What If Deku Was More Powerful Than Voldemort

 

The rain in Musutafu tasted like ash and copper.

 

Izuku Midoriya—known to the world as the Pro Hero Deku—wiped a mixture of sweat and grime from his brow, his emerald eyes locked onto the swirling vortex of destruction before him. The commercial district of Ward 7 had been evacuated hours ago, but the skeletal remains of office buildings and shattered storefronts stood as a testament to the sheer violence of the battle.

 

Neon signs flickered erratically, casting harsh, intermittent glows across the flooded asphalt. The air itself felt heavy, vibrating with an unnatural frequency that made Izuku’s teeth ache.

 

Danger Sense was humming a low, steady thrum in the back of his skull, a persistent ache that warned him of the localized reality-tears opening and closing like jagged mouths in the plaza.

 

"Yield, hero!" screeched the villain. He called himself Riftmaker, though the police registry identified him as a petty thief whose Quirk had undergone a catastrophic, spontaneous Awakening. He was a tall, emaciated man with wild, static-charged hair, floating a few feet above the ground. His hands were glowing with an unstable, prismatic light that warped the space around him. "You can't touch me! You can't even perceive the dimensions I'm operating in!"

 

Izuku exhaled, a long, measured breath that plumed in the cold night air. The green lightning of One For All—the stockpiled power of eight generations of heroes—crackled to life around him. The energy wrapped around his limbs, a comforting, familiar warmth that contrasted sharply with the biting chill of the rain.

 

He’s desperate, Izuku analyzed, his mind moving at a mile a minute. His Quirk allows him to fold localized space, creating portals and dimensional shears. But his body can’t handle the recoil. Look at his arms—the veins are turning black. He’s bleeding from his tear ducts. If I don't stop him soon, he’s going to collapse a city block in on himself just from the blowback.

 

"I won't let you hurt anyone else," Izuku said, his voice carrying the calm, unyielding weight of the Symbol of Peace. He dropped into a low sprinter’s stance, the iron soles of his costume digging into the wet concrete. "And I'm not going to let you destroy yourself, either."

 

One For All: Full Cowl - Forty-Five Percent!

 

The concrete beneath his feet spider-webbed, instantly shattering into dust as he launched himself forward. To a normal human eye, Izuku had simply ceased to exist, replaced by a streak of bioluminescent green light.

 

"Fools! All of you!" Riftmaker shrieked, throwing both hands forward. "Spatial Guillotine!"

 

A massive, invisible blade of warped space sliced through the air, tearing a line straight through the plaza. It severed a fallen streetlamp cleanly in half, the metal not melted or cut, but simply erased from reality where the rift passed.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. Danger Sense flared, sending a sharp spike of adrenaline into his nervous system, highlighting the invisible trajectory of the spatial tear.

 

Smokescreen!

 

A thick, violet cloud erupted from Izuku’s pores, instantly filling the plaza and blinding the villain. Riftmaker panicked, unleashing a flurry of smaller, chaotic rifts into the smoke, hoping to catch the hero by chance.

 

But Izuku wasn't on the ground anymore.

 

Float.

 

Suspending himself mid-air above the blinding smog, Izuku watched the chaotic energy tearing up the street below. He needed a clean hit. Something that would knock the villain unconscious immediately without killing him, but he had to bypass the defensive space-folds Riftmaker had wrapped around his own body.

 

Blackwhip!

 

Tendrils of crackling dark energy shot from Izuku's gloves, diving down into the smoke. They didn't aim for the villain. Instead, they latched onto the steel girders of a collapsed billboard to Riftmaker’s left and a heavy concrete pylon to his right.

 

With a brutal yank, Izuku pulled his arms back, ripping the massive debris from the ground and hurling them directly at the villain from opposite sides.

 

Riftmaker saw the debris parting the smoke. "Predictable!" he laughed hysterically, waving his hands. Two portals opened, swallowing the steel and concrete before they could crush him, intending to redirect them back at the hero.

 

But that was exactly what Izuku wanted. The villain had to drop his defensive space-folds to open the offensive portals.

 

For a fraction of a second, the villain was completely exposed.

 

Fa Jin.

 

Izuku released the kinetic energy he had built up in his legs. The air shattered around him with a deafening sonic boom. He crossed the fifty-yard distance in less than a microsecond, the sheer wind pressure of his movement parting the smoke like the Red Sea.

 

Riftmaker’s eyes widened, the reflection of a green, glowing demon of justice appearing in his dilated pupils.

 

"St. Louis..." Izuku roared, twisting his body in mid-air, bringing his leg around in a devastating arc. He pulled his power back at the last possible millisecond, reducing it to a non-lethal threshold. "...SMASH!"

 

The heel of Izuku’s iron sole connected with the side of Riftmaker’s jaw. The impact sent a shockwave through the plaza, shattering every remaining pane of glass in a three-block radius. The villain was launched backward like a cannonball, skipping across the asphalt until he slammed into the reinforced concrete of a bank vault, instantly unconscious.

 

Izuku landed softly, exhaling as the green lightning faded. He tapped his earpiece. "Pro Hero Deku to dispatch. The target is secured. Requesting medical—"

 

Before he could finish the sentence, a sound like tearing canvas ripped through the plaza.

 

Izuku whipped around. Where Riftmaker had been standing a moment before, the air was bleeding.

 

The villain's Quirk, no longer controlled by his conscious mind, was suffering a catastrophic failure. A sphere of absolute, light-consuming blackness was expanding rapidly in the center of the street. It wasn't a portal. It was a localized singularity, a tear in the fabric of space-time itself, and it was violently sucking everything into it.

 

Water, concrete, crushed cars, and the ambient light of the streetlamps were being pulled into the void.

 

Danger Sense didn't just hum; it screamed. It was a blinding, paralyzing agony in the back of his head.

 

"No, no, no!" Izuku muttered, engaging Float to resist the immense gravitational pull. He shot Blackwhip out, wrapping six tendrils around a deeply rooted fire hydrant and the foundations of a nearby building.

 

The wind was a hurricane now, howling in his ears, deafening him. The singularity was growing, destabilizing.

 

If that expands into the residential district... Izuku thought, sheer terror gripping his heart. He couldn't let it grow. He had to disperse the energy.

 

He planted his feet, anchoring himself with Blackwhip, and re-ignited One For All. The power surged through him, burning his veins. He drew back his right fist. He would have to hit the singularity with enough sheer concussive force to disrupt the vacuum, essentially punching the hole in reality shut.

 

"One For All... One Hundred Percent!"

 

His arm glowed with a terrifying, blinding brilliance. The skin peeled back, muscle fibers tearing as the absolute maximum output of the stockpiled power channeled into his right arm.

 

"DETROIT..."

 

Izuku threw the punch.

 

"...SMASH!"

 

A column of compressed air, possessing the kinetic force of a localized meteor strike, erupted from his fist. It collided with the singularity. For a single, breathless second, the universe seemed to pause. The sound completely dropped out of the world.

 

Then, the singularity shattered.

 

But it didn't just close. The sheer collision of infinite vacuum and insurmountable kinetic energy created a backlash. The space-time tear fractured like a mirror, and one of the massive, jagged shards of warped reality spun outward, expanding instantly.

 

Izuku’s eyes widened as the spatial rift swallowed him whole.

 

His Blackwhip lines snapped. The world of rain, concrete, and neon lights vanished.

 

 

 

There was no up or down. There was no sound, yet it was the loudest silence Izuku had ever experienced.

 

He was falling through a kaleidoscope of impossible colors—colors that burned his retinas and defied logical description. He felt like he was being stretched across a thousand miles and compressed into the size of an atom simultaneously.

 

What is this? Where am I? he tried to scream, but he had no mouth. He had no lungs. He was just a consciousness hurtling through a void.

 

Suddenly, a warm, reassuring presence wrapped around him. He felt the phantom sensation of a hand grabbing his own. Through the blinding sensory overload, he saw a flash of white hair and a sad, gentle smile.

 

Yoichi? Izuku thought, recognizing the First User of One For All.

 

Hold on, Ninth, a chorus of voices echoed in his mind—Daigoro Banjo, En, Nana Shimura. The power is shielding you, but the destination is... unknown. Brace yourself!

 

The cosmic kaleidoscope suddenly violently shifted from blinding light to absolute, suffocating darkness.

 

Gravity reasserted itself with the subtlety of a falling anvil.

 

Izuku was no longer floating in the void. He was plummeting through open air, moving at terminal velocity.

 

Instinct took over. He snapped his eyes open. Night sky. Clouds. The smell of smoke, pine, and something metallic. Blood.

 

He was falling toward a massive, sprawling structure. It looked like a castle straight out of a European history book, complete with towering turrets, sprawling courtyards, and ancient stone bridges. But the castle was on fire.

 

Massive explosions were rocking the grounds. Beams of multicolored light—red, green, blue, yellow—were streaking through the darkness, illuminating chaotic battles across the courtyards and viaducts.

 

Where am I? This isn't Japan. This isn't any city I know!

 

The ground was rushing up to meet him. Fast.

 

He was currently falling toward a massive, enclosed courtyard that was heavily damaged, its stone pillars shattered and its bridge crumbling. Dozens of people were fighting below.

 

Izuku gritted his teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain in his right arm—which was broken and bruised purple from the 100% Smash, though slowly healing thanks to his sheer stamina. He engaged Full Cowl at 30% to brace for the impact, twisting his body to land feet first.

 

Like a meteor crashing into the earth, Izuku slammed into the center of the stone courtyard.

 

The impact was cataclysmic. A deafening boom echoed over the sounds of battle as the ancient cobblestones liquefied under his boots. A massive crater, twenty feet wide, instantly formed, sending a shockwave of dust, debris, and kinetic force rippling outward.

 

The sudden explosion of earth and wind knocked several combatants on both sides of the courtyard off their feet. The streaking lights ceased for a brief moment as every eye in the immediate vicinity turned toward the massive plume of dust rising in the center of the battlefield.

 

At the bottom of the crater, Izuku coughed, waving a hand to clear the dust.

 

Okay, he thought, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears. Legs are intact. Arm is broken but usable if I need it. I'm alive.

 

Before he could even attempt to stand up, Danger Sense activated.

 

It didn't hum. It didn't buzz.

 

It roared.

 

Izuku fell to one knee, clutching his head as a blinding, nauseating wave of malice and killing intent washed over him. He had faced terrifying villains—Shigaraki, All For One, Overhaul—but the sheer concentration of ambient, hateful energy in the air here was suffocating. It felt cold, unnatural, and deeply wrong. It felt like standing in a graveyard where every corpse hated the living.

 

What is this feeling? Izuku gasped, forcing his eyes open. The dust was beginning to settle.

 

He crept up the side of his crater, peeking over the jagged stone edge to assess the situation. His hyper-analytical mind instantly went to work, categorizing and breaking down every detail of his surroundings.

 

Observation One: Environment. Ancient stone architecture. No signs of modern technology. No electrical lights, no cars, no cell towers. Fire was the primary light source. It looked like a historical ruin.

 

Observation Two: The Combatants. They were divided into two clear factions.

On one side, wearing tattered black robes and bone-white skull masks, were adults. They moved with predatory grace, laughing cruelly as they fought. Villains, Izuku deduced instantly. The masks, the uniform, the malice—it was textbook villainy.

On the other side... Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

They were kids. Teenagers. Some looked no older than first-years at U.A. High, while others were roughly his age. They wore dirty, torn clothes, some sporting striped ties and sweaters. They were battered, bleeding, and fighting with desperate, terrified expressions.

 

Adults attacking children in a coordinated assault, Izuku's fists clenched, his green lightning beginning to spark around his eyes. The pain in his head from Danger Sense was ignored, replaced by a cold, righteous fury.

 

Observation Three: The Weapons. This was the strangest part. Neither side was using guns, swords, or visible Quirks. They were all holding small wooden sticks.

 

Izuku watched as a masked villain pointed his stick at a stone gargoyle. He shouted a word that Izuku couldn't understand—the language sounded like English, which Izuku knew somewhat from his studies, but the specific word was guttural and foreign. "Confringo!"

 

A blinding bolt of orange light shot from the tip of the stick, striking the gargoyle and blowing it into a thousand pieces of shrapnel.

 

Energy projection? No, it requires a verbal component and a physical focal point (the stick). Is it a Support Item? Or a collective Quirk awakening? No, that doesn't make sense. Everyone has the exact same power system.

 

Izuku watched another exchange. A teenager yelled, "Stupefy!" sending a red bolt at a masked man. The masked man flicked his stick, silently conjuring a shimmering silver shield that absorbed the red light, before laughing and firing back.

 

Weaknesses, Izuku’s mind immediately began to chart them in his imaginary notebook.

1. The 'attacks' travel as physical projectiles. They have travel time. They can be seen and dodged.

2. They require physical movement of the stick. Predictable trajectories.

3. Many require a verbal incantation. A massive tell before an attack.

4. The combatants are physically frail. They stand in place, trading blows like artillery. No enhanced speed, no durability, no mobility Quirks.

 

Suddenly, Danger Sense spiked sharply to his left.

 

Izuku turned his head. About forty yards away, pinned against a crumbling archway, were two teenagers. One was a girl with fiery red hair, a gash across her forehead bleeding into her eyes. Beside her was a round-faced boy clutching a silver sword in one hand and a wooden stick in the other. They were exhausted, panting, and cornered.

 

Advancing on them were three masked villains. The one in the center laughed, a cruel, high-pitched sound that sent shivers down Izuku's spine.

 

"End of the line, blood-traitors," the masked man sneered in English.

 

Izuku's English was decent, mostly learned from watching old All Might interviews from America. He understood the tone. He understood the intent.

 

The masked man raised his stick. He didn't aim for the legs to incapacitate. He aimed squarely for the red-haired girl's chest.

 

"Avada Kedavra!"

 

A jet of sickly, blinding green light erupted from the stick.

 

Izuku didn't know what that spell did. He didn't know the physics of it. But Danger Sense screamed a single, absolute truth into his mind: DEATH.

 

If that light touched her, she would die instantly. There was no blocking it. There was no surviving it.

 

To the wizards in the courtyard, the spell was instantaneous. A flash of green, and it was over.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was currently holding One For All at 45% of its maximum capacity. His perception of time was fundamentally altered. To him, the green bolt of light was moving sluggishly, dragging its way through the air like a baseball thrown through molasses.

 

Izuku saw the terrified widening of the girl's brown eyes. He saw the boy beside her try to step in front of her, moving with agonizing slowness.

 

Not on my watch.

 

"Full Cowl," Izuku whispered.

 

The courtyard was suddenly illuminated not by the sickening green of the killing curse, but by the brilliant, emerald-teal lightning of the Ninth wielder of One For All.

 

Izuku pushed off the edge of his crater. The stone beneath his boots atomized.

 

A sonic boom cracked through the courtyard, shattering the few remaining stained-glass windows in the walls above.

 

To Ginny Weasley, death was a certainty. She had lost her wand in the chaos. Neville was stepping in front of her, brave, stupid Neville, but he wouldn't be fast enough. She saw the green light leave the Death Eater's wand. She closed her eyes.

 

A sound like a thunderclap deafened her.

 

A hurricane-force wind slammed into her, not from the spell, but from her right side.

 

She felt a pair of incredibly strong arms wrap around her waist, and suddenly, the world became a blur. She was no longer standing against the archway. She was rolling across the hard stone floor fifteen feet away, shielded by a warm, solid body that smelled of ozone, sweat, and rain.

 

She opened her eyes, gasping for breath.

 

Where she and Neville had just been standing, the Killing Curse struck the stone wall. The ancient masonry didn't just break; it seemed to silently die, crumbling into lifeless gray dust.

 

But she wasn't dead. Neville wasn't dead. Neville was sitting on his backside a few feet away, looking utterly bewildered, his sword still gripped tightly in his hand.

 

Hovering over Ginny was a boy.

 

He looked about her age, maybe slightly older. He had wild, untamable green hair that defied gravity, and a face covered in freckles and soot. He was wearing the strangest clothes she had ever seen—a battered, dark teal bodysuit with metal soles on his boots, white gloves that went up to his elbows, and a torn yellow cape that billowed around his shoulders despite there being no wind.

 

But the most shocking thing was the energy radiating from him. Veins of glowing, red power crisscrossed his skin, and vibrant green lightning crackled off his body, dancing across the cobblestones without burning them.

 

"Are you okay?" the boy asked. His English was heavily accented, slightly broken, but completely earnest.

 

Ginny could only stare, dumbfounded. "I... what?"

 

Izuku smiled, a bright, reassuring expression that stood in stark contrast to the nightmare of the battlefield. It was a smile that said, I am here.

 

"Stay down," Izuku instructed gently, turning his gaze back to the battlefield. The smile vanished, replaced by the hardened glare of a veteran Pro Hero.

 

The three Death Eaters were frozen in shock. One second, their target was dead to rights. The next, a thunderclap had rattled their bones, and a glowing boy had materialized out of thin air to snatch their prey away.

 

"What in the name of Merlin is that?!" the Death Eater on the left yelled, pointing his wand at Izuku. "Some kind of mutant? A creature?"

 

"Kill it!" the center Death Eater roared. "Crucio! Confringo! Avada Kedavra!"

 

A barrage of dark magic—red, orange, and the lethal green—was fired in a volley straight at Izuku.

 

Predictable, Izuku thought.

 

He didn't even drop his stance. He simply swayed.

 

To the wizards, it looked like a phantom. Izuku tilted his head an inch to the left, letting the Cruciatus curse sail harmlessly past his ear. He sidestepped the explosive hex, pivoting on his left heel. As the Killing Curse approached his chest, he simply leaned backward, matrix-style, watching the lethal green magic pass mere millimeters above his nose.

 

The Death Eaters gasped, their wands faltering. Nobody dodged a Killing Curse. It was impossible.

 

"My turn," Izuku muttered.

 

He raised his left hand, spreading his fingers. He needed to neutralize them without killing them, but they were too dangerous to engage in close combat if they could fire lethal shots instantly. He needed to bind their hands.

 

Blackwhip!

 

From the knuckles of his white gloves, tendrils of pitch-black energy erupted. They shot forward with the speed of a striking viper.

 

The Death Eaters didn't even have time to blink, let alone cast a Shield Charm.

 

The dark energy wrapped around the center Death Eater's wrist, crushing it with enough force to make him scream and drop his wand. The tendrils split, multiplying in mid-air, wrapping around the other two villains like a demonic spiderweb.

 

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Izuku pulled.

 

The three adult men were yanked off their feet as if they weighed nothing. They flew through the air, screaming, before Izuku slammed them face-first into the cold stone floor, instantly knocking all three unconscious. He left them tightly bound in the ethereal black ropes, rendering them completely helpless.

 

Silence descended on that corner of the courtyard.

 

Ginny and Neville slowly picked themselves up, their eyes wide as saucers.

 

"Wandless magic..." Neville whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at the black ropes binding the Death Eaters. "He just... he dodged three curses and bound them without a wand or a word."

 

"Who are you?" Ginny asked, stepping forward, her wand completely forgotten. "Are you with the Order? Did Dumbledore leave a secret weapon?"

 

Before Izuku could attempt to parse her rapid-fire English, a new sound echoed across the battlefield.

 

It was a chittering, clicking sound. A sound that multiplied by the hundreds.

 

Izuku’s Danger Sense flared again, this time warning him of a massive, sweeping threat from the treeline bordering the castle.

 

The shadows of the forest seemed to detach themselves and surge forward. As they hit the light of the fires, Ginny screamed.

 

Acromantulas. Giant, hairy, eight-legged monstrosities, some the size of small cars, others the size of draft horses, were pouring out of the Forbidden Forest. They were a tidal wave of snapping pincers and venomous fangs, driven mad by the battle, looking for easy prey.

 

And they were heading straight for the courtyard where the exhausted students were gathered.

 

"Spiders!" a student in the distance yelled. Panic erupted. Spells began flying blindly into the mass of arachnids, but the tough, hairy hides of the Acromantulas deflected most of the minor hexes. Stunners bounced off them. A few burst into flames, but it barely slowed the swarm.

 

They were going to overrun the courtyard in seconds.

 

"Run!" Neville yelled, grabbing Ginny's arm. He looked at Izuku. "Mate, whatever you are, we have to run! We can't fight a horde!"

 

Izuku didn't move. He stood his ground, his eyes locked on the advancing wave of giant spiders.

 

There are at least fifty of them, Izuku calculated rapidly. They have heavy armor, judging by how those light attacks bounced off. They're fast. If I use Blackwhip, I can't catch them all. If I use a physical smash, I'll crush the front row, but the back row will climb over them and reach the students behind me.

 

He needed an area-of-effect attack. He needed to clear the entire courtyard without damaging the castle further or hurting the kids behind him.

 

He raised his hands, bringing his thumbs against his middle fingers. He wore his Air Force gloves, designed specifically by Hatsume Mei to focus air pressure into a single point.

 

"What is he doing?!" Ginny cried, trying to pull Neville away. "He's going to be eaten!"

 

Izuku took a deep breath, drawing the power of One For All into his fingers. The green lightning around him surged, roaring into a tempest that whipped his cape wildly. The sheer accumulation of power was so intense that the loose stones on the ground began to levitate around him.

 

He dialed the power down, carefully calculating the necessary force. Too much, and I'll level the castle wall. Too little, and they'll eat us.

 

Twenty Percent.

 

The front runners of the spider horde were only twenty feet away. Their mandibles clicked, venom dripping onto the stones.

 

Izuku aimed his hands at the center of the swarm.

 

"Delaware..."

 

He flicked his fingers.

 

"...SMASH!"

 

The resulting phenomenon could not be described as magic. It was pure, terrifying, unadulterated physics.

 

When Izuku flicked his fingers, the air in front of him was compressed to an impossible degree, and then violently expelled. A shockwave of pure wind pressure erupted from his hands, expanding into a cone of absolute devastation.

 

The sound was like a bomb going off. The air itself seemed to crackle and distort.

 

The wind hit the Acromantulas.

 

These were magical creatures, highly resistant to spells, weighing several tons each. But against a 20% Delaware Smash, they might as well have been made of tissue paper.

 

The entire front line of the horde was instantly lifted off the ground. The wind pressure didn't pierce them; it acted like an invisible, impenetrable wall moving at three hundred miles per hour. The massive spiders were blown backward, crashing into the spiders behind them.

 

The shockwave continued, tearing up the grass and topsoil of the grounds, carving a massive, fan-shaped trench into the earth. The horde of Acromantulas was violently swept up in the localized hurricane, tumbling over themselves, shrieking as they were blown completely out of the courtyard, across the lawn, and thrown violently back into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

 

The wind pressure carried on, snapping several massive pine trees at the edge of the forest in half before finally dissipating into a fierce gale that rustled the robes of everyone left standing.

 

In the span of two seconds, the entire horde was gone.

 

Silence, absolute and profound, fell over the courtyard.

 

The Death Eaters who had been fighting nearby had stopped. The Hogwarts students had lowered their wands. Every single person in the vicinity was staring at the boy in the green suit.

 

Izuku lowered his hands, rubbing his fingers. The Air Force gloves had protected his bones from the recoil, but the friction heat was still intense. He let the green lightning of Full Cowl fade, plunging the immediate area back into the dim, flickering light of the surrounding fires.

 

He turned back to Ginny and Neville, scratching the back of his head nervously. The terrifying aura of the Pro Hero vanished, replaced by the awkward, slightly shy demeanor of a teenager who realized he was the center of attention.

 

"S-Sorry about the wind," Izuku stammered in his accented English, bowing slightly. "Are you injured?"

 

Neville Longbottom’s jaw was hanging open. He looked from the massive trench carved into the earth, to the treeline where the giant spiders had been banished, and back to Izuku. His sword clattered to the stone floor.

 

"Bloody hell," Neville breathed.

 

Before anyone could say another word, the heavy wooden doors of the castle burst open.

 

Three figures rushed out into the courtyard, wands raised, looking battered, bruised, and desperate.

 

At the head of the trio was a boy with untidy black hair and round glasses, a lightning-bolt scar prominent on his forehead. To his left was a tall, red-haired boy, and to his right was a girl with bushy brown hair.

 

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger froze as they took in the scene.

 

They had heard the thunderous boom from inside the castle. They had expected to find a giant, or perhaps Voldemort himself blowing a hole in the defenses.

 

Instead, they saw three Death Eaters tied up in floating, shadowy ropes. They saw a trench carved into the earth as if a dragon had dragged its tail through the courtyard.

 

And standing in the center of it all was a boy in strange, colorful Muggle clothing.

 

Harry raised his wand, pointing it cautiously at Izuku. The boy didn't look like a Death Eater, but in this war, appearances meant nothing.

 

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, his voice ringing out across the silent courtyard, echoing with the authority of the Chosen One. "Identify yourself!"

 

Izuku turned to face the new arrivals. His Danger Sense analyzed them instantly. There was no malice coming from the boy with the glasses. There was fear, exhaustion, and a heavy, crushing burden of responsibility that Izuku recognized all too well. It was the same look All Might used to have when the cameras were off.

 

Izuku stood up straight, brushing the dust off his shoulders. He didn't know where he was, or what this war was about, but he knew exactly who he was.

 

He placed a hand over his heart and smiled.

 

"My name is Midoriya Izuku," he declared, his voice carrying the calm, steady weight of a hero. "I am a Pro Hero. And I am here to help."

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged bewildered glances.

 

"A what?" Ron muttered.

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she studied Izuku's lack of a wand, the strange black ropes binding the Death Eaters, and the utter destruction of the courtyard. "Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't think he's a wizard."

 

Harry lowered his wand an inch, his green eyes meeting Izuku's emerald ones.

 

The Battle of Hogwarts had been raging for hours, a desperate struggle of magic against magic. But as Harry looked at the boy who had just fallen from the sky and shattered the very laws of their reality without uttering a single spell, he realized something profound.

 

The rules of the war had just fundamentally changed.

 

The tension in the courtyard was thick enough to cut with a sword.

 

Harry Potter’s wand remained leveled at the boy in the green costume. Around them, the dust from the displaced Acromantula horde was still settling, drifting down like gray snow in the flickering light of the castle fires. Ron Weasley gripped his own wand so tightly his knuckles were white, his eyes darting between the three unconscious Death Eaters suspended in shadowy, floating ropes and the massive trench carved into the ancient Hogwarts lawn. Hermione Granger simply stared, her brilliant mind working in overdrive, failing to categorize the phenomenon she had just witnessed into any known branch of magical theory.

 

"Pro Hero?" Harry repeated, his voice tight. "I don't know what that means. If you're a Muggle, how did you do... that?" He gestured with his free hand to the devastation.

 

Izuku opened his mouth to explain, his mind racing to translate complex Quirk theory into English, when a sudden, agonizing spike of pain shot through his skull.

 

Danger Sense didn't just warn him of an attack. It reacted to pure malice. And the malice that suddenly blanketed the Hogwarts grounds was so absolute, so suffocatingly cold, that Izuku actually stumbled, dropping to one knee and clutching the side of his head.

 

"Hey!" Ron barked, taking a step back. "What's he doing?"

 

"He's reacting to something," Hermione realized, her wand lowering slightly as she saw the genuine pain on the stranger's face.

 

A second later, they all understood why.

 

The air itself seemed to freeze. The ambient sounds of distant spellfire, the crackling of burning wood, the groans of the wounded—it all vanished, swallowed by an unnatural vacuum. Then, a voice spoke.

 

It did not come from the forest, nor from the sky. It seemed to manifest inside their very minds, echoing off the inside of their skulls in a high, cold, sibilant hiss.

 

"You have fought," the voice whispered. It was perfectly calm, yet laced with a cruelty that made Izuku’s blood run cold. "Valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."

 

Izuku looked up, gritting his teeth. He tapped his comms earpiece out of habit, trying to find a source, but all he got was static. Telepathy? he thought, struggling to breathe through the sheer oppressive weight of the villain's aura. No, it's a broadcast. A mass mental broadcast.

 

"Yet you have sustained heavy losses," Voldemort’s voice continued, ringing across the school grounds. "If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste."

 

Harry’s jaw tightened. Next to him, Ginny had walked over to stand by Ron, her hand trembling as she grasped her brother's arm.

 

The heavy oak doors of Hogwarts Castle closed behind Izuku Midoriya with a resounding, hollow thud that echoed into the night.

 

Inside the Great Hall, he had left behind a stunned, exhausted resistance. He had seen the tears in the eyes of the Weasley family, the weary resignation of the teachers, and the heavy, suffocating mantle of destiny draped over Harry Potter’s shoulders. Harry had tried to argue. He had tried to insist that it was his fight, his prophecy, his death to bear.

 

But Izuku knew something about self-sacrifice. He knew the allure of throwing one’s life away for the sake of the many. He had almost destroyed his own body time and time again learning that the truest victory wasn’t in dying for others, but in living to protect them.

 

“You’ve carried this burden long enough,” Izuku had told the boy wizard, a gentle but unyielding power in his voice. “Let a Pro take it from here.”

 

Now, he stood alone on the shattered stone steps of the courtyard. The rain had ceased, leaving behind a cold, heavy fog that clung to the devastation Izuku had caused upon his arrival. The trench he had carved through the earth with his Delaware Smash pointed like a giant, jagged arrow directly toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

 

Izuku inhaled deeply. The air smelled of wet pine, ozone, and the metallic tang of blood.

 

Alright, he thought, adjusting his grip on his torn, green gloves. One hour. That’s what the voice—Voldemort—said. I don't need an hour.

 

He stepped off the stone and onto the muddy grass. He didn't run. He took a moment to close his eyes and sink into the depths of his power, communicating silently with the lingering consciousnesses that shared his soul.

 

Are you guys ready for this? Izuku asked the void within him.

 

Almost immediately, a chorus of distinct, phantom sensations washed over his mind. He felt the gruff, reassuring thumb-up of Daigoro Banjo, the Fifth User. He felt the sharp, analytical calm of En, the Sixth. He felt the protective, maternal warmth of Nana Shimura, the Seventh. And beneath it all, the glowing, steadfast presence of Yoichi, the First.

 

They were with him. The power of eight generations, cultivated through blood, tears, and an unyielding desire to save others, hummed in his veins.

 

One For All: Full Cowl—Five Percent.

 

A low, resonant thrum vibrated through the air. Brilliant emerald lightning began to arc lazily across Izuku’s body, illuminating his freckled face in the darkness. The red lines of channeled power etched themselves across his skin.

 

He bent his knees and kicked off the ground.

 

He didn't shatter the earth this time. He moved with practiced, silent grace, leaping fifty feet into the air. Before gravity could pull him back down to the dark, forbidding canopy of the forest, he activated the Quirk of the Seventh User.

 

Float.

 

Izuku suspended himself in the misty night sky, drifting silently over the ancient, twisted trees of the Forbidden Forest. Below him, the woods were a labyrinth of shadows, thick roots, and oppressive darkness. But Izuku wasn't flying blind.

 

Danger Sense pulsed in the back of his mind. It wasn't the sharp, stabbing agony of an immediate attack, but rather a steady, rhythmic throb. It acted like a compass, guiding him toward the largest concentration of malice and dark intent he had ever felt. It was a localized black hole of hatred, pulsing from deep within the woods.

 

As he glided over the treetops, manipulating his trajectory with tiny, controlled bursts of air pressure from his fingers, he noticed the temperature dropping rapidly. Frost began to form on the edges of his torn yellow cape. His breath plumed in thick, white clouds.

 

Below him, moving through the trees like wraiths, were dozens of towering, cloaked figures. They had no faces, only gaping black maws beneath their hoods. As they glided, the very life seemed to drain from the forest. Leaves withered and fell. A deep, penetrating sadness clawed at the edges of Izuku’s mind.

 

Dementors, Harry had called them during his rapid-fire explanation in the Great Hall. Creatures of pure despair. They feed on human happiness.

 

Izuku frowned, watching them from above. As one of the Dementors looked up, sensing his presence, it rose into the air, reaching out with a rotting, scabbed hand. An unnatural chill tried to pierce Izuku’s chest, trying to drag up memories of his darkest moments—being told he was Quirkless, watching Sir Nighteye die, the terror of Shigaraki’s awakening.

 

But One For All was not just a power stockpile. It was a crystalized amalgamation of hope.

 

As the cold tried to enter his heart, a sudden burst of pure, radiant warmth erupted from within him. It felt like All Might’s laughter. It felt like the cheers of his classmates. The green lightning around Izuku flared into a blinding, golden hue for a fraction of a second.

 

The Dementor recoiled violently, letting out a soundless shriek, and dove back into the canopy, fleeing from the sheer, concentrated willpower radiating from the boy.

 

Magic that targets emotions, Izuku noted mentally. Interesting. But a Quirk born from the desire to save others seems to act as a natural repellant. I need to keep my spirits high.

 

He continued his silent flight, venturing deeper into the heart of the forest. The trees grew thicker, their branches weaving together to block out the pale light of the moon. Soon, a flickering orange glow became visible in the distance.

 

Izuku slowed his forward momentum, drifting down until his boots gently touched the thick, mossy branch of an ancient oak tree overlooking a wide clearing.

 

He crouched low, his body melding with the shadows, and activated the Quirk of the Sixth User.

 

Smokescreen.

 

He didn't release a massive cloud. Instead, he allowed a thin, almost invisible veil of purple mist to seep from his pores, wrapping around him like a cloak to mask his physical scent and muffle the ambient sounds of his breathing and his lightning.

 

Below him, the camp of Lord Voldemort was a scene out of a gothic nightmare.

 

Hundreds of figures milled about. Some were Death Eaters, wearing their silver skull masks and black robes, sharpening their wands or tending to minor wounds. In the shadows surrounding the clearing, massive, brutish silhouettes—Giants, Izuku realized with morbid fascination—sat like boulders, their crude weapons resting in the dirt. Packs of vicious, wolf-like men prowled the perimeter, their eyes glowing with feral hunger.

 

And in the very center of the clearing, illuminated by a roaring magical fire, stood the source of the overwhelming malice.

 

Lord Voldemort.

 

Izuku studied him with the critical eye of a Pro Hero analyzing a new villain. The man—if he could still be called that—was tall and skeletally thin. His skin was paler than a corpse's, practically glowing in the firelight. He had no hair, no lips, and two slitted nostrils in place of a nose. But it was his eyes that commanded attention. They were a brilliant, terrifying scarlet, with vertical pupils like a cat's.

 

He was stroking the head of a massive, incredibly thick snake that was coiled around his shoulders. In his right hand, he held a pale, intricately carved wooden wand. The Elder Wand.

 

To Voldemort’s left stood a woman with wild, dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange. She looked restless, practically vibrating with manic energy.

 

Tied to a massive tree at the edge of the clearing was a man of staggering proportions—Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper Harry had mentioned. He was bruised and bleeding, struggling against magical ropes that dug into his massive arms.

 

"The hour approaches," Voldemort's voice cut through the murmurs of the camp. It was a soft voice, not raised in a shout, but it carried perfectly to every ear. "Do you think he will come, Bellatrix? Or will the Boy Who Lived let his friends die for him?"

 

"He is a coward, My Lord," Bellatrix sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "He hides behind Dumbledore’s memory and Mudblood magic. He will not show his face."

 

Voldemort smiled, a terrifying stretch of pale skin. "We shall see. If he does not come to me by the time the hour strikes... I shall enter Hogwarts myself, and I shall burn it to its foundations to find him."

 

Up in the tree, Izuku narrowed his eyes. He had seen enough. He had the layout. He had identified the hostages, the heavy hitters, and the leader.

 

It was time to make an entrance.

 

Izuku stood up on the branch. He cut the flow of Smokescreen and let the purple mist dissipate. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold night air.

