Rowan Mercer rested his thumb against his chin, studying Voldemort the way a chess player studies a board already tilted toward checkmate.
"Join you? Not quite." His lips curved into a faint, almost polite smile. "I'm here to replace you."
Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed.
"I plan to kill you," Rowan went on calmly, "take your face, your memories, your authority, and use your name to command the Death Eaters. You'll vanish. I'll inherit your throne. The world won't even notice the swap."
For a heartbeat, the chamber was silent except for the low hiss of torches.
Rowan wasn't improvising. This had been his design from the start. Remove Voldemort. Extract everything that made him useful. Install a perfect counterfeit. Let that counterfeit do all the ugly work: purges, intimidation, massacres. While the world feared Voldemort, Rowan Mercer would rise as the savior who finally destroyed him.
He would unify the magical world as its hero.
And later, once the wizarding world stood obedient and exhausted, he would force open the wall between magic and ordinary humanity. No secrecy. No segregation. No pretending magic was some antique heirloom meant only for a shrinking bloodline.
More people. More minds. More innovation.
Magic needed population pressure the way science needed electricity. Without it, it would stagnate forever.
But Voldemort didn't need to hear any of that.
"Kill me?" Voldemort let out a short, harsh laugh. "You're either insane or delusional, boy."
He stepped forward, robes whispering across marble.
"I am Lord Voldemort. Wizards tremble at my name. Even now, at less than my full strength, there is only one man alive who can challenge me."
His gaze sharpened into a blade.
"And you think you can do what Dumbledore cannot?"
Rowan's smile didn't move.
"You beat Wormtail. You survived Sirius Black," Voldemort continued, contempt thick in his voice. "So now you think you're special?"
He raised his wand.
"I killed James Potter with a single spell. Men stronger than both of them fell without resistance. You are nothing."
Green light exploded from his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The curse was nearly instantaneous. No flourish. No wasted motion. It tore across the space between them like a predator released from a cage, heavy with killing intent.
A lesser wizard would have frozen. A stronger one might have tried to block or dodge.
Rowan did neither.
The curse struck him square in the chest.
There was a dull flash. A ripple in the air.
And then… nothing.
Rowan glanced down at his coat, brushed at the fabric where the spell had hit, and looked back up.
"That's it?" he asked mildly.
Voldemort's pupils contracted.
Impossible.
He knew exactly what his Killing Curse did. He had built his legend on it. Flesh disintegrated. Souls tore loose. Even dragons wouldn't take a direct hit without catastrophic damage.
Rowan stood there, unburned, unbroken, unimpressed.
"You shouldn't still exist," Voldemort whispered.
Rowan tilted his head. "Wormtail said you were terrifying. He oversold you."
Rage snapped across Voldemort's face.
"Avada—"
Rowan moved first.
Green light surged from his wand.
Voldemort felt it before he understood it.
The Killing Curse bent.
It curved around the marble slabs he had ripped from the floor to shield himself. Curved like it had a mind. Curved like it was hunting him.
His breath hitched.
No one could do that. Not even him.
He slammed his wand down. Transfiguration flared. The floating stone fused into thick, interlocking steel plates that cocooned his body in a brute-force fortress.
The curse struck the shield.
And didn't stop.
The green beam narrowed to a needle-thin line, compressed until it looked solid. It punched through enchanted steel as if cutting wet paper.
Straight into Voldemort's forehead.
There was a sound like glass cracking.
His body collapsed backward.
His soul tore free in a shriek.
Rowan was already moving.
His hand snapped shut in midair.
Invisible force closed around Voldemort's escaping spirit like a steel trap.
"Got you," Rowan said softly.
The soul writhed, distorted, tried to slip between dimensions.
It failed.
Rowan drew it into his palm, sealing it with a wordless binding charm that made the air scream once and fall silent.
He exhaled, slow and steady.
Then he looked down at Voldemort's ruined body.
"Phase one complete," he murmured.