of lightning shot out, so swift and bright it looked almost like a solid beam. It punched through the remnants of Voldemort’s spells and streaked straight for his chest.
Voldemort did not even consider dodging.
He lifted his wand to meet it.
For the second time, they locked together in a direct contest of power.
“Avada Kedavra!”
This time, the clash of magic dwarfed the last.
There were no more crackling arcs spraying wildly from the contact point. Instead, waves of force pulsed outwards in steady, brutal beats. Each shockwave that spilled free hammered the hall around them, tearing up stone and shuddering through everyone present.
Dumbledore, Gavin, and Amelia stepped forward as one. Their wands rose, and together they conjured a huge shimmering shield to catch the worst of the backlash and keep it from obliterating the witches and wizards behind them.
Even through the protection, the onlookers stared in naked terror and awe.
None of them had ever truly grasped how terrifying Voldemort would be if he fought without restraint. Now they were seeing it with their own eyes.
What they had not imagined was that anyone could meet that power head‑on.
And Sean was doing exactly that.
Voldemort watched the boy over the joined beams and could feel it clearly: Sean was several times stronger than he had been during their first power struggle. He was already perilously close to the level that only Voldemort and Dumbledore had ever reached.
He had said this was a “special day”.
What was special about today?
Could his strength be tied to particular times?
The thought formed in Voldemort’s mind even as he let his gaze sweep the edges of the battle.
Death Eaters were either fleeing or being dragged down in chains. The Order of the Phoenix and the Aurors were pressing hard. Most of those under his command who could escape had already done so—or soon would.
He began to consider his own retreat.
If he kept fighting, he should, in theory, be able to defeat or even kill Sean. But the atrium did not contain Sean alone. Gavin Bulstrode was there—the man he had personally tried and failed to kill. So were the Ministry’s Aurors. And, most dangerous of all, Dumbledore.
If he bled himself white to kill Sean, only to be struck down in turn by Gavin and Dumbledore fighting side by side, that outcome would be utterly unacceptable.
Once he was certain the bulk of his Death Eaters had either slipped away or been taken, Voldemort lost all interest in continuing.
He let his gaze rest on Sean for a moment.
Anyone else might have missed it, but Sean saw the calculation in his eyes. Voldemort had also noticed that Sean’s magic was running low. The only thing keeping him standing so tall was that monstrous physical resilience of his, as if there were a troll, even a giant, wrapped in human skin. One Killing Curse would not be enough to end him. And Voldemort had yet to see Sean use that strange Animagus ability of his in this fight.
If he kept going, there might very well come a point where the question was no longer whether he wanted to leave, but whether he still could.
Voldemort’s wrist twitched.
The Killing Curse he was forcing through the beam suddenly surged, detonating the connection. Sean had to pour everything he had left into his own spell to meet it. The impact blew out in a single, colossal shock.
A tidal wave of magic ripped through the atrium.
Columns shattered. Walls split and fell. The polished floor cracked in a spiderweb of fissures.
By the time the echoes died, Voldemort was already gone.
Black smoke curled where he had stood, then dispersed into the air.
Sean did not move to stop him.
He still had cards left to play, but this was not the time to gamble his life in a death match. He was not yet certain he could truly defeat Voldemort. More importantly, the Horcruxes were not all dealt with. Killing the Dark Lord now and forcing him to slink back into the shadows to rebuild around those soul fragments would be far worse than letting him run.
Better to break every Horcrux first.
Then finish it.
After tonight, the boost from his most recent magical awakening had been completely pushed to its limit and worked into his casting. Give it a little time, and he would be ready to draw out the next of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
With the Dark Lord’s departure, a new era for the Ministry of Magic began.
Sean crossed the ruined hall to where Dumbledore and Gavin were standing. He looked from Amelia to Marchbanks to the other officials and Aurors, then spoke.
“Everyone,” he said, “the Ministry has taken a terrible blow. This is precisely the moment when we need to rebuild from the ground up.
“I think the first thing we should do is set out a proper framework.”
