The name Voldemort had once the scariest thing in the world, a source of terror that loomed over the wizarding world like a shadow. But now, that fear had faded, replaced by something far greater.
Dante's revelation had eclipsed the Dark Lord entirely.
In the face of a wizard who had walked through the ages, shaping magic itself, Voldemort was no longer a god of fear—he was merely a relic of arrogance, an insignificant issue in comparison to the storm that Dante had unleashed.
And his followers had begun to see it.
The Death Eaters, once bound by fear, loyalty, or ambition, now questioned their purpose. What was the point of following a man who had already been declared a soon-to-die person? The realization struck them like a curse—Voldemort was nothing compared to Dante.
Some abandoned him in silence, slipping into the shadows, hoping to align themselves with a future where they can benefit from. Others turned their attention elsewhere, following Dante's warning about the muggle world.
For the first time, the so-called noble pure-blood families felt fear—not of Dante, not of the Ministry, but of muggles.
The more they studied, the more they observed, the clearer it became: the balance of power had shifted.
In the past, a single wizard could stand against a dozen muggles and win with ease. They had believed themselves superior, only fearing muggles when wizards betrayed their own kind. But now? Now, muggles wielded weapons that could incinerate entire cities in an instant. Their technology had advanced to the point where no wizard, no spell, no charm could guarantee safety against them.
The realization struck deep. Their world, which had remained stagnant for centuries, was woefully unprepared.
And in the midst of it all, Voldemort sat alone, spiraling into his own despair.
He had not cared about his Death Eaters. Their loyalty, their abandonment—it was meaningless. His mind was consumed by a far greater terror: his own impending death.
Dante was the original creator of the Horcrux. He understood its nature, its limitations, far beyond anything Voldemort could have ever hoped to grasp.
And Voldemort could still hear Dante's words to Harry, echoing in his mind:
"A Horcrux should be created once in a lifetime."
At the time, he had missed the real point of that sentence, believing a person can only have one. But now, those words held a meaning far deeper than he had ever imagined.
The Horcrux was not meant to grant immortality through division. Its purpose was singular—to anchor the soul once for rebirth. Not to linger as a ghost, clinging desperately to new bodies.
Voldemort felt his breath hitch. He remembered the ancient texts he had studied, the forbidden knowledge he had pursued. He had ignored the warnings, convinced that his understanding of magic surpassed all others. But the truth was brutal in its simplicity.
The books had always spoken of creating one Horcrux. A single tether to life.
But in his arrogance, he had created seven, believing that the number itself held power. Seven, the magical number. Seven, the key to true immortality.
He had been wrong. Seven was not a number of invulnerability. It was a number of lifetimes.
Seven lives—not in a single existence, but spread across the ages.
And now, he had scattered his soul beyond its limits, defying the natural order. He was not immortal—he was a dying abomination, a mistake of his own making.
His chest tightened as the weight of it all settled upon him.
Dante had discovered the truth ten thousand years ago, when there were no schools, no structured magic, no guidance. He had done what Voldemort could never hope to accomplish—he had mastered magic. He had shaped it. He had defined it.
Voldemort was nothing but a thief, a scavenger who had clung to fragments of a legacy far greater than himself. And now, even those who once feared him had turned their backs.
His pride was shattered. His legacy was dust. And worst of all—he was dying.
Voldemort sat in silence, his mind empty, his body shaking.
For the first time in his existence, he had no answers.
He didn't know what to do. He was out of his depth.
___________
Dante sat in his office, writing in a book when a brilliant, silvery light filled the room. A majestic phoenix Patronus spread its wings before him, its voice calm yet urgent.
"Voldemort is in the front courtyard."
Dante raised an eyebrow. Without a word, he disapparated.
The moment he appeared in the courtyard, he was greeted by a tense scene. Professors stood with their wands raised, their faces grim. Students had gathered at a distance, fear evident in their eyes.
And at the center of it all, Voldemort stood atop a chained Harry Potter, his wand clutched tightly. Beside him, a massive serpent coiled and hissed menacingly.
Voldemort's red eyes gleamed with madness as he spotted Dante.
"You can even apparate in Hogwarts… worthy of being the true Dark Lord."
Dante ignored the remark, stepping forward. "What is going on here?"
Voldemort smiled a twisted, cruel one.
"I have been lurking around, waiting for an opportunity. When I spotted Potter, I caught him."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"I wanted to speak with you face to face as fast as possible. This was my best way to do it. Catching Harry is only fitting, as he is my so-called nemesis."
Dante's eyes flickered toward the snake coiled beside Voldemort. He observed it for a moment before speaking.
"Another bloodborne curse… and it made you into a snake?" He turned his gaze back to Voldemort. "Is that why you're here? Because he can understand you?"
Both Voldemort and the snake froze. Dante had understood Nagini's nature immediately.
The serpent hissed at him, but he made no move to respond. Instead, he lifted his wand, touched it to his throat, and murmured an incantation. A faint green glow pulsed at his throat.
Then he lowered his wand… and hissed. A perfect, fluent Parseltongue.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as Voldemort and Nagini instinctively responded. The three of them engaged in a rapid conversation of hisses and clicks, their exchange lost to all but themselves and Harry, who widened his eyes.
Then, without warning, the snake slithered away from Voldemort.