 

One For All: Full Cowl—Thirty Percent.

 

The surge of power was instantaneous. The green lightning didn't just arc around him; it exploded outward, a brilliant, blinding sphere of emerald energy that banished the shadows in the canopy.

 

Every head in the clearing snapped upward at the sudden, unnatural light.

 

"What is that?" a Death Eater yelled, pointing a wand at the sky.

 

Izuku didn't wait for them to figure it out. He stepped off the branch and allowed himself to freefall toward the center of the camp.

 

As he plummeted, he aimed his feet precisely at a large, empty patch of dirt roughly twenty feet away from Voldemort. He let gravity accelerate him, and just before he hit the ground, he channeled a localized burst of power into his iron soles.

 

He hit the earth like a meteor.

 

BOOM!

 

The impact shook the entire forest. A shockwave of displaced air and pulverized dirt blasted outward in a perfect circle. The roaring campfire was instantly snuffed out by the sheer wind pressure, plunging the clearing into darkness for a split second before the brilliant, pulsating green light of Izuku’s Quirk illuminated the space once more.

 

Death Eaters were knocked off their feet. The Giants roared in surprise, shielding their faces from the flying debris. The snake, Nagini, hissed violently, slithering off Voldemort’s shoulders to the ground.

 

When the dust cleared, Izuku Midoriya stood perfectly straight in a shallow crater. The green lightning crackled around him, whipping his torn yellow cape in a non-existent wind. His emerald eyes were locked dead onto Voldemort.

 

"I believe," Izuku said, his voice calm, steady, and carrying the unwavering authority of a Pro Hero, "you were looking for a fight."

 

Complete silence fell over the clearing. The Death Eaters, slowly picking themselves up from the dirt, stared at the boy in absolute bewilderment.

 

Hagrid’s jaw dropped. "By the stars..." the half-giant muttered.

 

Voldemort did not flinch. He did not step back. He simply stared at Izuku, his scarlet eyes narrowing into slits. He took in the bizarre costume, the metal boots, the complete lack of a wand, and the strange, crackling energy surrounding the boy.

 

Slowly, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curled into a sneer of profound disgust.

 

"A Muggle," Voldemort whispered. The word sounded like a curse. "Harry Potter sends a filthy, wandless Muggle boy in his stead. What is this? A distraction? Some pathetic, desperate ploy crafted by the Mudblood girl?"

 

"I don't know what a Muggle or a Mudblood is," Izuku replied, taking a single, measured step out of the crater. "But I know a villain when I see one. You've hurt a lot of people tonight. That ends now."

 

A few of the Death Eaters began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle and quickly grew into a chorus of cruel, mocking laughter.

 

"A Muggle thinks he can command the Dark Lord!" a masked man cackled.

 

"Look at his clothes! Is he wearing pajamas?" Bellatrix shrieked with manic amusement, twirling her wand. "Oh, My Lord, please let me play with him! Just a little Cruciatus! Let me hear the Muggle scream!"

 

Voldemort raised a single, pale hand. The laughter ceased instantly.

 

"No, Bellatrix," Voldemort said softly. "This is a profound insult. Potter believes he can mock me. I will not indulge this farce for even a second. I shall swat this insect, and then we march on the castle."

 

Voldemort raised the Elder Wand. His movements were terrifyingly smooth, lacking any of the dramatic flourishing Izuku had seen the other wizards use.

 

Danger Sense did not just hum. It exploded into a blinding, white-hot agony in the center of Izuku’s forehead. It was a siren, a klaxon, a desperate scream of absolute mortality.

 

The green light. The one that kills instantly, Izuku realized, his mind shifting into hyper-focus.

 

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort said coldly.

 

The spell erupted from the tip of the Elder Wand. It was a jet of sickly, putrid green light, accompanied by a sound like a rushing wind. It tore across the twenty feet of space between them with lethal intent.

 

To a wizard, the Killing Curse was instantaneous. It was the ultimate, unblockable end. Once the green light left the wand, the target was dead.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was currently perceiving the world through the lens of a physical god. At thirty percent of One For All, his neuromuscular connections were firing at speeds that defied human biology. Adrenaline flooded his system, dilating his perception of time.

 

The world slowed to a crawl.

 

Izuku watched the beam of magic leave the wand. He analyzed its trajectory. It was aimed dead center at his chest.

 

He relies completely on the lethality of the spell, Izuku noted in his mental notebook, completely detached from the fear of death. He didn't aim to lead my movement. He didn't anticipate a dodge. Because wizards don't dodge. They block, or they die. They have normal human reaction times.

 

Izuku did not block.

 

With a minute shift of his weight, Izuku pivoted on his right heel. He didn't use a flashy acrobatic flip. He didn't jump. He simply leaned his torso six inches to the left.

 

The Killing Curse sailed past him.

 

The intense, hissing magic practically grazed the fabric of his suit. Izuku felt the profound, unnatural coldness of the spell as it passed by his ear, a whisper of absolute death.

 

Behind Izuku, the spell struck a massive oak tree. The ancient wood did not splinter or burn. It simply died. The bark turned a sickly gray, the leaves instantly withered and dropped, and the entire tree seemed to petrify into an ash-colored husk.

 

Time snapped back to normal.

 

Lord Voldemort stood with his wand outstretched, a confident, cruel smirk on his face, waiting for the Muggle boy to crumple lifelessly to the ground.

 

Izuku stood exactly where he had been, his hands resting easily at his sides, the green lightning still crackling around him. He blinked once.

 

"You missed," Izuku said politely.

 

The silence that followed was not the quiet of anticipation. It was the silence of a broken reality.

 

Every single Death Eater in the clearing froze. Lungs stopped expanding. Hearts seemed to skip beats.

 

Voldemort’s scarlet eyes widened, the pupils contracting into microscopic slits. For the first time in over fifty years, the Dark Lord looked genuinely confused.

 

He looked at his wand. He looked at the dead tree behind Izuku. He looked back at the boy.

 

"He... he dodged it..." a Death Eater in the back row whispered, his voice trembling with a terror that transcended fear of Voldemort. It was the terror of the impossible. "He dodged the Killing Curse."

 

"Impossible!" Bellatrix shrieked, her voice cracking hysterically. "It's a trick! An illusion! The Mudblood used a charm!"

 

Voldemort’s confusion rapidly contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. The air around him practically warped with the sheer force of his dark magic.

 

"KILL HIM!" Voldemort roared, his composure completely shattering. "KILL THE MUGGLE TRASH!"

 

The clearing erupted into chaos.

 

Dozens of Death Eaters raised their wands simultaneously. "Avada Kedavra! Crucio! Confringo! Reducto!"

 

A blinding rainbow of lethal magic lit up the forest night, all converging on the single spot where Izuku stood.

 

Izuku sighed. Pro Hero rule number one when facing a mob, he thought. Neutralize the environment, disarm the combatants.

 

Fa Jin.

 

Izuku flexed his legs, releasing the kinetic energy he had built up from his fall.

 

He vanished.

 

He didn't run; he simply ceased to occupy the space he had been standing in. The volley of spells crashed into each other, resulting in a massive explosion that cratered the earth where Izuku had been a microsecond before.

 

"Where is he?!" Bellatrix screamed, looking around wildly.

 

"Up!" yelled a Death Eater.

 

Izuku was directly above them, hovering twenty feet in the air using Float.

 

"My turn," he muttered.

 

Blackwhip.

 

Six tendrils of dark, crackling energy shot from his gloves. But instead of lashing out randomly, Izuku controlled them with absolute precision. He had trained his mind to handle multiple, independent vectors of attack.

 

The tendrils shot down into the crowd. They didn't aim for bodies; they aimed for hands.

 

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

 

In the blink of an eye, the Blackwhip tendrils wrapped around the wands of six different Death Eaters, crushing the brittle wood into splinters with a sharp squeeze, before violently yanking the men off their feet and slamming them into each other.

 

"My wand!" one of them shrieked, clutching his empty hand.

 

Bellatrix Lestrange snarled, pointing her wand directly up at Izuku. "Cruci—!"

 

She didn't get to finish the incantation.

 

Izuku canceled Float and plummeted straight down. He didn't use a Smash. He simply landed directly in front of Bellatrix. Before her eyes could even track his descent, Izuku reached out with his right hand.

 

His reflexes were too fast for a normal human to comprehend. He grabbed the wooden shaft of Bellatrix’s wand right out of her hand.

 

Bellatrix gasped, looking down at her empty palm, and then up at the green-haired boy.

 

Izuku held the dark, curved wand between his thumb and forefinger. "A hero doesn't need to kill," Izuku said, staring into her wide, mad eyes. "But I will take away your ability to harm others."

 

With a casual flick of his thumb, Izuku snapped Bellatrix Lestrange's wand perfectly in half. He tossed the pieces onto the dirt.

 

Bellatrix stared at the broken wood, her mind failing to process the casual destruction of her most prized possession. Then, she let out an ear-piercing scream of pure, unhinged grief. She threw herself at Izuku, her hands curled into claws, intent on tearing his eyes out with her bare hands.

 

Izuku didn't even look at her. He simply sidestepped her lunging attack and tapped the back of her neck with the side of his hand. It was a precise, measured strike, carrying just enough force to compress the carotid artery for a fraction of a second.

 

Bellatrix crumpled to the forest floor like a cut string, out cold.

 

Panic officially set in among the Death Eaters. The boy wasn't just dodging spells; he was disarming them instantly, moving faster than sight, and he had just knocked out the Dark Lord’s most lethal lieutenant without breaking a sweat.

 

"He's a demon!" someone yelled.

 

"Retreat!" another cried, taking a step backward.

 

"NO ONE MOVES!" Voldemort bellowed, his voice echoing with magical amplification that shook the leaves from the trees. He leveled the Elder Wand at Izuku, his chest heaving.

 

Voldemort realized that physical attacks were useless. Spells had travel time, and this boy was somehow faster than magic itself. He was a physical anomaly. But every human had a mind. And Lord Voldemort was the greatest Legilimens the world had ever seen.

 

If he couldn't kill the boy's body with a curse, he would shatter his mind, turn him into a drooling vegetable, and then burn him alive.

 

Voldemort locked his scarlet eyes onto Izuku’s emerald ones.

 

"Legilimens!" Voldemort hissed, throwing the full, terrible weight of his magical consciousness forward like a battering ram.

 

Izuku felt a sudden, bizarre pressure right behind his eyes. It wasn't Danger Sense. It felt like cold water being poured directly onto his brain. He felt a foreign, invasive presence trying to pry apart his memories, trying to sift through his thoughts, his fears, his childhood.

 

He's trying to get into my head, Izuku realized.

 

Normally, a Muggle, or even a trained wizard, would crumble under the sheer force of Voldemort’s mental assault. Their mind would be laid bare, their worst nightmares dragged to the surface to torture them.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was not alone in his mind.

 

When Lord Voldemort forced his consciousness into the mind of the boy in the green suit, he expected to find the pathetic, mundane thoughts of a Muggle. He expected to find fear, confusion, and weakness.

 

Instead, Voldemort found himself standing in a void.

 

It was an endless expanse of pitch black, illuminated only by a swirling, galaxy-like storm of vibrant, multicolored energy. The sheer scale of the power crackling in this mental landscape was staggering. It felt old. It felt ancient.

 

Voldemort looked around, his magical projection trembling. What is this place? he thought. Where is his mind?

 

Then, the shadows in the void began to move.

 

Slowly, towering figures began to materialize out of the darkness. They were immense, glowing with ethereal light, their faces obscured by shadows, but their presence was utterly overwhelming.

 

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the heir of Slytherin, took a step back.

 

A massive, burly man wearing goggles and a high-collared jacket stepped forward. He crossed his massive arms, a grin stretching across his face.

 

“Well, well, well,” Daigoro Banjo’s voice boomed, echoing like thunder across the mental void. “Look at what we got here. A little parasite trying to sneak in the back door.”

