"Look very carefully, Nero. This is what a duel at the summit of magic looks like."
Dumbledore's voice was steady, but there was a gravity to it that made Nero's breath hitch.
Despite knowing this was a memory, Nero could feel it.
The shift in the air. The sheer weight of the two powers clashing before his eyes.
The hall, once a place of knowledge and debate, was now a battlefield.
At one end, Voldemort stood like a wraith, his serpentine face split by a cruel smirk.
The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows across his gaunt features, his crimson eyes burning with something close to euphoric hunger.
On the other side, Jonathan Ravenclaw stood tall, his dark robes billowing slightly, an aura of absolute composure surrounding him.
Unlike Voldemort, who radiated raw, oppressive malice, Jonathan exuded an overwhelming stillness, as if he was time itself, untouched by the chaos around him.
The sheer difference in their presence made Nero's throat tighten.
The tension was suffocating.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, Voldemort flicked his wand.
A simple motion, almost dismissive. But the result was instantaneous.
Everything shattered.
Glass exploded from the windows. Wood splintered from the tables.
Books and parchments tore themselves apart as if caught in an invisible storm.
Shards of crystal, metal, and debris swirled into a raging maelstrom.
And then, it attacked.
The entire battlefield turned against Jonathan.
Splintered desks twisted into jagged spears.
Shattered glass became a thousand tiny daggers.
Chairs transfigured mid-air into monstrous creatures with gnashing fangs.
A symphony of destruction, all converging on a single target.
The first scream rang out.
A stray shard of glass had embedded itself into the throat of a wizard standing too close.
He collapsed, blood gurgling from his lips.
More people scrambled away, but there was nowhere to run. The entire hall was a war zone.
A few attempted shields, but the force of the magic was overwhelming.
At this moment.
Jonathan raised a single hand.
The world stopped.
Everything halted mid-air.
The razor-sharp glass, the jagged wood, the monstrous creatures, all frozen in time, suspended in perfect stillness.
Even the injured man, bleeding out on the stone floor, found his wounds unnaturally frozen, as if death itself had been paused.
Time itself had halted.
The silence was deafening.
Voldemort's amusement flickered. His eyes narrowed slightly.
A slow chuckle. "Impressive," he murmured. "Truly impressive Jonathan."
Jonathan exhaled. With a slight tilt of his fingers, the frozen objects trembled.
"You are strong, and your magic is powerful" Jonathan said, voice measured. "But your way of fighting is…" He tilted his head, as he considered his words. "Predictable. Boring."
A flick of his fingers.
The suspended shards changed. Instead of falling, they transformed mid-air.
The glass twisted, merging into a hundred silver serpents, their razor-edged teeth gleaming.
The spears of wood sharpened into glistening chains shaped like snakes.
Even the flames from the torches stretched and curled into a great roaring serpent of fire.
Three different attacks. Three different angles. All reminding of serpents.
Jonathan was mocking Voldemort.
The air crackled.
For the first time, Voldemort's expression darkened.
His wand snapped upward.
BOOM!
A wave of dark magic exploded outward.
The silver serpents disintegrated. The chains of wood were pulverized.
The fire-serpent was devoured by shadows.
Smoke curled in the air as the hall trembled from the sheer force.
A low growl escaped Voldemort. His crimson eyes blazed with fury.
"Very well," he hissed.
The shadows around him twisted.
He disappeared.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
And then, he was everywhere.
A dozen Voldemorts emerged from the shadows, stepping into existence from the shadows.
They did not flicker like illusions.
They moved in perfect synchronization, each one radiating the same oppressive malice, their crimson eyes glowing with unnatural intensity.
Nero's breath hitched. Which one was real?
Jonathan's eyes flickered, reading the battlefield in an instant.
Twelve Voldemorts.
Not ordinary duplicates. These things had substance.
They moved as if independent, yet connected by something unseen.
Each one carried the weight of the Dark Lord's malice, his presence multiplied twelvefold.
