Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Dark Lord Showtime

The Dark Lord Voldemort stood in the Ministry Atrium like death given form.

Arthur nearly dropped his popcorn.

So that’s him.

Red eyes gleamed like fresh wounds in a face that… well, calling it a face was generous. Where a nose should have been, two slits opened directly into his skull.

Seriously? Arthur thought, munching a kernel. All that power and he couldn’t conjure himself a nose? Even a silver one like Wormtail’s hand?

The most feared wizard in Britain looked like a snake that had tried to become human and given up halfway through.

While Arthur was having his fun, things were heating up more in the real world.

“So,” Voldemort hissed, his voice carrying all the warmth of an open grave. “You destroyed my prophecy?”

Bellatrix threw herself at his feet with embarrassing enthusiasm. “Master, forgive me! I tried—”

“Silence.”

One word. Bellatrix’s mouth snapped shut so fast Arthur heard her teeth click.

Voldemort’s attention remained fixed on Harry. “You have interfered with my plans for the last time, Potter.”

Arthur gripped his popcorn bowl tighter. Here it comes.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Green light erupted from Voldemort’s wand, but before it could reach Harry, the golden statue of a wizard sprang to life, leaping between them. The killing curse shattered harmlessly, sending emerald sparks cascading across marble.

“What—?” Voldemort actually sounded surprised.

“Well, well,” came a calm voice from the Atrium’s entrance. “Good evening, Tom.”

Arthur nearly choked on his popcorn. The headmaster stood calmly in front of the golden gates, looking magnificently unimpressed by the Dark Lord’s dramatic entrance.

“Dumbledore.” Voldemort’s hiss could have stripped paint.

“It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom.” Dumbledore strolled forward as if discussing the weather. “The Aurors are on their way—”

“By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!” spat Voldemort.

What happened next redefined Arthur’s understanding of magical combat.

Voldemort moved like liquid shadow, curses flowing from his wand in an endless stream of death. Not just Killing Curses—spells Arthur had never seen, magic that warped the air itself.

Dumbledore responded with power that seemed almost casual.

Water erupted from the fountain, rising in a crystalline serpent that wrapped around Voldemort. The Dark Lord vanished, reappearing behind Dumbledore only to face a shield of golden fire shaped like a phoenix.

“This is incredible,” Arthur breathed, conjuring himself a proper armchair. The popcorn deserved comfortable seating for a show like this. The duels he had fought in his time at Hogwarts was nothing compared to this.

The statues around the fountain came alive under Dumbledore’s will. The witch and wizard protected Harry while the centaur charged Bellatrix with bronze hooves. The house-elf and goblin statues joined the fray, moving with surprising grace for metal constructs.

All while the two greatest wizards of their generation traded spells that could level buildings.

Voldemort vanished and reappeared, sending killing curses from impossible angles. Dumbledore countered each one with shields of silver light or protective constructs that defied physics.

“You cannot win, old man!” Voldemort roared, his composure finally cracking.

“This was never about winning, Tom,” Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying clearly across the chaos. “It was about teaching.”

Arthur watched in awe as Dumbledore trapped Voldemort in a sphere of water that gleamed like molten glass. For a moment, it seemed the duel was over.

Then Voldemort vanished entirely, and the water crashed back into its pool.

“MASTER!” Bellatrix screamed.

Harry, thinking it was over, and Voldemort had decided to flee, made to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed, “Stay where you are, Harry!”

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why.

The Atrium fell silent. Too silent.

Then Harry convulsed, clutching his scar as his face contorted in agony. What was happening was new to Arthur. It was a painful reminder that there was still much magic he didn’t understand.

But one thing he did recognize — the magic at work was possession. Voldemort was trying to take control of Harry directly.

For several terrifying moments, Harry writhed on the floor while Voldemort’s voice spoke through his lips: “Kill me now, Dumbledore… If death is nothing, kill the boy…”

Arthur considered intervening. One push—just one careful application of mystic force—and he could eject Voldemort’s soul from Harry’s body. Send it into astral form where it would be vulnerable. Maybe even destroy the Horcrux in Harry’s scar while he was at it.

But he stopped himself.

That Horcrux was Harry’s extra life. His get-out-of-death-free card in the final confrontation with Voldemort. Remove it now, and Harry became just another mortal facing the most dangerous dark wizard in history.

Arthur forced his hand down. Stick to the script. Some things need to happen.

The possession intensified. Harry writhed on the marble floor, Voldemort’s words spilling from his lips like poison.

“You’ve lost, old man… Kill us both… The boy is weak…”

Then something shifted.

Harry’s face cleared. Pain transformed into something else—love, defiance, a fierce joy that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with connection.

“You’re the weak one,” Harry gasped in his own voice. “And you’ll never know love… or friendship… And I feel sorry for you…”

The possession shattered.

Voldemort materialized ten feet away, his red eyes wide with something Arthur had never expected to see.

Fear.

“Impossible,” the Dark Lord whispered.

“Love, Tom.” Dumbledore’s quiet words echoed in the devastated Atrium. “The one power you never understood.”

Arthur applauded silently. The show was everything he’d hoped for and more.

Suddenly, green flames erupted in fireplaces around the Atrium. Ministry officials poured through—Aurors, department heads, and Minister Fudge himself, all staring in shock at the scene before them.

Harry on the floor. Dumbledore standing protective. And in the center, like something from their worst nightmares…

Lord Voldemort. Alive. Real. Undeniable.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, grinning widely as Fudge stood frozen with his bowler hat askew, finally forced to confront the reality he’d spent a year denying.

The Dark Lord’s lipless mouth curved in what might have been amusement. His scarlet gaze swept the assembled crowd, drinking in their terror.

“Remember this night,” he said softly. Every word carried perfectly in the silence. “Remember how easily I entered your stronghold. Remember how your greatest protections meant nothing.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“Until next time.”

He vanished in a swirl of black smoke, taking Bellatrix with him.

The Atrium erupted.

Aurors shouted orders. Officials scrambled over each other. Someone was crying. Someone else had fainted.

And in the center of it all, Cornelius Fudge stood frozen, his face the color of old parchment.

“He’s back,” Fudge whispered. The words seemed torn from his throat. “Voldemort… he’s really back.”

Arthur leaned back in his conjured chair, grinning from ear to ear. The show had exceeded every expectation. Drama, action, emotional depth, and the Minister of Magic in striped pajamas—what more could anyone ask for?

With the show concluded and canon events successfully preserved, Arthur decided it was time to make his exit. He had a stunned Sirius to deal with back in London, and questions to answer about what came next.

Opening a portal to his manor, Arthur stepped through with deep satisfaction.

The aftermath at the ministry was not Arthur’s problem. He had successfully saved Sirius Black without disrupting the larger timeline, witnessed the duel of the century, and now had Time-Turners to experiment with under the Ancient One’s guidance.

All in all, a very productive evening.

Now to figure out what to do with a supposedly dead godfather.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep