Voldemort the Jester?!

The battlefield was quiet save for the soft rustle of wind, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and fear. Harry stood tall, his black-and-silver robes flowing in a nonexistent breeze, his piercing nebula-like eyes fixed on Voldemort. The Dark Lord's crimson gaze flickered between rage and confusion as he stared at the destruction of his forces and the unflinching mortal—or god?—standing before him.

Voldemort raised his wand, his voice sharp. "You are no more than a boy playing with forces beyond your comprehension!"

Harry tilted his head, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "And you're a man desperately clinging to an image of power that doesn't exist anymore."

In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the projection of the scene continued, giving everyone a front-row seat to the showdown. The students were riveted, leaning forward in their seats, while the teachers exchanged stunned glances. Among them, Rita Skeeter scribbled furiously in her emerald-green quill, her glasses perched on her nose as she alternated between writing and smirking.

Harry extended his hand, conjuring a small golden cup out of thin air—the final Horcrux of Helga Hufflepuff, and the second-to-last anchor to Voldemort's wretched soul. The sight of the object sent a visible jolt through the Dark Lord.

"You've been busy," Voldemort hissed.

"Oh, you've no idea," Harry replied casually. He spun the cup in his hand like a toy before gripping it tightly. His eyes locked onto Voldemort's, and with an audible crack, he crushed the ancient artifact in his bare hand, magical energy bursting forth like a dying scream.

Voldemort staggered back, his face contorting in agony. The onlookers in the Great Hall gasped. Rita's quill paused mid-sentence as she whispered, "Oh, this is delicious."

The projection zoomed in on Voldemort's face, capturing every twitch and grimace of his pain. Harry's voice, smooth and cutting, filled the hall. "What's wrong, Tom? Did I hit a nerve?"

"Stop calling me that!" Voldemort bellowed, his voice raw.

Harry shrugged. "But it's your name, isn't it? Tom Marvolo Riddle. Such a dramatic anagram you came up with." He made a mock pondering face. "Too bad it's just as unoriginal as everything else about you."

With a flick of his fingers, Harry sent a wave of energy that engulfed Voldemort. When the energy dissipated, gasps and laughter erupted from the Great Hall. Voldemort's once dark and menacing robes were now bright pink, shimmering obnoxiously in the light. A shiny red clown nose adorned his face.

Harry stood back, arms crossed, admiring his work. "There. Now you look the part. I mean, you've been acting like a clown for years—it's about time someone dressed you properly."

The students roared with laughter, and even some of the professors couldn't suppress their grins. Rita Skeeter was writing so fast that her quill appeared to be smoking.

Excerpt from one of Rita's past articles floated into Harry's mind, no doubt thanks to her publicity-seeking efforts:

"The self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort, is nothing more than a paranoid, snake-obsessed narcissist with delusions of grandeur. While his followers terrorize, he cowers in shadows, afraid of children. Is this the leader of whom the Death Eaters are so proud? Or is this a cult held together by fear and mediocrity?"

Voldemort screeched in fury, hurling curses toward Harry. A jet of green light flew toward him, but Harry simply sidestepped, yawning as the Killing Curse zipped past harmlessly. Another followed, and Harry casually batted it away with his hand, sending it careening into the air like a stray firework.

"Is that the best you've got?" Harry asked, feigning disappointment. "No wonder your Death Eaters spend more time running than fighting."

Voldemort snarled, launching a barrage of spells, but Harry vanished, reappearing behind him with a light tap on his shoulder.

"Tom, you're so tense! Let me help you loosen up." Harry grinned and delivered a light flick to Voldemort's forehead. Despite its gentleness, the flick sent the Dark Lord tumbling backward, sprawling into the dirt.

Rita's voice echoed faintly in the Great Hall projection. "A flick?! Did he just—oh, the readers will eat this up!"

Harry approached leisurely as Voldemort scrambled to his feet. The Dark Lord's composure was cracking, his breath ragged and his eyes wild.

Harry raised his hand, summoning the diadem of Ravenclaw, the final piece of Voldemort's fragmented soul. He held it up for all to see, the projection making sure the image was burned into every student and professor's memory.

"Recognize this, Tom?" Harry taunted. "This is it, your last little safety net."

"No," Voldemort whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," Harry said, his voice mocking. He crushed the diadem effortlessly, and a final, anguished wail tore through the battlefield as Voldemort's soul fragment was obliterated. The Dark Lord fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

In the Great Hall, Rita's voice was barely contained. "This is history. No, this is poetry! The fall of Voldemort, orchestrated like a symphony of humiliation."

Harry stepped closer, looming over the defeated Dark Lord. "You feel that, Tom? That's mortality creeping back in. No more Horcruxes. No more cheating death. It's just you and me now."

He glanced toward the projection, ensuring the entire school could hear his words. "I've been teaching the students here the importance of perseverance, of fighting back against impossible odds. And today, they get to watch the biggest lesson of all."

Harry reached down, grabbing Voldemort by the collar and hoisting him up with ease. "But first…" He waved his hand, conjuring a massive mirror out of thin air. "Take a good look at yourself."

Voldemort's reflection stared back at him: a pink-clad, clown-nosed figure with a defeated expression. The hall erupted in laughter once more, the sound carrying through the battlefield.

Harry leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "You've terrorized these people for far too long. It's time to end this little farce."

With that, he tossed Voldemort aside like a ragdoll. The Dark Lord hit the ground with a thud, scrambling to regain his footing. Harry turned back to the projection and spoke directly to the students and staff.

"This isn't just about me. It's about all of us. And together, we're going to make sure this clown never threatens anyone again."

As Voldemort rose shakily to his feet, Harry cracked his knuckles, his eyes glowing with battle lust. "Now, Tom, let's see if you've got anything left. Because I'm just getting started."

The projection flickered off, leaving the Great Hall buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Harry's voice echoed faintly as the image faded:

"This is what real power looks like."