The Dark Lord's face twisted into something akin to grief, as though he had lost something precious. His red eyes burned with fury as he turned back to Dante.
"Let's make a trade, a life for a life." His voice was low and venomous. "Help me save myself, and I will let Potter go. Refuse… and I will kill him."
Harry struggled in his chains, his voice hoarse as he yelled, "Don't listen to him! Just kill him! I don't matter!"
Dante didn't even glance at Harry. His voice was calm, indifferent.
"There is no saving you."
Voldemort's fingers curled tightly around his wand.
"You can find a way," he said desperately. "I refuse to believe you are incapable of that, not after everything you have done in your long existence."
Dante tilted his head slightly.
"Perhaps." His tone was cold, almost bored. "But I see no reason to do so. And Harry Potter is the worst hostage you could have chosen."
A pause.
"Feel free to kill him."
His words rang across the courtyard like a death knell.
"If you don't," Dante continued, his voice dropping into something even colder, "I will kill you myself."
The silence was suffocating.
Even Voldemort seemed taken aback.
Then, his anger erupted.
"You created the Horcrux! You left behind its knowledge! My state is your fault!"
Dante laughed. A dark, amused sound.
"I explicitly stated to create one Horcrux. You didn't heed the warning."
Voldemort's jaw clenched. "There was no explanation! How was I supposed to know?"
Dante's amusement deepened as he said "The Darkest Arts has an entire section on soul dissipation, right before the Horcrux chapter."
Dante smirked as he continued "You just skipped it. Your own indiligence is to blame."
Voldemort's face twisted in horror.
Yes.
Yes, he had ignored it. Back then, he had only cared about achieving immortality. He had disregarded the warnings, the context, everything.
And now, he was paying for it.
Dante's voice cut through his thoughts.
"So? Are you going to kill Harry… or should I kill you?"
Voldemort's entire body trembled with rage. Desperate. Mocked. Powerless.
A guttural roar tore from his throat as he raised his wand and pointed it at Harry.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Green light surged forward—
A gasp rippled through the crowd—
And then… Voldemort collapsed. Just like that. His body hit the stone floor with a hollow thud.
The Killing Curse had backfired. Harry was still alive. And Voldemort… he was dying.
The courtyard was deathly silent.
Students and professors alike stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, was defeated, his Killing Curse failing to strike its intended target. Only two figures among them seemed to have some understanding of the situation: Dumbledore and Snape.
Meanwhile, Dante walked forward at an unhurried pace, his gaze fixed on the two figures before him, Harry Potter, still chained, and Voldemort, lying weakly on the ground.
Reaching Harry, Dante moved with casual ease as he removed the restraints binding him. The chains clattered to the ground, and Harry immediately staggered to his feet, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing with confusion and anger.
On the ground, Voldemort stirred weakly, his once-fearsome red eyes now dimmed. His voice, hoarse and frail, carried only two words:
"How? Why?"
It was not Dante who answered, but Dumbledore "It was love, Tom." The old wizard's voice was steady yet filled with quiet sorrow. "It is the greatest power you could never understand, much less overcome."
Voldemort's gaze flickered toward Dumbledore before shifting back to Dante. His expression showed his dissatisfaction, Dumbledore's words were not enough.
Dante, standing above him, looked at the dying man and finally spoke, not just to Voldemort, but to everyone gathered.
"Magic is the fusion of mind, body, emotion, life, and soul. Each of these components adds to the power of magic, but the one that has the greatest effect is emotion."
The crowd listened in silence, captivated by his words.
"Love is the single most powerful emotion a person can feel," Dante continued. "Love makes you selfless. Love fuels grief. Love fuels hatred. Love fuels fear. And many other emotions. A magic fueled by love is the greatest magic that can be cast."
Voldemort's breathing became more ragged, but he hung onto every word.
"Lily Potter's protection was fueled by her love and her life, a protection to the utmost extreme. That is why you would never be able to kill Harry. Any magic cast by you with the intent to harm him would always rebound against you."
Dante's voice remained steady, unwavering.
"Even if you took Harry's blood into yourself, even if you let his magic flow inside your body, your own magic would work against you to continue protecting him. So yes… you were defeated by the purest love, the love of a mother for her child."
Voldemort trembled. A single tear rolled down his pale, withered face. For the first time in his wretched existence, he truly felt the weight of emotions—regret, hate, anger, fear, helplessness… and something deeper.
His entire life, his choices, his relentless pursuit of immortality, all of it flashed before his eyes. Dante's words… they were true.
He had been blind all along. Before the silent audience, Voldemort's body began to disintegrate. The very fabric of his existence crumbled, his form turning to ash and scattering into nothingness.
The Dark Lord was no more. A heavy silence settled over the courtyard.
Then a low, sorrowful hiss broke through the stillness.
All eyes turned to Nagini.
The great serpent coiled upon herself, her body trembling. A single tear fell from her reptilian eyes, a rare display of grief. A tear for the Dark Lord.
Dante watched her for a long moment before finally speaking.
"I am sorry for your loss," he said gently.
Nagini lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his.
"I hope things will get better for you… once you can communicate again."
The snake hissed softly in response.
And in that moment, the reign of Lord Voldemort ended, not with a battle, not with a grand duel… But with the truth.