85: True Fiendfyre

"We should be on the same side, Ivan!"

Voldemort extended his offer once more: "You know the curse of the Obscurus. Join me, and I will help you break the curse so you can live!"

To be honest, Voldemort was terrified of Ivan.

But if Ivan could be recruited into the Death Eaters…

With such a powerful ally, once Voldemort regained his full strength with the Philosopher's Stone, what could Dumbledore possibly do against them?

Together, they would be unstoppable.

As for the possibility that Ivan might become a threat in the future?

To Voldemort, that wasn't even a concern.

He had Horcruxes, granting him multiple chances to rise again if needed. Ivan, on the other hand, had only one life. Sooner or later, Voldemort would bring him under control.

"Is that all you ever say?"

Ivan couldn't help but feel exasperated.

He had no idea where Voldemort got the audacity to keep trying to recruit him. "You're barely clinging to life, hiding like a rat in the sewers."

While speaking, Ivan maintained control over the black fog with his other hand, keeping the basilisk restrained and pinned in place, rendering it unable to move.

Throughout the entire exchange, Ivan didn't even bother to face the basilisk, depriving it of any opportunity to attack.

"Hisss~~!!"

"Chi~~~"

On the other side, Voldemort was about to continue his attempts to manipulate Ivan when a melodic, piercing cry echoed from the sky, and his expression changed drastically.

"Phoenix?"

Fawkes appeared, locking eyes with the basilisk.

Swooping down with graceful precision, the phoenix struck with its sharp beak, piercing both of the basilisk's eyes.

"No!!!"

Voldemort let out a furious roar, filled with anguish. He knew that his most significant threat to Ivan had been neutralized by the phoenix.

With its eyes destroyed, the basilisk was now just an enormous beast.

While its skin still had high magical resistance, Ivan's transfiguration skills were more than enough to subdue it.

"Thanks, Fawkes."

Ivan seized the perfect opportunity, manipulating the surrounding water to bind the basilisk's massive body.

With a flick of his wand, Ivan cast a freezing spell, turning the water into solid ice, trapping the basilisk's half-frozen, blinded form.

"Tom, maybe you should worry about yourself more than your pet," Ivan quipped.

"Ahhh!!!"

Voldemort's already fractured soul, stretched to its limit by Ivan's taunts, could no longer contain his fury. Enraged, he lashed out with magic once more.

"Do you have amnesia?" Ivan sneered, sidestepping the attack with ease.

"You know you can't win a duel against me, yet you still try."

"It seems you've lost more than just your nose, Tom—your brain went missing too."

While maintaining the magical connection with Voldemort, Ivan kept spewing all kinds of trash talk as if it was second nature.

Behind the scenes, Dumbledore, observing silently, couldn't help but twitch the corners of his mouth.

He had witnessed this particular style of Ivan's many times before.

Whenever Ivan fought, he never failed to run his mouth — so much so that even the most composed opponents would lose their temper.

Even Severus Snape, known as the most sarcastic and sharp-tongued person at Hogwarts, had once fallen victim to Ivan's relentless verbal jabs.

When it came to scathing insults, Snape had never backed down from anyone... until he met Ivan.

Ivan, armed with knowledge of Snape's past, would deliver ruthless remarks, each piercing Snape like a dagger. And, as if that wasn't enough, Ivan often sprinkled in comments about Lily Evans, and occasionally James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin.

It was as if Ivan was peeling apart Snape's darkest memories and feeding them to any onlookers.

"I heard your mother wasn't much of a looker," Ivan said with a sly grin. "So, I guess you got those dashing good looks from old Tom Riddle, huh?"

"No wonder you wanted to make yourself unrecognizable."

As he spoke, Ivan multitasked effortlessly — suppressing the basilisk, maintaining his magical duel with Voldemort, and delivering barbed insults without missing a beat.

"At least you won't have to see that annoying face in the mirror every day."

"Shut Up! You... you deserve to die, Ambrosius!!!"

Voldemort's rage boiled over. Never in his life had he wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill Ivan right now.

He abandoned all concern for Quirrell's deteriorating body, summoning flames filled with a terrifying, malevolent aura in his hands.

"Now! Can you take this on?"

Ivan's eyes narrowed as he recognized the flame: "Fiendfyre!"

At first, the flame was only the size of a fist, but within moments, it surged up to the chest of the Slytherin statue, spreading in all directions with terrifying speed.

Boom!!

The aura of destruction expanded wildly. In Ivan's magic vision, the black and red, viscous magic spread like molten tar, threatening to devour the entire world.

Ivan had never encountered a spell so fearsome and dangerous. It felt like the gates of hell had opened, pulling everything into endless chaos and ruin.

'Is this Fiendfyre?... In front of this.. my own adaptation of the Fiendfyre is... like a candle!'

In the original Harry Potter series, Fiendfyre first appeared in the hands of Crabbe — and it was also the last time it was used.

In fan fiction, Ivan had often read about Fiendfyre being treated like a common black magic spell, as if anyone could wield it. However, the truth was far from that. Both Fiendfyre and Avada Kedavra were spells far beyond the reach of ordinary wizards.

Crabbe's ability to summon the fire was not because of his skillful control over magic — but because he was evil enough, reckless enough, and mad enough.

Many might dismiss Crabbe as a dull brute with limited magical ability.

But the reality was that, in the original book, Crabbe was one of only three students in the history of Hogwarts to attempt to kill someone.

'No wonder Dumbledore warned me to be wary of such black magic.'

If there was no magic eye, Ivan probably wouldn't feel the horror of Fiendfyre.

The more a wizard is exposed to Fiendfyre, the closer his will aligns with the chaotic essence of its power, seducing him into madness and pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!

Ivan raised his wand, summoning golden light to form a barrier against the raging Fiendfyre. His eyes locked onto Voldemort, who stood behind the inferno, laughing—a chilling, twisted laugh.

Voldemort's blood-red eyes gleamed with malice, and the wand in his hand guided the uncontrollable flames, keeping them in place through sheer force of will.

The Fiendfyre crawled across the floor, consuming the pool, the sculptures, and the walls.

There was no burning process, no crackling wood or scent of smoke. Everything it touched disintegrated into ash, feeding the fire's insatiable hunger.

It grew larger and larger, morphing into a massive fire dragon that towered tens of meters high.

"Roar~~"

The fire dragon seemed to be in perfect sync with Voldemort's will, coiled like a predator and fixing its glowing eyes on Ivan.

"This is my final offer."

Voldemort's voice was cold and commanding: "Surrender, or die."

Ivan couldn't help but admire Voldemort's mastery over the Fiendfyre. It was no small feat to control such destructive magic.

Fiendfyre is a magic that respects no one—not even the wizard who conjures it.

Once released, it becomes a force of pure destruction, obeying only the caster's absolute will.

In other words, if you can't stop the Fiendfyre of this level, then you can't control it.

Just like Voldemort wielding Fiendfyre, creating a massive fire dragon with such precision was a terrifying display of control.

This meant that even if someone cast Fiendfyre of equal strength against Voldemort, he would easily absorb it and use it to bolster his own flames, turning the magic against the caster.

'Fiendfyre belongs to no one.'

'Before it spirals out of control, a stronger wizard can seize it.'

'After it escapes control, anyone can use it, if they dare.'

Fiendfyre's only true enemy is the natural world itself. It is a destructive force like an apocalyptic dragon, and only those with the strength and will of a hero can suppress and command it.

Ka-ka-ka~~

Even as the inferno raged around him, Ivan felt exhilarated—more alive than ever before. The thrill of wielding such immense power coursed through him.

The wand in Ivan's hand emitted a faint hum, and fiery red-gold runes appeared along its surface, glowing like ancient inscriptions—an enchantment, or perhaps a sacred mantra.

"DEX!"

At that moment, with a brilliant cry, a Fenix made of radiant red-gold flames soared from Ivan's sycamore wand.

"Volcan Opens the Way!"

Ivan swung his wand forcefully, unleashing his most refined and flawless "VolcanOpens the Way" spell yet.

"What?!"

Voldemort's pupils constricted in disbelief.

In front of him, the once ferocious and terrifying fire dragon seemed to be severed by an invisible sword.

The next moment, the fire dragon split cleanly down the middle, from the center of its brow to its tail.

The red-gold divine bird soared into the air, devouring the flames as it grew larger, expanding at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Damn it!"

Voldemort was stunned, quickly summoning the other half of the flames to prevent them from being overtaken by Ivan's magic. "The Fire God Spell! How..?! Dumbledore actually taught you this spell!"

Volcan Opens the Way was a spell originally created by Dumbledore as a variant of the Firestorm spell, granting absolute dominion over any flame.

Voldemort had once witnessed Dumbledore use this magic firsthand. With just a flick of his wand, the flames from a forest fire stretching dozens of miles had parted, making way as if bowing to the will of the fire god walking upon the earth.

And now, this very spell was being wielded by a first-year wizard.

"Is that a Phenix...?"

Meanwhile, the old headmaster, observing the duel between Ivan and Voldemort from the shadows, stood in stunned disbelief.

His gaze fixed on the scene— the red-gold phoenix rising within the flames, circling the sky gracefully and lowering its tail as if to shield and protect.

Dumbledore murmured to himself, his expression dazed: "Dumbledore..."

"Dex!"

Fawkes chirped happily, fearlessly flying through the Fiendfyre, circling playfully around the Fenix, Dex, Ivan had summoned.

If Dumbledore's earlier remarks about Ivan's bloodline had been made in jest, now he could no longer deny it.

He believed it. He truly believed it.

Perhaps Ivan's ancestors truly carried the bloodlines of both Merlin and the Phoenix.

And now, Ivan Ambrosius stood as the perfect fusion of those two legacies—a magical miracle.

"Ambrosius!!"

Voldemort was overwhelmed with shock, seeing in Ivan the shadow of Dumbledore himself.

It was as though the young wizard before him wasn't a mere student, but a version of Dumbledore in his prime—the very man whom Voldemort had both admired and resented his entire life, the one whose brilliance had overshadowed him for years.

"..."

Ivan maintained his grip over the Fiendfyre Phoenix, allowing it to consume Voldemort's flames bit by bit, then turning them against their caster.

"Hm?"

Suddenly, Ivan noticed that Voldemort's control over the Fiendfyre had weakened.

Before he could fully understand why, a deadly green beam of light shot through the raging flames, hurtling directly toward him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Shit!"

Ivan cursed inwardly—Voldemort was every bit as cunning as they said.

Fortunately, Ivan's high-level thinking attribute allowed him to keep up. Multitasking came naturally to him, and in a fraction of a second, he made his move.

"You're really despicable, you nose-less bastard."

Raising his empty left hand slightly, Ivan summoned a chunk of rubble from nearby. The rock flew into place just in time, intercepting the Killing Curse.

Boom!

Before Ivan could react, another Killing Curse was unleashed.

"???"

Ivan instinctively prepared to defend, but his heightened senses gave no warning this time.

"What's going on?"

He scanned the situation and quickly realized that Voldemort's aim was off—the curse wasn't directed at him at all.

"Hisssssss~~!"

A piercing shriek echoed behind him. Ivan turned abruptly and saw the basilisk, which had been frozen solid, now engulfed in eerie green flames.

These flames were not ordinary—they clung to the basilisk like the scythe of death, relentlessly draining its life force.

"What are you doing?"

Ivan's eyes narrowed in confusion.

Why was Voldemort killing his own creature?

Then he noticed it—the invisible strands of life energy seeping out from the dying basilisk. The energy drifted toward the crown perched atop Voldemort's head, feeding both his body and soul.

Boom!

The crown glowed faintly, radiating an ominous energy.

Ivan suddenly understood. Ravenclaw's diadem was not just a Horcrux—it was a conduit. If Voldemort wanted to reclaim his full strength, he needed to devour enough vitality to restore himself.

This wasn't just about survival. This was an attempt at rebirth.

The basilisk had lived for a thousand years, and the immense vitality it held was beyond imagination.

Without hesitation, Ivan commanded the Fiery Fenix to unleash a torrent of blazing flames, interrupting Voldemort's absorption of the creature's life force.

"Damn it!"

Voldemort gritted his teeth in frustration. He hadn't expected Ivan to see through his plan so quickly.

If only he had a little more time, Voldemort could have drained the basilisk's vitality and temporarily restored himself to his prime. Even if the transformation couldn't last long, it would have been more than enough to crush Ivan.

But Ivan's magic eye had seen through everything, and Voldemort's opportunity slipped away.

"Huhuhuhu~~~"

Voldemort raised his wand and conjured a protective barrier, shielding himself from the raging flames. He made no attempt to wrestle control of the Fiendfyre from Ivan—he knew better.

With the mastery of Volcan Opens the Way and the Phoenix bloodline of the Dumbledore family, there was no wizard alive capable of challenging Ivan's control over fire.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Voldemort hissed in frustration.

The Fiendfyre he had summoned was now being used against him—a fitting irony. His bloodshot eyes burned with rage.

"You've lost, Tom."

Ivan's voice was steady, calm. He kept one hand controlling the Phoenix, which soared above, pouring flames downward. With his other hand, he made a subtle motion, releasing a Shadowless Blade into the air.

"Ugh~~!"

Voldemort's eyes widened as sharp, invisible pain seared through his chest. His body shuddered slightly, and he immediately realized what had happened.

He had been struck.

He had lost.

The Sectumsempra—a spell crafted by Snape, his once most close subordinate—had cut through space and found its target without warning!

___________

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