Dumbledore yanked Harry back with desperate speed, but the flash of green came too fast—it struck Harry squarely.
Yet the instant the curse touched him, the green light ricocheted away, blasting a deep crater in the far corner of the room.
The entire chamber trembled, as unstable as Voldemort himself—now a roiling cloud of black mist.
"That cursed woman! The protection still hasn't faded!" he howled, voice raw with fury. In a blink, he whirled and lunged straight for Wyzett.
The locket reacted first, morphing into a phoenix that soared skyward, intercepting Voldemort's onslaught.
But Voldemort only laughed, wild and triumphant. "It's useless, Professor Dumbledore! You've no idea how far I've traveled down the road to immortality!"
"Immortality…" The word jolted Dumbledore. He understood, at last, what Voldemort was truly after.
To achieve true immortality, both body and soul must transcend together. Which meant Voldemort's mastery of both flesh and spirit had reached terrifying heights.
How else could he cast a Killing Curse at full strength in such a feeble state?
The black mist grew thin, insubstantial—Voldemort swept through the phoenix, plunging straight into Wyzett's forehead.
Wyzett remembered the lessons of the Hog's Head. He didn't bother to listen to Voldemort's taunts; he pressed his wand to his temple, ready to act at a moment's notice.
As Voldemort let out another deranged howl, Wyzett's spell triggered in perfect synchrony. A silver-blue "S" shimmered through the air. "Mundus Totalus!"
The locket reverted to its phoenix form, and the small bottle—Luna's Christmas gift—tumbled to the floor.
The vial shattered, scattering golden blossoms that streaked Wyzett's ancient magic with radiant threads of gold.
He felt himself growing weightless, as if a piece of his very self was splitting away.
As that fragment separated, the silver-blue light transformed into flawless white, surging with the Soul-Cleansing Charm straight into his mind…
Once Dumbledore confirmed Harry was only unconscious, he gritted his teeth and thrust his wand forward. A beam of silver shot from its tip, chasing after Voldemort's black mist.
The instant the spell left him, Dumbledore's skin blanched, the light in his eyes dimming. That silver beam carried his will—his deepest understanding of the soul.
Then, to his astonishment, Dumbledore glimpsed a faint brown glow from Quirrell's direction.
Tiny as it was, in that moment, it shone brighter than the sun.
Voldemort plummeted downward, tumbling into a state of weightlessness.
He adjusted at once, steadying himself in the soul's domain—his true element.
He dove even deeper, faster and faster, like a meteor pulled by gravity, trailing a tail of darkness.
He understood souls too well; after all, they were the foundation of immortality.
He knew exactly what he was doing. If he could just move a little faster, he'd reach Wyzett's soul—his ultimate goal.
To seize Wyzett's soul, to devour the Obscurial within, to make himself stronger than ever.
Light swelled around him, and then—a golden labyrinth, dazzling as El Dorado, unfolded before his eyes.
Voldemort smirked at the gleaming walls. "Clever… To use this against me. So you were prepared, Dumbledore. Always prepared."
Suddenly, three beams of light descended from above.
One, a piercing silver—Dumbledore. One, a flawless white streaked with gold—Wyzett. And one, a dim but stubborn brown—Quirrell.
"Dumbledore, you'll never know what those soul soothers truly did for me!"
Voldemort's form shimmered, golden light cloaking him until he was nearly indistinguishable from the labyrinth itself.
The palace wall rippled like a water curtain, slowly parting to reveal an opening.
A cruel smile twisted Voldemort's lips. "Yes, that's it! Joy! Such a delicious feeling. I lost it for so long—how sweet it is to reclaim it!"
"Wyzett, I won't devour you completely… I'll leave you a few scraps, let you linger as witness to my next triumphs!"
Without hesitation, he stepped through the gap, plunging deeper into the maze of the soul.
Now fully transformed, the golden aura around him had taken on Wyzett's very features: black tousled hair, a sharp, maturing face—handsome and young.
But the eyes were different.
Wyzett's eyes burned with curiosity and a hunger for knowledge.
Voldemort's eyes glittered with cruelty and the twisted pleasure of destruction.
The soul maze was even more intricate than he'd imagined. Fragments of Hogwarts memories rose up, tugging at him, threatening to pull him under.
Hogwarts—the place that had meant the most. Where he'd first found belonging, traced his lineage, learned he was no ordinary child but an heir of power…
Old, buried memories surged up, slowing his progress.
With a savage shake of his head, Voldemort forced himself free, slamming up his Occlumency shields, regaining cold focus.
"Wyzett… you never cease to surprise me."
Ahead, the heart of the maze drew closer—a looming black castle, and before it, the statue of a goddess, her face hidden, cradling a blazing moon in her hands.
Just then, the brown light—Quirrell—was the first to find him.
"Quirinus Quirrell!" Voldemort's voice was a snarl of rage. "You dare go this far? Are you so eager to die?"
The brown light pressed in, relentless, circling him, flaring with all its might.
"If that's how you want it, I'll devour you first!" Voldemort spat, abandoning the maze and turning on the brown glow.
The brown light barely resisted, quickly tainted black—just a little longer and the corruption would be complete.
But then, guided by fate, the flawless white light—Wyzett—arrived as well.
He knew exactly what Voldemort intended. There was no time for hesitation—he hurled himself into the swirling black and brown.
Down, down he plunged, until he landed on an old, shadowy, crumbling street…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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