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Hermione's voice rang out across the entirety of Hogwarts, amplified by magic until every corner of the grounds could hear her clearly:
"You took enormous risks, infiltrating Voldemort's inner circle, earning the trust of everyone around him. You even went so far as to personally tamper with the Goblet of Fire, luring the newly resurrected and most vulnerable Voldemort directly into the heart of Hogwarts — delivering him right in front of Headmaster Dumbledore and all of us!"
She turned slightly, gesturing toward Dumbledore and the assembled professors, her tone ringing with conviction.
"What a tremendous sacrifice! Everyone, Mr. Barty Crouch Jr. has created the perfect opportunity for us! Let us seize it — and put an end to the Dark Lord's reign of terror once and for all!"
"Pfft!"
Barty Crouch Jr. stared, horror written across his face.
I didn't! I never did any of that!
Stop talking absolute rubbish!
What are you doing to me?!
HELP!
As her words landed, Hermione gave her wand a gentle wave. A faint light swept over the terrified "Moody."
"Reveal True Form!"
Before the eyes of the entire crowd, "Moody's" form twisted and changed, the disguise peeling back to reveal the pale face beneath.
It was Barty Crouch Jr., the very man long believed to have died in Azkaban.
The crowd erupted again. Gasps and cries of shock rolled through the hall in waves.
Voldemort stared at the servant he had once trusted above all others.
"Barty Crouch Jr.! So you threw in your lot with this accursed witch long ago! You set a trap for me!"
Barty Crouch Jr.'s face went the color of old ash. There were no words that could save him now.
A dark figure materialized behind him like a ghost. A wand pressed silently against his lower back.
"Don't move."
Snape's voice was very low.
Harry was in danger. He could no longer afford to keep up appearances in front of Voldemort.
Up on the high platform, something shifted in Dumbledore's eyes. He looked down at Barty, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Mr. Crouch Jr." Dumbledore's voice carried across the entire hall. "Thank you for the immense contribution you have made to the wizarding world — risking your life to infiltrate the enemy, and ultimately helping us bring Voldemort here. Your deeds will not be forgotten by the Ministry of Magic. I am confident this will be more than sufficient to pardon everything in your past."
Old Dumbledore had delivered the verdict.
Every last drop of color left Barty Crouch Jr.'s face. He knew he was finished.
Dumbledore's words sounded like praise. They were not. In reality, they had nailed him irrevocably to the identity of traitor, sealed without any possibility of appeal. Whether Voldemort lived or died today, Barty would spend whatever remained of his life being hunted, by the Dark Lord, by every Death Eater still breathing. Endlessly. Relentlessly.
Hearing Dumbledore speak, Voldemort, operating on a fraction of his soul and a mind not exactly running at full capacity, finally grasped the shape of the situation in front of him.
He had just been resurrected. His power was nowhere near fully restored. And here he was, standing face to face with Dumbledore.
The Dark Lord's return? More like walking into the lion's den with his hands tied.
He felt Dumbledore's gaze on him, calm on the surface, crushing underneath. And then there was Hermione's faint smile, the one that said she had seen through everything before it even happened. Alarm bells screamed in Voldemort's mind.
He was not a match for these two. Not right now.
He needed to leave. Immediately.
Something vicious flashed in Voldemort's eyes. He tightened his grip around Harry's neck and hauled the boy in front of him like a shield.
"Dumbledore!" His voice cracked like a whip. "Let me leave! Or I kill the boy right now!"
He had used Harry's blood in the resurrection. That had, to a certain degree, broken the ancient magic's protection. At the very least, he could touch him now.
Only then did the rest of the crowd seem to remember that Harry was still in his grasp.
"Harry!"
"No!"
Ron, Ginny, and Draco all cried out at once, panic flooding their faces.
Hermione, though, smiled.
She stepped forward, her gaze steady on Voldemort. "Release him, and I'll give you a fair chance."
"One-on-one. You and me. Right here. If you win, you walk away unhindered. Headmaster Dumbledore and everyone present will stand aside."
Every head in the hall swung toward Hermione, then instinctively toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore considered for only a moment before giving a slight nod. "Tom. Hermione's promise is backed by the honor of Hogwarts and by my personal word. It stands."
Even as his most hated enemy, Voldemort trusted Dumbledore's word.
His gaze moved between Hermione and Dumbledore, calculating rapidly.
A one-on-one duel with this witch?
He had just been resurrected, yes. Not yet at his peak. But his confidence in himself remained absolute.
In his estimation, aside from Dumbledore, everyone else in this hall was an insect. As for this so-called witch, even if she'd built herself a reputation over the years, even if she'd apparently thrashed the incompetent fools at the Ministry of Magic, how strong could she really be? He could do the same without breaking a sweat.
Besides, he remembered exactly how this little brat had escaped him that first time. She'd cowered behind Harry Potter and gotten lucky. That was all.
Now he had the chance to repay the insult of the Philosopher's Stone.
The alternative, facing Dumbledore, Hermione, Snape, and Barty Crouch Jr. simultaneously, gave him virtually no odds at all.
His deliberation lasted only seconds. Voldemort made his decision.
He let out a vicious sneer and hurled Harry aside like he was discarding rubbish.
"Very well, little girl." The bald, noseless head turned toward Hermione, that lipless mouth pulling into a grin. Two slits where a nose should have been. "Show me what you've learned over the years. Let's hope you won't be hiding behind someone else this time."
Hermione looked at him. Filthy rags. Chalk-white skin. No nose. That grinning bald head.
She couldn't help but shake her head internally.
How on earth did Old Voldy go from handsome Tom Riddle to... this...
Genuinely tragic.
The air around them seemed to freeze. Every person in the hall went still, breath held, eyes locked on the two figures facing each other at the center of the arena.
On one side, the newly resurrected Dark Lord. The name alone had once made the wizarding world tremble. On the other, the mysterious Witch of Hogwarts, whose battle record had already become the stuff of rumors and legend.
This duel, sudden, unplanned, impossible, would determine which direction the wizarding world turned from here.
Voldemort raised his wand. A cruel smile settled on his face.
Hermione raised hers. Her expression was perfectly calm.
The next second, no warning, no probing, no ceremony, a blinding green light tore through the air. It carried the cold stench of death and came straight for Hermione.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Exactly as she'd expected. He opened with the Killing Curse.
Hermione shifted into her elemental form and stepped aside. The curse cut through empty air.
One exchange. Just one probing strike, nothing more. But it was enough.
She could feel the massive well of magical power surging inside him.
As she'd anticipated: Voldemort was operating at Level 6. A world apart from the wretched remnant soul that had clung to the back of Quirrell's head, barely sustaining itself on unicorn blood. That version of him and this one were incomparable.
But.
The corner of Hermione's mouth curved upward.
Level 6 magical power?
So was she.
In this world, she couldn't draw on the Infinity Stones, the Mind Stone still worked, but the rest were beyond reach. It didn't matter. The magic she had built up on her own was more than enough to handle Old Voldy.
Because her arsenal and her combat repertoire were vastly richer than Voldemort's. He had his three Unforgivable Curses, recycled endlessly. She had everything else.
➤ Next: Voldemort's Sit-Up Revival
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