"Who are you?!" Hagrid's expression turned grave the moment he saw the black-robed figure. A flicker of wariness crossed his eyes.
He tightened his grip on the cleaver, every muscle tensing as he prepared to strike at any moment.
At the same time, Harry noticed that Hagrid's other hand had somehow wrapped around an umbrella—most likely his wand.
Back when he was in school, Hagrid had been framed by that mysterious person, expelled from Hogwarts, and his wand snapped on the spot. He was forbidden to own a wand afterward.
But Hagrid wasn't the type to follow rules to the letter. He repaired the wand and used the umbrella as camouflage, so he could still cast magic.
Sure enough, the next instant Hagrid pointed the umbrella tip at the sky, and a dazzling flash of light burst forth.
He was using Lumos to warn the centaur herd. They would probably arrive soon!
On the open grass ahead, a unicorn lay sprawled on the ground, already dead. Silver blood flowed in thick streams, pooling around it and spilling across the earth.
Hermione and Ron went death-pale at the sight, their legs trembling.
Even so, they were doing far better than Harry had expected.
Especially Hermione—she was even steadier than Harry had been the first time he fought a demon.
After confirming his friends were alright, Harry focused completely, ready to draw the wand within his body at any moment. At the same time, he gripped his holly wand, prepared to meet the enemy head-on.
The magic on this enemy felt strange, yet oddly familiar to Harry.
It carried a rotten, decaying stench of death—like something from a tomb deep in a valley, tinged with the flavor of the undead.
In Harry's memory, only Quirrell had carried an aura like that. And the figure's build was vaguely similar to Quirrell's… but the rest was nothing alike.
Quirrell might have been cowardly and reeked of garlic, but he was still a decent-looking young man.
This person, though Harry couldn't see clearly, had exposed skin at the chin that told Harry he was definitely not young. And the nose looked… wrong.
He looked like he had no nose at all.
So who was he?
Hagrid demanded an answer, but the mysterious figure didn't respond at all.
He slowly pushed himself upright—upper body lifting, lower body still pressed to the ground—and began crawling toward them like a snake.
When he came within about twenty meters, he finally stopped, staring fixedly at everyone—especially Harry.
In an instant, Harry felt a bone-deep killing intent surge toward him like winter seas, as if it might freeze and drown him at any moment.
That made him wonder—why did this mysterious person want to kill him so badly?
Did he know him?
Very quickly, several possibilities flashed through Harry's mind:
First: this person was a Death Eater, here to avenge that mysterious person, and meant to kill him.
Second—and the most troublesome possibility: this person was the mysterious person himself, the name that could not be spoken—Lord Voldemort.
Feeling the powerful magical fluctuations flowing through the enemy, Harry guessed it was the second.
This person's magic, while not equal to Dumbledore's, still far surpassed any wizard Harry had ever seen.
In fact, now that Harry had returned to the wizarding world and his controllable magic had shrunk to only a third of its original level, the magic within that enemy was even greater than Harry's current controllable reserve!
This was the strongest enemy Harry had ever faced in the wizarding world!
Harry didn't dare be careless. He quietly put away the holly wand and switched to the chaos wand he had newly crafted from his own flesh and blood.
With the chaos wand's amplification, his controllable magic instantly increased fivefold!
Only then did he have confidence that he could defeat the enemy in front of him without losing control.
The black-robed figure put immense pressure on Hagrid. As the figure continued closing in, Hagrid warned through clenched teeth,
"Hey—stop! Who are you?!"
Hagrid squeezed the umbrella tighter, not daring to strike first.
He had a feeling he wasn't this enemy's match.
Besides, he still had three young wizards with him. Even if Harry didn't need protection, Hagrid still had to look after Hermione and Ron.
This couldn't have been worse. In that moment, Hagrid deeply regretted listening to Harry and coming out here to play at "training young wizards."
After Hagrid's warning, the black-robed figure kept advancing, showing no intention of stopping. Hagrid finally couldn't endure the pressure anymore. Even knowing he wasn't a match, he had to act!
He thrust the umbrella straight out, aimed at the black-robed figure, and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
The Disarming Charm didn't just knock a weapon out of an opponent's hand—it also carried a burst of impact. Without using Dark magic, it was one of the best choices for dealing with Dark wizards.
In an instant, a brilliant golden beam shot from the umbrella tip, tearing through the air at astonishing speed toward the black-robed figure.
