But Voldemort's combat experience was far too deep—seasoned to the point of being viciously shrewd. Even after being played by Harry once, he wouldn't let himself get hit by Disintegrate so easily.
He reacted instantly. Just before the Disintegrate beam was about to strike, he Apparated as well, dodging the lethal attack!
In the next moment, the two tangled together in battle again!
Realizing how terrifying Disintegrate was, Voldemort immediately changed tactics and stopped trading head-on with Harry.
After all, Disintegrate looked far too similar to the Killing Curse. Who knew which spell Harry was actually casting?
One wrong read, and the outcome would be decided on the spot.
So Voldemort whipped his wand around, movements as nimble and venomous as a serpent.
Very quickly, he used the earth to form a gigantic poisonous snake. Though the snake was flesh and blood, its toughness was still monstrous. It lifted its triangular head high and lunged straight at the stone giant, grappling it head-on!
At the same time, Voldemort didn't hesitate at all—he unleashed wave after wave of sinister Dark Arts, firing Fiendfyre, the Killing Curse, and all kinds of other black magic toward Harry.
As the battle raged on, the commotion grew more and more violent. The shockwaves from spells colliding swept over everything like a tsunami, ultimately annihilating the entire area within a hundred meters.
As the fight continued and time ticked by, Voldemort's expression grew uglier and uglier.
Something was wrong.
He was starting to lose to Harry.
But how was that possible?!
Even though he was currently at less than half of his peak strength, he was still not to be underestimated—still strong enough to defeat the vast majority of adult wizards.
In his eyes, a first-year should have been an ant he could crush with ease. So why could Harry fight him for so long—why did Harry's current strength even seem greater than his?
Think back to what he was doing in his own first year. Back then, he was still lost. Yes, he'd discovered the Chamber of Secrets left behind by Salazar Slytherin, and he'd cleverly framed Hagrid to cover up the chaos he'd caused by controlling the basilisk.
But even then, he still hadn't found his true pursuit—like someone wandering in darkness, with no idea where the future lay.
If first-year him faced Potter, he probably wouldn't last even a minute before being crushed under Potter's overwhelming assault.
That thought sent a sharp sense of threat surging through Voldemort.
If first-year Harry was already this strong—if he was allowed to grow freely, learning and improving without restraint—then what would he become in a few years?
Voldemort's gaze hardened. The killing intent in his heart spiked. He ground his teeth in silent fury.
No. He absolutely could not allow that to happen. He had to eliminate this deadly threat as soon as possible!
However, with his injuries and the unicorn-blood curse, his power was nowhere near his former peak. Worse still, the curse was continuously gnawing at him, rapidly degrading his strength, and he couldn't sustain a prolonged fight.
If he kept getting tangled up with Harry, his power would keep dropping, and the battle would become more and more unfavorable.
He might actually lose.
So—run.
Not a blind retreat, but a sprint toward the Philosopher's Stone's hiding place and seize it as fast as possible.
Only by using the Philosopher's Stone could he reshape a body for himself and break free of his current predicament.
That was the best choice available right now.
He had already exposed himself. And he was absolutely certain that with his current strength, if he ran into Dumbledore, he would have no chance of escaping from that terrifying White Dark Lord.
Dumbledore had once been the student he was proudest of—Voldemort knew his former teacher's power better than anyone.
With that, Voldemort didn't hesitate. Using Apparition to briefly evade Harry's pressure, he immediately disengaged and sped toward Hogwarts Castle!
Harry's face flashed with surprise.
He truly hadn't expected Voldemort—proud and arrogant—would abandon the fight and flee, instead of trying to kill him as quickly as possible.
Because once Dumbledore learned what was happening here, Voldemort would never be able to leave.
Time was on Harry's side.
Very soon, seeing the direction Voldemort fled, Harry's brows drew together. Linking it with the faint clues he'd noticed earlier, he immediately realized why Voldemort was running.
From beginning to end, Voldemort's purpose for infiltrating Hogwarts had to be the Philosopher's Stone.
Even the mysterious wizard who had broken into Gringotts to steal something—after Harry and Hagrid left—had been him!
Without hesitation, Harry chased after him.
He didn't know exactly what the wizarding world's Philosopher's Stone could do, but if Voldemort wanted it, then Harry would stop him—no matter what.
He dismissed the stone giant, letting it crumble into dust and scatter on the wind.
Then Harry used telekinesis to lift himself and shot after Voldemort, racing toward Hogwarts Castle.