 

Another figure stepped up beside him—a tall man with a shaved head and sharp, piercing eyes. En sighed. “His intent is pure malice. He seeks to dominate the Ninth’s mind.”

 

A woman with dark hair pulled into a half-bun floated down, her expression fierce and unyielding. Nana Shimura glared at Voldemort. “You’re out of your depth, little snake.”

 

Voldemort tried to raise his wand, but he realized he didn't have one in this space. He tried to cast a spell non-verbally, but the magic simply wouldn't answer him. The laws of magic did not apply here. This was the realm of One For All, an isolated ecosystem of stockpiled willpower.

 

“What are you?!” Voldemort screamed, his voice cracking with a fear he hadn't felt since he was an orphan in London. “I am Lord Voldemort! Bow before me!”

 

Suddenly, the void grew blindingly bright.

 

From the center of the swirling energy, a final figure emerged. He was not as large as the others, possessing a frail, slender frame and stark white hair. But the sheer volume of power radiating from him was blinding.

 

Yoichi Shigaraki, the First User of One For All, stepped in front of the others. He looked at Voldemort with an expression of profound pity and absolute disgust. He had seen megalomaniacs who sought to live forever. He had spent his entire life fighting one.

 

“You claim to be a lord of death,” Yoichi said, his voice soft but ringing with the force of a supernova. “But you are nothing more than a frightened child, hiding behind stolen power. You do not belong here.”

 

Yoichi raised a single, glowing hand.

 

“Get out.”

 

The First User unleashed a wave of pure, concentrated willpower.

 

It wasn't magic. It was the physical manifestation of eight generations of heroes rejecting the presence of evil.

 

Voldemort’s consciousness was hit by the psychic equivalent of a freight train moving at light speed.

 

Back in the physical world, the connection was severed violently.

 

Lord Voldemort was physically thrown backward off his feet. He flew ten yards through the air, crashing hard into the dirt.

 

"My Lord!" a Death Eater cried, rushing forward.

 

Voldemort scrambled to his hands and knees. His entire body was convulsing. He reached a pale hand up to his face. Thick, black blood was pouring from his snake-like nostrils. His scarlet eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic.

 

He looked up at Izuku, who was still standing in the exact same spot, unharmed, his green eyes glowing with a terrifying, righteous light.

 

For the first time since he had learned the name Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort felt genuine, paralyzing terror.

 

"You..." Voldemort gasped, spitting blood onto the grass. "What are you?"

 

Izuku raised his fists, dropping into a combat stance.

 

"I told you," Izuku said softly. "I'm a hero."

 

The damp, metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of ozone hung heavily over the clearing in the Forbidden Forest.

 

For the first time in over half a century, Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark Wizard to ever walk the earth, was on his hands and knees in the dirt. A thick, inky stream of blood dripped continuously from his slitted nostrils, staining the pale, waxy skin of his lips and chin. His chest heaved with ragged, shuddering breaths, his skeletal frame trembling uncontrollably.

 

He did not look like a Dark Lord. Stripped of his terrifying aura and his invulnerable mystique, he looked like a sick, fragile old man.

 

A heavy, suffocating silence had descended upon the Death Eater camp. The surviving dark wizards and witches stood frozen, their wands trembling in their hands, their eyes wide behind their silver masks. The giants at the edge of the clearing shifted uneasily, their crude, primal instincts warning them that the hierarchy of power had just been violently upended.

 

In the center of it all stood Izuku Midoriya.

 

He didn't gloat. He didn't strike a dramatic pose. He simply stood there, his iron-soled boots planted firmly in the crushed grass, his fists raised in a textbook boxer’s guard. The emerald lightning of One For All danced across his skin, illuminating the freckles on his face and the absolute, unyielding determination in his eyes.

 

"My Lord..." a Death Eater named Yaxley stammered, taking a hesitant step forward. He reached out a trembling hand toward Voldemort. "My Lord, are you..."

 

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!" Voldemort shrieked.

 

The voice that tore from his throat was not the cold, sibilant whisper that commanded armies. It was raw, high-pitched, and laced with absolute, unadulterated hysteria. He swiped his hand blindly, a wandless blast of dark magic sending Yaxley flying backward into a thicket of thorns.

 

Voldemort slowly dragged himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on the Elder Wand, using it like a walking stick. His scarlet eyes, usually cold and calculating, were wide and bloodshot, fixed intensely on Izuku.

 

What did I just see? Voldemort’s mind screamed, his thoughts fracturing. What was that place? Those figures... that power... it wasn't magic. It was older. It was heavier. It rejected me! Me! The heir of Slytherin!

 

"You are not a Muggle," Voldemort breathed, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, manic energy. The fear that had gripped his heart was rapidly metastasizing into a blinding, apocalyptic rage. "You are an abomination. A homunculus. A trick of the light woven by Dumbledore from beyond the grave!"

 

Izuku narrowed his eyes. Danger Sense was no longer humming or spiking; it was a constant, blinding white noise in the back of his skull. The villain's psyche was completely shattering. He was no longer thinking tactically. He was a cornered animal, and a cornered animal with a weapon of mass destruction was the most dangerous thing in the world.

 

"I am a human being," Izuku said, his voice calm, cutting through the tense silence. "And you are outmatched. Surrender. Recall your forces from the school. No one else has to get hurt."

 

"Surrender?" Voldemort whispered. He let out a laugh. It was a hollow, scraping sound, like two stones grinding together. "SURRENDER TO YOU?!"

 

The air pressure in the clearing suddenly plummeted.

 

Izuku felt it instantly. The hairs on his arms stood on end, not from his Quirk, but from the sheer, catastrophic drop in ambient temperature and pressure. The magic in the air wasn't just concentrating; it was turning rancid.

 

"He's lost his mind!" one of the older Death Eaters yelled, taking a step backward, looking at the tip of the Elder Wand. "Run! Everyone run!"

 

Voldemort didn't speak an incantation. He didn't need to. His rage, his humiliation, and his boundless malice bypassed the need for words. He slashed the Elder Wand through the air in a massive, jagged arc.

 

A drop of liquid fire the color of a dying sun fell from the tip of the wand and hit the grass.

 

For a microsecond, nothing happened. Then, the clearing erupted.

 

A roaring, concussive boom deafened everyone present. From that single drop of magic, a veritable ocean of cursed, sentient fire exploded outward. It wasn't normal fire. It was a sickening mixture of crimson, dark orange, and pitch black.

 

Fiendfyre.

 

Izuku leaped backward, activating Float and Full Cowl at thirty percent, launching himself thirty feet into the air to avoid the initial blast radius.

 

Below him, the clearing became a vision of hell. The flames did not spread normally; they leaped, hunted, and consumed. The fire coalesced into towering, monstrous shapes—massive serpents made of burning black ash, roaring chimeras of dark orange flame, and winged dragons that snapped their jaws at the sky.

 

The heat was instantaneous and unbearable. Even thirty feet in the air, Izuku felt his sweat evaporate instantly. His Danger Sense was screaming so loudly he felt blood trickle from his nose.

 

This isn't an attack, Izuku realized with horror, looking down. It's a localized extinction event. He doesn't care who he kills!

 

The Fiendfyre did not discriminate. It fell upon the Death Eaters who hadn't fled fast enough. Their screams were mercifully short as the cursed flames incinerated them, bypassing their shield charms entirely. The ancient oak trees caught fire, the magical flames consuming the centuries-old wood in seconds.

 

Voldemort stood in the epicenter of the inferno, the flames parting around him. His face was twisted into a mask of pure, maniacal glee, his scarlet eyes reflecting the apocalypse he had unleashed. He swung the Elder Wand upward, pointing it directly at Izuku.

 

A massive, fifty-foot serpent made entirely of black-and-crimson fire launched itself into the sky, its jaws unhinging to swallow the airborne hero whole.

 

Izuku’s hyper-analytical mind raced.

 

Assessment: Energy projection attack. Highly volatile. The flames are taking animalistic forms, suggesting a rudimentary sentience or tracking capability. The heat is supernatural. I can't block this with my body, and I can't use Blackwhip—the fire will travel up the energy constructs and burn my arms.

 

The flaming serpent was closing the distance, the intense heat singing the edges of Izuku's boots.

 

Can I outrun it? Yes. But if I dodge, it will hit the canopy and spread to the rest of the forest. The wind is blowing toward the castle. If this fire reaches Hogwarts, thousands of people will burn.

 

Izuku gritted his teeth. He couldn't run. He couldn't block. He had to extinguish it.

 

Think, Izuku! It's magic, yes. But it's still fire. What does fire need to exist? Fuel, heat, and... oxygen.

 

Izuku’s eyes widened. If the magic provides the fuel and the heat, the only variable I can control is the oxygen.

 

"One For All..." Izuku muttered, suspending himself in mid-air directly in the path of the colossal fire-serpent. He drew his right leg back, his knee practically touching his chest. The green lightning around him deepened in color, shifting into a volatile, humming teal.

 

Forty-Five Percent.

 

His muscles bulged, the sheer strain of the power testing the limits of his biology. The air around him began to warp and distort.

 

The Fiendfyre serpent lunged, its jaws snapping shut.

 

"St. Louis..."

 

Izuku whipped his leg forward in a devastating, crescent-shaped kick.

 

"...SMASH!"

 

His iron sole didn't strike the fire. It struck the air in front of the fire.

 

The kinetic energy released by forty-five percent of One For All did not simply create a gust of wind. It created a localized, catastrophic atmospheric displacement.

 

Izuku’s kick tore the very air apart, generating a massive, hyper-compressed vacuum right in front of him. The surrounding air rushed in to fill the void, instantly creating an F5-level tornado on a horizontal axis.

 

The physical shockwave slammed into the Fiendfyre serpent. But it wasn't the wind that killed the magic. It was the absolute lack of oxygen.

 

The cursed flames, despite their supernatural origin, were suddenly starved of the very element required for combustion. The massive serpent of fire hit the vacuum and choked.

 

A deafening crack, like a thunderbolt striking a mountain, echoed across the forest. The fifty-foot fire construct didn't explode; it simply vanished, snuffed out in a microsecond, leaving behind nothing but a massive cloud of gray ash that rained down upon the clearing.

 

But Izuku wasn't done. The tornado he had generated continued to spin downward, expanding as it hit the ground. The swirling vortex of vacuum and wind pressure scoured the clearing. The remaining Fiendfyre beasts—the chimeras and dragons—were sucked into the vortex, shrieking in their strange, crackling voices before they, too, were starved of oxygen and extinguished.

 

The roaring inferno was dead in less than five seconds.

 

The tornado dissipated, leaving the clearing heavily scorched, smoking, and utterly devoid of fire. The remaining Death Eaters, who had been scrambling for their lives, collapsed onto the smoking earth, coughing violently as the sudden rush of cold air returned to the clearing.

 

Izuku drifted down, landing softly in the center of the ash-covered battlefield. He exhaled a long breath, wiping a line of soot from his forehead. His right leg ached terribly from the recoil, a phantom pain throbbing in his bones, but it was functional.

 

Voldemort stood frozen. The Elder Wand was still raised, pointing at the empty air where his ultimate, unstoppable curse had been just moments before.

 

He had summoned Fiendfyre. A magic so volatile and destructive that even the caster rarely survived controlling it. And the Muggle boy had just... kicked it out of existence.

 

"How..." Voldemort whispered, his voice completely devoid of rage, replaced by a hollow, profound emptiness. "What manner of magic is this?"

 

"It's not magic," Izuku said firmly, walking forward. "It's physics."

 

Before Voldemort could process the statement, a sudden commotion erupted from the treeline bordering the path to Hogwarts.

 

"Harry, wait! We don't know what's happening!" a girl's voice shrieked.

 

Bursting through the scorched underbrush came Harry Potter, his wand raised, his face bruised and streaked with dirt. Right behind him were Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and, clutching the ruby-encrusted Sword of Gryffindor with white-knuckled intensity, Neville Longbottom.

 

The four teenagers skidded to a halt at the edge of the clearing. They took in the scene of absolute devastation: the petrified trees, the unconscious Death Eaters, the smoking earth, the humiliated Dark Lord, and the glowing boy from Japan standing squarely between them.

 

"You..." Harry breathed, staring at Izuku’s back. "You actually beat him."

 

Voldemort’s head snapped toward the newcomers. The sight of Harry Potter—the boy who had caused him so much pain, the prophecy child, the ultimate thorn in his side—seemed to act like a defibrillator to his shattered ego.

 

"POTTER!" Voldemort shrieked, his scarlet eyes flaring with a desperate, venomous hatred. "YOU DARE BRING YOURSELF TO ME NOW?!"

 

Harry stepped forward, his green eyes locked onto Voldemort's. He didn't look afraid. He looked resolute. He had come here to die, to sacrifice himself to destroy the piece of Voldemort's soul inside him. But seeing the Dark Lord broken and bleeding had shifted something fundamentally in the air.

 

"It's over, Tom," Harry said, his voice remarkably steady. "Your followers are beaten. You're alone. And we know about the Horcruxes. We've destroyed the cup. We've destroyed the diadem. The locket, the ring, the diary... they're all gone."

 

Voldemort flinched violently, as if physically struck. His pale hand went to his chest.

 

"You lie," Voldemort hissed, though the tremble in his voice betrayed his terror.

 

"Look at him, Harry!" Ron yelled, pointing a shaking finger at the Dark Lord. "He's terrified! He knows it's true!"

 

Hermione’s eyes rapidly scanned the clearing, her brilliant mind searching for the final piece of the puzzle. Her gaze locked onto the thick roots of a nearby tree.

 

"Harry! The snake!" Hermione screamed, pointing her wand.

 

Slithering through the ash and smoke, having survived the Fiendfyre by burying itself in the enchanted roots of an ancient tree, was Nagini. The massive, twenty-foot python was moving with terrifying speed, its scales shimmering in the moonlight.

 

"Nagini!" Voldemort roared, realizing his final anchor to immortality was exposed. "Kill them! Kill the Mudblood!"

 

The snake didn't hesitate. It coiled its massive, muscular body like a spring and launched itself through the air, completely bypassing Harry and aiming its venomous fangs directly at Hermione's throat.

 

"Hermione!" Ron screamed, trying to step in front of her, but he was too slow.

 

Neville raised the Sword of Gryffindor, but the snake was coming from a high angle, moving with the predatory speed of a magical beast.

 

Izuku’s Danger Sense flared, targeting the massive reptile.

 

I can't just smash it, Izuku calculated in a fraction of a second. Harry mentioned 'Horcruxes'—soul anchors. If it's a dark magic vessel, hitting it with my bare hands could trigger a curse, or its blood could be highly toxic. I need to give the guy with the magic sword a clean hit.

 

Float!

 

Izuku burst off the ground, moving faster than the eye could track. He intercepted the snake's trajectory, inserting himself directly beneath its massive, flying body.

 

He didn't strike the snake. He aimed straight down.

 

"Full Cowl: Twenty Percent!"

 

Izuku slammed his right heel directly into the scorched earth beneath the flying snake. The impact triggered a massive, geyser-like eruption of soil, stone, and kinetic force.

 

The upward shockwave hit Nagini’s underbelly like a freight train. The snake let out a horrific, hissing screech as its forward momentum was violently arrested. It was launched twenty feet straight up into the air, completely disoriented and helplessly suspended against the night sky.

 

"Neville! Now!" Izuku roared, twisting mid-air and pointing at the falling snake.

 

Neville Longbottom didn't hesitate. He didn't think about his fear, or his clumsiness, or the years of being told he wasn't good enough. He saw the target, he heard the command, and the bravery of a true Gryffindor surged through his veins.

 

With a fierce, primal yell, Neville gripped the hilt of the goblin-made sword with both hands, planted his feet, and swung it upward with all his might as the snake plummeted toward him.

 

SHINK.

 

The silver blade, imbibed with basilisk venom, sheared cleanly through the thick scales, muscle, and bone of the giant serpent.

 

Nagini’s head was severed from its body.

 

A horrifying, ethereal scream echoed through the clearing. It wasn't the sound of a dying animal; it was the sound of a torn, mutilated soul being violently evicted from the mortal plane. A plume of black smoke erupted from the snake's severed neck, forming a screaming face before evaporating into nothingness.

 

The two halves of the snake hit the ground with a heavy, lifeless thud.

 

Lord Voldemort fell to his knees.

 

He let out a sound that Izuku would never forget. It was a high, keening wail of absolute, profound loss. It was the sound of a man who had sacrificed his humanity, his sanity, and his soul to conquer death, only to watch his final tether snap in front of his eyes.

 

"No..." Voldemort whimpered, clutching his chest. "No, no, no..."

 

Harry lowered his wand slightly, his breathing shallow. He could feel it. The scar on his forehead, which had burned with agonizing pain for seventeen years, suddenly went cold. The connection was gone.

 

"He's mortal," Harry whispered, realization dawning on his face. "He's completely mortal."

 

Voldemort heard him.

 

The Dark Lord slowly raised his head. His scarlet eyes were no longer widened with fear. They were dead. They were the eyes of a man who had absolutely nothing left to lose.

 

If he was mortal, if he could die, then he would take everything with him. He would burn the forest, he would shatter the castle, and he would drag every single soul within ten miles into the abyss with him.

 

Voldemort stood up. He didn't point the Elder Wand at Harry. He didn't point it at Izuku. He pointed it straight up at the sky.

 

The air didn't just grow cold; it began to scream.

 

Dark magic—pure, unadulterated, suicidal dark magic—began to pour out of Voldemort’s body. It didn't take the form of a spell. It was a raw, omnidirectional shockwave of necrotic energy. The ground around him instantly turned to black sand. The ambient light was sucked out of the clearing, plunging them into a suffocating darkness illuminated only by the sickly, pulsing purple aura emanating from the Dark Lord.

 

Danger Sense didn't hum. It didn't spike. It completely shut down. The threat was so absolute, so all-encompassing, that the Quirk couldn't pinpoint a direction. The direction was everywhere.

 

"Get back!" Izuku yelled, throwing his arms out to shield Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

 

"What is he doing?!" Hermione screamed over the roaring wind of dark magic.

 

"He's going to detonate his own magical core!" Ron yelled, his face pale with terror. "It's a suicide blast! It'll wipe out half the grounds!"

 

Izuku stared at the pulsing, expanding sphere of necrotic energy forming around Voldemort.

 

If that blast hits the students at the castle...

 

Izuku closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He took a deep, centering breath.

 

He's mortal now. The magic is tethered to his physical body. If I can disrupt the origin point with overwhelming kinetic force, the blast will dissipate.

 

But forty-five percent wouldn't be enough. The sheer density of the magic required an absolute, unstoppable physical intervention.

 

Izuku planted his iron-soled boots deeply into the scorched earth. He spread his legs wide, sinking into a heavy, grounded stance. He brought his right arm back, his fist clenched so tightly his leather glove creaked.

 

I've trained for this, Izuku thought. My body has adapted. It won't shatter completely like it used to. But this is going to hurt.

 

He thought of the terrified students in the courtyard. He thought of the brave boy with the glasses who had been ready to die for them. He thought of All Might, raising a triumphant fist to the sky.

 

I am the Symbol of Peace.

 

"One For All," Izuku whispered.

 

The green lightning vanished.

 

In its place, a brilliant, blinding aura of multi-colored energy erupted around him. It was a physical manifestation of the stockpile—red, gold, blue, and emerald intertwining.

 

"One..." Izuku ground out, the muscles in his right arm expanding, his veins bulging against his skin.

 

"Hundred..."

 

The sheer aura of Izuku’s power began to push back the encroaching darkness. A fierce, howling wind picked up, whipping his torn cape wildly.

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione fell to the ground, shielding their eyes from the blinding light radiating from the boy in front of them.

 

Voldemort looked down from his nexus of dark magic. He saw the boy winding up his punch. He saw the glowing eyes, burning with a righteous, unstoppable fury. For a fleeting second, Voldemort didn't see a Muggle. He saw a god of judgment.

 

"DIE!" Voldemort shrieked, unleashing the catastrophic wave of dark energy.

 

The purple wave of death exploded outward, a tsunami of necrotic magic designed to erase all life.

 

Izuku stepped forward, driving his entire body weight into his right shoulder.

 

"PERCENT!"

 

He threw the punch.

 

"DETROIT..."

 

The collision of Izuku’s fist with the air created a sonic boom so loud it temporarily deafened everyone in the clearing.

 

"...SMASH!"

 

A column of hyper-compressed, localized atmospheric pressure erupted from Izuku’s knuckles. It wasn't just wind. It was a physical wall of sheer kinetic energy, moving at Mach 3.

 

The wave of dark magic met the Detroit Smash in the exact center of the clearing.

 

For one terrible, agonizing second, the two forces wrestled. The dark magic tried to consume the physical force, corroding the edges of the wind tunnel.

 

But kinetic energy doesn't require magic. It doesn't require a soul. It only requires mass and acceleration. And Izuku Midoriya had just delivered the equivalent of a tactical meteorite strike.

 

The Detroit Smash bored straight through the dark magic. It split the wave of necrotic energy perfectly in half, parting it like the Red Sea, forcing the lethal magic to divert harmlessly into the sky above.

 

The wind tunnel continued its trajectory.

 

It slammed into Lord Voldemort.

 

The impact was absolute. The sheer force of the wind pressure hit the Dark Lord's chest with the weight of a freight train. The breath was violently expelled from his lungs. His ribs cracked under the immense pressure.

 

The Elder Wand, the legendary, unbeatable Deathstick, was ripped from his pale fingers by the gale-force winds, spinning wildly into the dark canopy above, lost to the forest.

 

Voldemort’s feet left the ground. He was launched backward with terrifying speed, his black robes whipping violently around his emaciated body. He flew through the air, completely helpless, unable to cast, unable to stop, unable to comprehend his defeat.

 

CRUNCH.

 

Lord Voldemort slammed back-first into the thick, unyielding trunk of a massive, petrified oak tree at the edge of the clearing.

 

The sound of his spine fracturing echoed loudly in the sudden, eerie silence that followed the dissipation of the wind.

 

Voldemort crumpled to the base of the tree like a discarded marionette. His limbs were splayed at unnatural angles. He did not move. He did not twitch.

 

Izuku stood at the center of the clearing, his chest heaving, his right arm hanging limply at his side. The sleeve of his costume was completely shredded. His skin was bruised a deep, mottled purple, and blood trickled from a dozen microscopic tears in his muscles.

 

The pain was blinding, white-hot, and nauseating. But Izuku didn't scream. He simply clenched his jaw, using his left hand to gently support his broken right arm.

 

He slowly let out his breath. The multi-colored aura faded, returning the clearing to the pale, natural light of the moon.

 

Harry Potter slowly pushed himself off the ground. He brushed the dirt from his glasses and stared across the clearing.

 

The oppressive, suffocating weight of malice that had hung over the world since Harry was a baby was gone. The air felt light. It felt... normal.

 

Ron and Hermione stood up next to him, pulling Neville to his feet. They all stared at the base of the oak tree.

 

Tom Riddle lay in the dirt. He wasn't disintegrating. He wasn't turning into ash. He was just a man. Broken, unconscious, and utterly defeated.

 

Izuku slowly turned around to face the four wizards. He looked exhausted, battered, and his arm was clearly broken in several places. But as he looked at Harry, he forced a bright, reassuring smile onto his face.

 

"It's over," Izuku said, his voice raspy but warm. "You're safe now."

 

Harry looked at the boy who had done the impossible. He looked at the shattered earth, the severed snake, and the broken Dark Lord.

 

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, dropped his wand into the dirt. He didn't need it anymore.

 

"Thank you," Harry whispered, the weight of seventeen years lifting from his shoulders. "Thank you."

 

The dust in the Forbidden Forest finally began to settle, drifting down like gray snow in the pale, ethereal light of the moon.

 

At the base of the massive, petrified oak tree, Lord Voldemort lay broken.

