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[Ding ding ding! [Toad Spirit's Secret Crush Ends]]

[Ding ding ding! [Toad Spirit's Secret Crush Ends] task completed. 10 experience points, Silver Magic Knowledge 1 credited.]

—Huh? How's it done?

This was the first time Harry had seen a task finish before its description even appeared.

—Damn it, Voldemort, why now...

It was a cold light, like the moon.

Empty, frigid, sacred, and tinged with a mad undertone.

Even though Harry's body moved faster than his thoughts.

"Avada Kedavra!"

But as the harsh incantation rang out from the moonlight, a figure had already fallen nearby.

The Sith Sword Hilt had just appeared in his hand, the Love Charm's blood-red blade barely manifesting.

Harry knew Voldemort hadn't spoken the curse aloud—his perception was just too sharp, catching the silent Killing Curse's intent within Voldemort's mind.

Everything happened too fast.

Fast enough that he could block, but not fast enough to save someone, especially when that person's identity made him hesitate for a moment.

Green light flared. Fudge stumbled and fell off the mound. Umbridge instinctively stepped in front of Mad-Eye, lost her breath, and collapsed in his arms. Dumbledore conjured a massive solid silver shield—all in an instant.

The other wizards were only just drawing their wands at best.

Most hadn't even realized what happened.

And then there was Fudge, still trembling on the ground.

No, scratch that—he was the only one squirming like a caterpillar toward Dumbledore's leg.

"Don't pull a long face, Moody. Your secret lover dying at the hands of the future Savior is her honor."

The speaker was a mass of moon-white steam, barely taking human shape.

Its alien magic pressed down like atmospheric pressure over the entire square, and almost everyone saw a full moon before their eyes. The emotional bullets they'd been loading into their spells lost their edge.

"People like you... never change. Only utter death will do!" Moody's good eye streamed tears as he shook off the influence.

He didn't know Umbridge, had no idea when she'd fallen for him, but he felt the weight of that love deeply now.

The fire of vengeance ignited every ounce of his magic.

Even so, he didn't lose his reason.

His magical eye locked onto the opponent, his wand adjusted to the optimal casting position, searching for the right moment to strike.

"Tom?" Dumbledore's wand tip gathered a warmth and vastness that no one present could ignore—a loving, immense heat that shattered the Steam Figure's pressure. But he himself was bewildered. Who was this spirit, not evil but somehow sacred?

He wasn't Harry, after all. He couldn't sense through the Horcrux the sacred undertone—the madness Voldemort himself didn't realize.

"The true Savior, the Cosmic Mage, the Death-Flyer." Voldemort's voice spread across the entire Quidditch pitch. "Or you can call me by my old name... Voldemort."

The field instantly filled with panicked cries.

"What a wonderful smell—the scent of fear on you."

—The name Voldemort, or a curse?

Harry could see it: fear was solidifying into substance, being siphoned away.

Dumbledore seemed to see it too. He quickly punctured the terrifying atmosphere Voldemort was brewing. "Your power is waning, Tom. You only have one strike left."

"A killjoy." The Steam Figure shook his head, showing no sign of fleeing. "I'm not talking to you, Dumbledore. I'm lamenting that even now, none of these high-society wizards dare cast a spell at me."

"They're all afraid—afraid of my retaliation, afraid of Saint Dumbledore—the only one I... fear. Afraid he'll be too late again, too late to save another life."

"And—"

Boom—!

A thunderclap in the sky cut off Voldemort's words.

"They're just waiting for Dumbledore to give the order."

The smoke cleared, revealing a figure with eight wings hovering in midair, wiping his pristine fist as if he'd touched something filthy.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

"It's Harry, Harry Potter!"

"He's flying!"

"Harry Potter just punched out the Dark Lord!"

Fudge tremblingly lifted his head.

But some still noticed that the vast, overwhelming power at Dumbledore's wand tip hadn't faded. His lips kept moving, as if preparing a powerful spell.

"Flying with wings made of paper, what three-year-old are you supposed to be?"

The dissipating steam gathered again, and a cold, harsh voice emerged from within.

The clamor cut off abruptly, so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"As long as it works." Harry's face was cold.

--Whoosh, that felt way too good.

Facing his acknowledged nemesis, he no longer had to force a smile.

"No one can kill me. I've only now realized that I'm actually trapped in a strange misty space, and the me in reality is just a shadow of that world projected into the real one."

"Even that fleeting light blade of yours, with its flash of your Muggle mother's so-called love magic energy."

--Damn, a liminal realm—the crack between the world of the living and the dead. How the hell did you evolve, Haki-V?

Harry was surprised, adding a bit of Gandalf's holy light into his already poised fists.

"I don't believe it!" Moody didn't chant a spell; he aimed at Voldemort before even speaking.

His fire of revenge was the perfect incantation.

A force that seemed capable of shattering everything struck the Steam Figure in the form of an unremarkable red magical ray.

--Unless you're up close, only elite wizards can see the brilliance. Modern magic's sound and light effects are too weak. If only it were like in the movies, all plasma and electric bolts.

Harry grumbled inwardly as he continued brewing a spell in his right fist, which had already taken on a silvery metallic luster.

"Ha! Confringo! Your Blasting Curse really packs a punch." Voldemort laughed. "Too bad I'd rather see your Killing Curse—the first of the Unforgivable Curses, as you call it."

"Hey, Cornelius Fudge, you should be able to grant permission, right? Permission to use the Killing Curse on me."

"And by the way, I was aiming at you originally."

"But that Pink Toad's earthen mound saved your life."

Fudge didn't dare make a sound, cowering at Dumbledore's feet.

"Heh heh heh..." After a burst of wild laughter, Voldemort sneered, "And this is the sorry excuse for a Minister of Magic you picked? A pig would be more fitting."

Fudge remained silent.

In the stands.

Many wizards like Percy, who had a filter for power, felt that filter shatter.

So the Minister of Magic was just a pig cowering at the feet of a wizard like Dumbledore.

"Alright, that should be enough time. Your preparations." Voldemort snorted coldly. "I'm ready too. Ready with the fear of the people you're trying to protect."

Another moon hung above his head, but this time it was pitch black, churning with despair, fear, rage...

"Your power is in there too, Moody."

"Only positive emotions, only love, can truly harm my projection in this world."

"Your curse, filled with the fire of revenge, is just an appetizer for me."

"Can't truly harm you?" Harry finally broke his silence, raising his fist as if he were King Nuada. "My special effects... are above yours!"

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