As he went, he kept attacking Voldemort. His strikes slammed into Voldemort's defensive spells with constant collisions, booming again and again—trying to draw Dumbledore's attention with the noise!
…
Late-night Hogwarts was wrapped in a quiet veil. Everything lay sunk in deep sleep, and the world was deathly still.
Boom boom boom!
Suddenly, in the dead of night, it sounded like countless thunderclaps exploding across the ground. The piercing roar jolted all of Hogwarts awake.
In Harry and Ron's dormitory, the thunderous blasts startled Harry's roommates awake.
Neville was the most timid and skittish, and his sleep was the lightest—so he was naturally the first to wake.
The instant those thunder-like sounds hit his ears, he reacted on pure instinct. Panicking, he yanked the blanket over his head, covering himself tight, curling into a ball beneath the covers like a frightened little animal, trembling uncontrollably.
He'd feared thunder his whole life. Because of that fear, he'd been mocked more than once by other young wizards from wizarding families.
Yet no matter how hard Neville tried to overcome it, the terror was like a stubborn disease rooted in his heart—never truly going away.
While Neville shook under his blanket, Seamus and Dean were also dragged awake by the booming outside.
At first they were groggy and didn't think much of it, assuming it was just ordinary thunder.
Seamus, eyes half-lidded, grumbled helplessly, "Merlin's beard… what is going on out there? Why is it suddenly thundering in the middle of the night? Are we ever going to get any sleep?"
Dean was about to complain too, but the moment he glanced toward the window, his whole body locked up.
He stared outside, shock plastered across his face, frozen dumb by what he saw.
After several seconds, he raised a finger and pointed out the window, blurting, "Merlin's JK—what is that?! That noise isn't thunder. Wizards are fighting out there!"
Seamus didn't believe him at first. He snorted. "Dean, if you're going to prank someone, at least make the lie sound possible. No one's going to fall for that."
But the second he looked out the window, he reacted exactly like Dean—shouting, "WTF?! It really is wizards fighting!"
Outside, in the stretch between the Forbidden Forest and the castle, two figures were racing toward Hogwarts at breakneck speed.
Dense beams of magic kept firing from the tips of their wands, colliding midair, snuffing each other out until they vanished!
The thunder-like explosions weren't thunder at all—they were the sound of spell after spell smashing together.
Seamus stared blankly at the scene—especially the endless explosions and the ear-splitting roar—and instantly went a little dazed.
It was like what he was seeing snapped some chain inside him, letting his true nature burst free.
In that instant, he understood a great truth.
Art is an explosion!
Just then, Dean finally got a clear look at one of the duelists.
It was their roommate—Harry.
He immediately looked toward Harry's bed. Sure enough, Harry had vanished at some point, and Ron was gone too.
Obviously, they'd sneaked out tonight. But why was Harry fighting a hideous-looking wizard like that?
What shocked Dean even more was this:
Harry was that strong.
We're all first-years!
He hurriedly told Seamus, shouting, "Seamus, look! That wizard in the back—it's Harry!"
Seamus gasped again. "Merlin's evening gown… it really is Harry!"
Desperate to share it with the others, he saw Neville still shaking under the blanket and immediately hauled him out, pointing at the window. "Neville, look! Harry's fighting some mysterious wizard!"
When Neville saw the scene outside, his trembling didn't stop—it got even worse.
Poor Neville was terrified.
But even while he was terrified, his eyes stayed locked on Harry, filled with longing.
How could he not want to be like Harry?
But he was weak, and he was cowardly. There was no way he could become someone like Harry.
Waaah… why did the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor? I'm clearly better suited for Hufflepuff…
Besides the three of Harry's roommates, other students began noticing the battle outside one after another.
Even the Slytherin students down in the dungeons were awakened. Some of them quietly slipped outside as well—and saw the two combatants.
Most Death Eaters who had once followed Voldemort came from Slytherin. Even now, some pure-blood families were still Voldemort's die-hard loyalists.
Among those students, some had seen Voldemort's portrait before. Even though Voldemort was so weak now—looking half-dead—they still recognized him.
So compared to the other houses, the Slytherin students were even more stunned.
Malfoy rubbed his eyes hard, but the magical brilliance exploding outside was still there. This wasn't a dream—it was real.
"Merlin's hair…" Malfoy said in disbelief, his normally fairly cute face twisting slightly. "Am I dreaming? Harry is actually chasing down the Dark Lord!"
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