 

His body, once a terrifying vessel of unparalleled dark magic, was now a ruin of shattered bone and torn muscle. The impact of the hundred-percent Detroit Smash had pulverized his ribcage and fractured his spine, leaving him completely paralyzed from the neck down. He could not move his arms. He could not feel his legs. He could barely draw breath into his crushed lungs.

 

But worst of all, he could not feel his magic.

 

The omnidirectional detonation he had attempted—his ultimate, suicidal trump card—had drained the absolute dregs of his magical core. And with his Horcruxes destroyed, the ambient dark magic that usually answered his every whim was completely gone. He was empty. He was hollow.

 

He was exactly what he had despised his entire life. He was ordinary.

 

Izuku Midoriya stood twenty feet away, his chest heaving with exertion. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, the sleeve of his hero costume completely shredded. The skin was mottled with deep, terrifying shades of purple and black, and the agonizing throb of shattered bones pulsed in time with his racing heartbeat. But his posture was unyielding.

 

Slowly, carefully, Izuku walked toward the fallen Dark Lord. His iron-soled boots crunched softly against the scorched earth.

 

Behind him, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom watched in profound, breathless silence. They had spent their entire adolescence living in the terrifying shadow of this monster. They had lost family, friends, and their childhoods to his cruelty. To see him reduced to a broken heap in the dirt felt surreal, as if they were trapped in a bizarre, lucid dream.

 

Izuku stopped at the base of the tree. He looked down at Voldemort. There was no hatred in the young hero’s emerald eyes. There was no cruel satisfaction or bloodlust. There was only the solemn, heavy burden of a Pro Hero doing his job.

 

Voldemort slowly, agonizingly rolled his head to the side. His scarlet eyes, no longer burning with unnatural light, met Izuku’s. The vertical slits of his pupils were wide and bloodshot.

 

"You..." Voldemort rasped. Each word sent a violent spasm of pain through his broken chest, bringing a fresh trickle of black blood to his lips. "You... are no man..."

 

"I'm just a kid from Musutafu," Izuku replied softly, his accented English steady despite the exhaustion in his voice. "And you're finished."

 

Voldemort let out a weak, rattling breath that might have been a laugh. He looked past Izuku, catching a glimpse of Harry Potter standing in the distance, alive and unharmed. The prophecy had been fulfilled, but not by the hand of the Boy Who Lived. The Dark Lord had been broken by an anomaly. A variable that fate had not accounted for.

 

With his immortality gone, his followers routed, his wand lost to the forest, and his body destroyed, Voldemort knew there was only one path left. He had spent his entire existence fleeing from it, terrified of the abyss, but the alternative—living as a crippled, powerless prisoner in the world he had sought to conquer—was a humiliation his fractured psyche simply could not bear.

 

"Do it, then," Voldemort whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying mixture of fear and pride. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end. "Finish it. Kill me."

 

Izuku stared at him. The silence stretched for a long, agonizing moment.

 

"No," Izuku said.

 

Voldemort’s eyes snapped open. The utter confusion on his face momentarily eclipsed his pain. "What?"

 

"I said no," Izuku repeated, his voice hardening with an unshakeable conviction. "I'm not going to kill you."

 

"I am... Lord Voldemort," he hissed, genuine indignation bleeding into his voice. "I have slaughtered thousands. I have broken the laws of magic itself. If I live, I will find a way to return. I will tear this world apart! You must kill me!"

 

"That's exactly why I won't," Izuku said, crouching down so he was at eye level with the fallen wizard. "You think death is an escape. You think it's the period at the end of your story, a way to avoid answering for what you've done. But heroes don't kill."

 

Izuku raised his uninjured left hand. "We bring villains to justice. You're going to live, Tom Riddle. You're going to live a long, mortal life in a prison cell. You're going to face the people whose lives you ruined, and you're going to watch them rebuild a world that doesn't fear you anymore. You don't get the easy way out."

 

Voldemort stared at the boy, his mind violently rejecting the concept. To be pitied. To be spared. To be treated not as a dark god, but as a common criminal. It was a torture far worse than the Cruciatus Curse.

 

"You... you fool..." Voldemort choked, tears of absolute, impotent rage finally spilling from his scarlet eyes. "You arrogant... child..."

 

Izuku didn't respond to the insult. He simply activated his Quirk.

 

Blackwhip.

 

From his left glove, thick, dark tendrils of energy seeped out. But unlike the violent, striking lashes he had used in combat, these tendrils moved with deliberate, almost gentle precision. They wrapped securely around Voldemort’s torso, binding his arms and legs, creating a secure, full-body restraint that held his broken bones in place like a medical splint while simultaneously rendering him completely immobile.

 

Izuku stood up, wincing as a fresh wave of pain shot up his right arm. He turned back to the four Hogwarts students.

 

"We need to get back to the castle," Izuku said, his demeanor instantly shifting from the intimidating Symbol of Peace back to the earnest, polite teenager. "I don't know if the rest of his followers know he's been defeated yet."

 

Harry walked forward, his wand lowered. He looked at Voldemort, bound in the ethereal black ropes, sobbing silently in the dirt. The terrifying phantom that had haunted his nightmares for seventeen years was gone.

 

Harry looked at Izuku. "Can you carry him? Your arm..."

 

"I've got him," Izuku said with a strained smile. He engaged Float at a very low output, just enough to lift the restrained Dark Lord into the air, allowing the Blackwhip tendrils to suspend him weightlessly. "Let's go."

 

The walk back to Hogwarts Castle was the quietest journey Harry Potter had ever experienced.

 

The Forbidden Forest, usually teaming with dark creatures and unsettling noises, was deathly silent. The massive trench Izuku had carved through the earth acted as a perfect, direct pathway back to the grounds.

 

As they walked, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a profound, hollow exhaustion. Neville was trembling violently, the Sword of Gryffindor clutched so tightly to his chest it looked like he was trying to merge with it. Ron kept looking over his shoulder, as if expecting the severed pieces of Nagini to suddenly reassemble and pursue them.

 

Hermione, however, was staring intently at Izuku’s back. Her brilliant mind, having finally accepted that what she was seeing was not magic, was trying to categorize it.

 

"Excuse me," Hermione said softly, her voice raspy from smoke and shouting. "Midoriya, was it?"

 

Izuku glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, yes! Izuku Midoriya. You can just call me Deku, though. That's my hero name."

 

"Deku," she tested the word. "When you stopped that... that fire... you said it was physics. You created a localized vacuum, didn't you? By displacing the atmosphere with raw kinetic force."

 

Izuku’s eyes lit up, temporarily forgetting the agonizing pain in his arm. "Yes! Exactly! The Fiendfyre is essentially a highly volatile, magically sustained exothermic reaction. But even magic fire seems to require oxygen to combust in this atmosphere. By compressing the air and forcing it outward, I starved the reaction!"

 

Ron stared at them, completely bewildered. "Mate, you just kicked a fire-breathing shadow-dragon in the face, and you're talking about exothermic reactions?"

 

"He's a genius," Hermione whispered, looking at Izuku with newfound awe. "A wandless, physically enhanced genius."

 

They exited the treeline, stepping onto the damp, trampled grass of the Hogwarts grounds.

 

The dawn was just beginning to break over the Scottish Highlands. A thin, pale line of gold and lavender pierced the horizon, illuminating the battered, smoking ruins of the ancient castle. The battle had paused. The hour-long truce Voldemort had called was nearing its end, and the combatants had gathered in the main courtyards, waiting in agonizing suspense.

 

On one side stood the defenders of Hogwarts: the Order of the Phoenix, the Aurors, the teachers, and the students. They looked battered, bleeding, and terrified, clutching their wands in preparation for the final stand.

 

On the other side stood the remaining Death Eaters, Snatchers, and dark creatures, their wands drawn, waiting for their master to return with the corpse of the Boy Who Lived.

 

When the five figures emerged from the fog of the forest, a ripple of movement went through the crowds.

 

Minerva McGonagall stepped forward, her hand flying to her mouth. "Harry..." she gasped.

 

The Death Eaters sneered, preparing to cheer, expecting to see Voldemort leading the boy in chains.

 

But as the fog parted, the reality of the scene washed over the battlefield like a bucket of ice water.

 

Walking at the front of the group was not the Dark Lord. It was the boy in the torn green suit, his right arm mangled, his face covered in soot and blood. To his left walked Harry Potter, very much alive.

 

And floating behind them, bound tightly in crackling dark energy, was Lord Voldemort.

 

The collective gasp that echoed across the Hogwarts grounds was deafening.

 

Lucius Malfoy, standing near the front of the Death Eater ranks, dropped his wand. It hit the cobblestones with a sharp clatter. He fell to his knees, his pale eyes wide with an absolute, world-shattering horror.

 

"The Dark Lord..." a Death Eater whispered, the sound carrying in the dead silence. "He's... he's been taken."

 

"It's over!" Harry’s voice rang out, magically amplified by a quick Sonorus charm from Hermione. The sound echoed across the grounds, striking the side of the castle. "Voldemort is mortal! His Horcruxes are destroyed! He has been defeated!"

 

Izuku stepped forward. He didn't yell, but the sheer presence he radiated commanded the attention of every single soul present.

 

"Your leader has been subdued," Izuku announced, his voice carrying the calm, authoritative tone he had used countless times to defuse villain hostage situations. "He is currently restrained and in critical condition. The battle is over. If you drop your weapons and surrender peacefully, no one else has to get hurt. If you choose to continue fighting..."

 

Izuku let the green lightning of One For All crackle around his left hand, illuminating his determined face.

 

"...I will stop you."

 

He didn't need to say anything else. They had seen the massive trench he had carved into the earth. They had felt the shockwaves of his punches from miles away. And they were currently looking at the most powerful dark wizard in history, bound and broken like a ragdoll behind him.

 

The surrender was instantaneous and absolute.

 

A cacophony of wooden clatters filled the air as dozens of Death Eaters threw their wands to the ground. Some fell to their knees, weeping in despair. Others simply stood there, paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of what they were witnessing. The Snatchers turned and fled into the hills, while the dark creatures—sensing the death of the dark magic that had bound them—scattered into the wind.

 

A massive, deafening cheer erupted from the defenders of Hogwarts.

 

Students embraced each other, sobbing with relief. Arthur and Molly Weasley rushed forward, pulling Ron, Harry, and Hermione into a desperate, crushing hug. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin sprinted across the courtyard, their wands raised, moving to secure the surrendered Death Eaters.

 

Izuku let out a long, shuddering breath. The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright finally began to crash. He stumbled, his vision swimming.

 

"Whoa, steady there," a gruff voice said. A massive, heavily scarred man with a magical eye—Mad-Eye Moody, who had miraculously survived the earlier skirmishes in this timeline—caught Izuku by his good shoulder. "You've done enough, lad. Let us take the garbage out."

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt, acting Minister of Magic, approached with a pair of thick, rune-covered iron shackles. "Can you release those dark ropes, son?" Kingsley asked, his deep voice filled with profound respect. "We have magical suppressants that will hold him."

 

Izuku nodded. He carefully lowered Voldemort to the ground and retracted the Blackwhip. As soon as the dark energy vanished, Kingsley snapped the enchanted shackles onto Voldemort’s wrists and ankles.

 

"Take him to the deepest holding cell in the Ministry," Kingsley barked to a squad of Aurors. "Constant vigilance! He may be broken, but he's still Tom Riddle."

 

As the Aurors levitated the Dark Lord away, Professor McGonagall approached Izuku. Her usually stern face was unreadable, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at the boy’s shattered arm, the bone visibly pressing against the skin beneath the torn fabric.

 

"You are gravely injured, Mr. Midoriya," McGonagall said gently, placing a hand on his back. "Come. The Great Hall has been converted into a hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will see to you immediately."

 

 

 

The Great Hall was a scene of controlled chaos. Cots lined the stone floor, occupied by groaning, injured fighters. The enchanted ceiling above mirrored the breaking dawn, painting the hall in soft hues of pink and gold.