They attacked.
Twelve wands snapped up in eerie unison.
The air howled.
A storm of black lightning descended upon him.
The darkness warped the space around it, erasing light and devouring air, a churning storm of anti-energy that unmade everything it touched.
Jonathan moved.
His body flickered, half-there, half-gone as he stepped between tiny gaps, slipping through the lattice of attacks as if navigating an unseen rhythm.
But it was fast. Too fast.
The lightning twisted, bending toward him as if drawn by something unseen.
A trap.
The spell wasn't just an attack, it was an intelligent curse, adjusting to his movements in real time, closing in from all directions.
Jonathan's feet barely touched the ground before another wave surged.
The Voldemorts raised their wands.
Twelve voices whispered the next spell in perfect unison.
"Imperium Mortis."
Nero had never heard the incantation before. But the moment the words were spoken, the room cracked.
It felt like the air was ripped away.
The Hall dissolved into darkness.
Everything turned black.
No light. No sound. No sensation.
For the first time, Jonathan's movements faltered.
Not from pain, but because the very concept of movement was being erased.
A cage of non-existence.
"You're quite the dancer, Jonathan," Voldemort's voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere.
"But what happens when the stage disappears?"
The darkness contracted.
Nero clenched his fists. He was feeling contradicting emotions.
Jonathan exhaled.
For a fraction of a second, his figure blurred.
Voldemort's laughter echoed in the abyss.
"What will you do now, Jonathan Ravenclaw!?"
Jonathan moved.
Not through space, but through time. The darkness wavered.
The next moment, the spell that had erased existence simply… never happened.
Reality snapped back. The Hall reappeared.
Nero gasped.
Jonathan was there, standing amidst the dozen Voldemorts as if he had never left.
The storm of black lightning that had been seconds from killing him reversed, crackling backward into the wands that had cast them.
Jonathan's voice was quiet.
"Found you."
In the same instant, he vanished.
And then, he was behind the real Voldemort.
Jonathan whispered a single word.
"Return."
Reality twisted.
The destruction rewound. The shadows collapsed in on themselves.
The illusions flickered and vanished.
Voldemort snarled.
This time, he didn't hesitate. He lunged forward.
Jonathan met him halfway.
A flash of silver and green. A cascade of golden sparks.
They clashed.
Spells met and shattered mid-air.
Blades of ice, torrents of fire, twisting gales of wind, each conjured and countered in the same instant.
They moved faster than the eye could follow.
The force of their magic alone sent shockwaves across the hall.
A lesser wizard died instantly as an errant spell vaporized his body.
Another was thrown against the stone wall, bones shattering upon impact.
And yet, no one ran.
Even as the magic tore through the battlefield, the surviving wizards refused to leave.
They had to see this.
The pinnacle of magic! A duel between legends!
The battle raged. Until…
Voldemort laughed.
A cruel, spine-chilling laugh.
The dark mist coiling around his body thickened.
It coiled toward Cassandra.
Jonathan's expression sharpened.
Voldemort stepped back, rising slightly off the ground, his flight magic lifting him effortlessly.
"Let's call it... a persuasive reminder."
The dark mist plunged into Cassandra's body.
Her eyes flew open. Black.
Not a trace of emerald remained.
Jonathan's fingers clenched slightly.
Voldemort's smirk widened. "I look forward to hearing her answer."
His body dissolved into shadows, rising higher and higher.
Until he disappeared into the night.
His final words echoed through the shattered chamber:
"Tell me, Jonathan, did you still find me boring? Hahahahaha" his laugh echoed.
Jonathan remained motionless, his gaze locked onto the empty space where Voldemort had vanished.
Seconds passed.
He exhaled.
"…I did… Tom." he murmured.
He looked down at Cassandra's unconscious form. His expression unreadable.
"All your moves were déjà vu."
With a flick of his wrist, Cassandra rose into the air.
And Jonathan vanished with her.
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