The Disarming Charm carried tremendous force—stronger than what most adult wizards could cast. Clearly, Hagrid had put serious work into this spell.
The golden beam was about to strike, about to knock the wand—barely visible at the edge of the black-robed figure's sleeve—flying away…
But what happened next froze Hagrid in place.
At the exact moment the beam was about to hit, the black-robed figure flicked his hand and whipped his wand in a sharp motion. A sound like shattering glass rang out as the wand tip struck the golden beam at just the right point.
The golden beam shattered, breaking into countless tiny flecks of light that vanished.
Hermione didn't know what it meant, but Hagrid understood all too well.
It was an extremely advanced dueling technique: using the wand as a focus, timing a counter precisely as the incoming spell was about to land, and striking the structure of the spell apart.
To pull that off in real combat required terrifying magical mastery and rich dueling experience—only then could someone seize that fleeting instant and unravel an enemy spell.
This kind of thing usually appeared in duels where there was a huge gap in strength.
In real life, almost no one could do it. The most famous examples were the first Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald, the strongest Light wizard Dumbledore, and that name that could not be spoken—Lord Voldemort.
At last, Hagrid understood what he was facing. His hands shook violently as he stared at his former classmate, his teeth chattering.
"Harry—take Hermione and Ron and run! He's the mysterious person! He's still alive! We're no match for him!
Go! Go to the Headmaster's office and find Dumbledore! Only Dumbledore can deal with him!"
Hermione and Ron immediately looked to Harry.
Steady Harry had always been their anchor—especially in a crisis.
Hermione was frantic. "Harry, we have to go! Hagrid bought us precious time—we need to tell Professor Dumbledore right now!"
But Harry didn't leave with her.
Instead, he stepped forward—walking straight toward Voldemort.
Ron's face went white. He grabbed Harry urgently and tried to stop him. "No, Harry! Voldemort isn't Professor Quirrell—he's the mysterious person! Even the professors can't beat him. There's no way you can!"
Harry shook his head slightly, rejecting Ron's pull. His expression turned strange as he said,
"No, Ron. He's Voldemort. He's also Professor Quirrell. And he's the one who isn't my match."
Just now, when Hagrid cried out "Voldemort," Harry finally remembered why that aura had felt so familiar.
Because he had sensed something similar on Quirrell before.
The same rot and decay—like an evil spirit crawling out of a death abyss, nauseating to the core.
Back then, though, Quirrell's overpowering garlic stench had interfered with Harry's perception. And the decaying aura hadn't been as severe as it was now, so Harry hadn't paid it much attention.
But now, standing face-to-face with Voldemort again, he finally understood everything.
Voldemort had used some kind of strange, powerful magic to possess Quirrell, sneaking into Hogwarts under disguise!
And his goal was obvious: the hidden chamber deep in the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor!
At that moment, Voldemort heard Harry's words and suddenly laughed loudly.
"Hahahaha—Harry Potter! You're clever. You figured out my true identity. That makes it even more impossible to let you leave!
Come then. Let me see whether that so-called prophecy is true or false. What can a twelve-year-old child really do?"
The moment his voice fell, a pale green glow gathered at the tip of Voldemort's wand, swelling and expanding before erupting violently.
A familiar incantation spilled from Voldemort's lips:
"Avada Kedavra!"
The next second, a vivid green beam of death—like Death swinging its scythe—cut through the withered leaves of the Forbidden Forest and screamed toward Harry.
"Harry!"
All three of them recognized the spell infamous throughout the wizarding world—the Killing Curse!
They shouted a warning, desperate for Harry to dodge the green beam.
If the Killing Curse hit, a living being would die instantly. In that moment, the Boy Who Lived was no different from anyone else.
But Harry didn't panic at all. He calmly tapped the end of his wand against the ground.
In the next instant, the earth in front of him churned and bulged. Then—one after another—brilliantly colored butterflies gathered together, forming a wall directly in front of Harry.
The green beam struck the butterfly wall, killing only a single butterfly. There was no chance it could break through.
The Killing Curse was terrifying—there was no ordinary defensive spell that could stop it. But it also had a clear characteristic.
At its most basic level, the Killing Curse could only kill a single target; it couldn't harm other targets at the same time.
After all, not everyone was like Harry—someone who had deliberately developed a horrifying technique like the Avada Lightning Chain.
Voldemort—how many people has he even killed?!
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810.