 

Izuku was guided to a cot near the front of the hall. He sat down heavily, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

 

"Move aside, move aside!" a sharp voice commanded. Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, bustled through the crowd. Her apron was stained with potions and blood, her face haggard, but her eyes were sharp. She took one look at Izuku’s arm and gasped.

 

"Merlin's beard, boy!" she scolded, though her hands were incredibly gentle as she examined the mangled limb. "This isn't a break, this is a pulverization! What in heaven's name did you hit?"

 

"Um, the air, mostly," Izuku muttered sheepishly.

 

Madam Pomfrey gave him a deeply unimpressed look. She pulled her wand and tapped it against his shoulder. "Well, it's a mess. Your magical core must be exhausted, but thankfully, I don't sense any dark curses in the wounds. I'm going to have to mend the bones, but the muscle damage is extensive."

 

She uncorked a small vial containing a thick, violently purple liquid and handed it to him. "Drink this. It's a localized pain-numbing draught. Then, I'll administer the Skele-Gro and cast an Episkey variant for the muscle fibers."

 

Izuku, completely ignoring his own pain, practically vibrated with excitement. His inner fanboy, suppressed during the battle, exploded to the surface.

 

"Wait, you have potions that target localized nerve clusters?!" Izuku gasped, pulling a heavily singed, slightly damp notebook and a ballpoint pen from one of the utility pouches on his belt. "Is the base compound organic or synthesized? And when you say 'cast', you mean you can manipulate cellular regeneration using a focused energy frequency from your wand? Does it accelerate mitosis, or does it supplement the biological matter with ambient magical energy?"

 

Madam Pomfrey stared at him, the vial hovering in her hand. She had treated thousands of students over her tenure. She had seen stoic students, screaming students, and fainting students. She had never, in her life, seen a student pull out a notebook to interview her while their arm was essentially rendered into a bag of gravel.

 

"Drink. The. Potion." Pomfrey commanded, her tone brokering no argument.

 

Izuku quickly swallowed the purple liquid. It tasted like burning tires and licorice, but within seconds, a blissful, cooling numbness spread down his right shoulder, completely erasing the agony in his arm.

 

"Incredible," Izuku muttered, scribbling frantically with his left hand. Magical anesthetics—instantaneous onset, zero cognitive impairment.

 

Harry walked over, pulling up a wooden stool next to Izuku’s cot. He was holding two steaming mugs of tea, handing one to the green-haired hero.

 

"She's a miracle worker," Harry smiled, watching Pomfrey wave her wand over Izuku’s arm in complicated, weaving patterns. The skin slowly began to knit back together, the terrifying bruises fading to a dull yellow. "She regrew the bones in my arm in my second year after a bludger shattered them."

 

"Your medical technology is decades ahead of ours in trauma response," Izuku marveled, watching the muscles in his forearm literally stitch themselves together beneath the skin. "Recovery Girl can accelerate natural healing, but it drains the patient's stamina. This seems to bypass the stamina cost entirely!"

 

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. He looked around the Great Hall. The atmosphere had fundamentally shifted. There was grief for the fallen, yes. The bodies of Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks lay in a cordoned-off section, surrounded by weeping loved ones. But the suffocating blanket of despair was gone.

 

Harry looked back at Izuku. The boy was currently muttering under his breath at light-speed, drawing a surprisingly accurate anatomical sketch of his own arm and notating the wand movements Pomfrey was using.

 

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked softly, cutting through Izuku’s muttering.

 

Izuku paused, looking up from his notebook. "Do what?"

 

"Why did you fight him?" Harry asked, his green eyes searching Izuku’s face. "You don't belong to this world. You didn't know the prophecy. You didn't know who Voldemort was, or what he's done. You could have just hidden until you found a way home. Why risk your life for us?"

 

Izuku set his notebook down on his lap. The manic, analytical energy faded, replaced by the profound, quiet sincerity that defined him.

 

"When I fell into the courtyard," Izuku said, staring at his newly healed right hand, slowly flexing the fingers, "the first thing I saw was a little girl about to be murdered. And the first thing I felt was... fear. So much fear from everyone around me."

 

Izuku looked up at Harry. "Where I come from, my mentor—the greatest hero in the world—taught me something. He taught me that meddling when you don't need to is the essence of being a hero. If I see someone in trouble, my legs move before I can even think. It doesn't matter if I know them. It doesn't matter what universe I'm in."

 

Harry absorbed the words. In the wizarding world, power was often equated with heritage. Blood purity. The right wand. The right lineage. Voldemort believed that power was a divine right meant to be wielded to dominate others. Even the Order of the Phoenix fought out of a sense of desperate survival.

 

But this boy... this boy viewed power simply as a tool to serve.

 

"You hold a terrifying amount of power, Deku," Harry said quietly. "When you punched him... I've never felt anything like it. It felt like the sky was falling. How do you carry that without letting it change you? Without becoming like him?"

 

Izuku smiled, a soft, melancholic expression. He placed his hand over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of One For All beneath his ribs.

 

"I was born without any power," Izuku confessed. "For most of my life, I was completely normal. Helpless. I was bullied, and I was told I couldn't make a difference. The power I have... it isn't mine. It was given to me by someone who believed in my heart, not my strength. It’s a power that has been passed down for generations, strictly for the purpose of saving people."

 

Izuku leaned forward, looking deeply into Harry’s eyes. "Power doesn't make a hero, Harry. Voldemort had all the power in the world, and he was nothing but a frightened, lonely man. What makes a hero is the desire to protect the person standing next to you. You were ready to walk into that forest and die to save your friends. That makes you just as much of a hero as me."

 

Harry stared at Izuku, a profound sense of peace settling over his heart. He had spent his entire life being the "Chosen One," alienated by his destiny. But looking at Izuku, he realized he wasn't alone. Across the vast, infinite multiverse, there were others who understood the weight of the crown, and chose to wear it with a smile.

 

"Thank you, Midoriya," Harry said, extending his hand.

 

Izuku beamed, taking Harry’s hand and giving it a firm, strong shake. "Anytime, Potter."

 

Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere in the Great Hall was shattered.

 

A loud, piercing, electrical whine echoed through the chamber, making the silverware rattle on the wooden tables. The air in the center of the hall began to warp and distort, the space folding in on itself like origami.

 

Wands were instantly drawn. Panic flared. "It's a trap!" someone yelled. "Death Eaters!"

 

"Wait!" Izuku shouted, jumping to his feet, ignoring the protests of Madam Pomfrey. He ran to the center of the hall, positioning himself between the wizards and the spatial distortion.

 

"Don't attack!" Izuku yelled, waving his arms. "I recognize that energy signature! It's Riftmaker's Quirk, but... it's stabilized!"

 

The spatial tear ripped open, expanding into a glowing, swirling portal of blue and purple light.

 

For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, a figure stepped through the portal.

 

He was a tall, slouching man dressed entirely in black. He had unkempt, shoulder-length black hair, dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept in a decade, and a long, scarf-like cloth wrapped around his neck.

 

Eraserhead, Pro Hero and homeroom teacher of Class 1-A, stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He looked around the room, taking in the gothic architecture, the floating candles, and the hundreds of terrified people pointing wooden sticks at him.

 

He blinked slowly.

 

"Problem Child," Shota Aizawa sighed, his voice dripping with absolute, profound exhaustion.

 

"Mr. Aizawa!" Izuku beamed, practically bouncing on his heels.

 

Before Aizawa could say another word, a tidal wave of teenagers burst through the portal behind him.

 

"DEKU!"

 

Ochaco Uraraka flew out of the portal, floating in zero gravity, before releasing her Quirk and tackling Izuku into a massive hug that nearly knocked him over. "You idiot! We thought you died!"

 

"Midoriya!" Tenya Iida marched through, his engine-calves whirring loudly, his arms chopping the air with robotic precision. "It is highly irresponsible to allow yourself to be sucked into an unstable dimensional rift without leaving a proper itinerary!"

 

"OUTTA MY WAY, EXTRAS!"

 

Katsuki Bakugo exploded through the portal, literal sparks flying from his palms. He grabbed Izuku by the collar of his torn suit, his red eyes blazing. "YOU DAMN NERD! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST LEAVE ME BEHIND IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT?! AND WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO YOUR ARM AGAIN?!"

 

Bakugo noticed the crowd of wizards staring at him in absolute shock. He sneered, sparking small explosions in his hands. "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, YOU WEIRDOS IN DRESSES?! YOU WANT A PIECE OF DYNAMIGHT?!"

 

"Kacchan, please, they're friendly!" Izuku panicked, trying to wave Bakugo down.

 

Finally, stepping through the portal with a massive, smoking, highly illegal-looking mechanical backpack, was Mei Hatsume. She wiped grease from her goggles and laughed triumphantly. "Ha! I told you my cross-dimensional baby would work, Eraser! I tracked the residual spatial signature on Midoriya's costume directly to these coordinates! Give me a Nobel Prize!"

 

The wizarding world of Harry Potter stood in absolute, paralyzed silence. They had spent the entire night fighting a war of magic and myth. And now, they were being invaded by a group of incredibly loud, impossibly colorful teenagers who seemed to bend reality as an afterthought.

 

Harry lowered his wand, looking from the screaming Bakugo, to the floating Uraraka, to the cyborg-like Iida, and finally to Izuku, who was frantically apologizing to his teacher.

 

Harry couldn't help it. He started to laugh. It started as a chuckle, and quickly grew into a full, genuine, joyous laugh. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and then they started laughing too.

 

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling his capture weapon tightly around his neck. "Midoriya. Explain. Now. In twenty words or less."

 

"Uh," Izuku sweated, counting on his fingers. "Got sucked into portal. Landed here. Fought a dark lord. Saved a school. Broke my arm. Made friends!"

 

Aizawa stared at him. He looked at the ruined state of the Great Hall, the traumatized combatants, and the green-haired boy who had apparently conquered another universe over the course of a Tuesday night.

 

"I'm not getting paid enough for this," Aizawa muttered. "Get in the portal. All of you. Now."

 

"We're going, we're going!" Uraraka said, grabbing Izuku's left arm and dragging him toward the glowing blue tear in space.

 

Izuku dug his heels in for a moment, turning back to the Great Hall.

 

He looked at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville. He looked at Professor McGonagall, and the dozens of students who were watching him with unabashed awe.

 

Izuku stood up straight, ignoring his broken arm, and delivered a deep, respectful bow.

 

"Thank you for letting me help!" Izuku called out, his voice echoing in the hall. "Keep being heroes, all of you! Go Beyond... Plus Ultra!"

 

With a final, bright smile, Izuku allowed his friends to pull him back through the portal. Bakugo yelled one final insult at a suit of armor, Uraraka waved enthusiastically, and Aizawa gave the wizards a tired nod before stepping through last.

 

The portal collapsed in on itself, shrinking into a tiny pinpoint of light before vanishing completely with a sharp pop.

 

The Great Hall was quiet once more. The magical ceiling above had completely transitioned into a bright, clear, sunny morning.

 

Harry stood looking at the empty space where the portal had been. The war was over. Voldemort was locked away. The prophecy was fulfilled.

 

But as Harry looked around at his friends, and at the professors murmuring about the physical impossibility of what they had just witnessed, he knew the wizarding world would never be the same.

 

For centuries, they had hidden themselves away, believing they were the pinnacle of power on Earth. They had drawn lines between purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggles, fighting petty, bloody wars over who was superior.

 

But a boy in a torn green suit had fallen from the sky and shattered their entire worldview with a single punch. He had shown them that the universe was vastly, terrifyingly larger than they could ever comprehend.

 

More importantly, he had reminded them what true magic was. It wasn't found in a wand, or an ancient bloodline, or an Unforgivable Curse.

 

True magic was a heart willing to break itself to save another.

 

"Well," Ron said, breaking the silence, looking down at his own wand with a slight frown. "I feel completely inadequate."

 

Hermione slapped his arm lightly, but a wide smile spread across her face. "Oh, hush, Ron. Come on. Let's go help Madam Pomfrey. We have a lot of rebuilding to do."

 

Harry Potter smiled, turning his back to the spot where Izuku Midoriya had stood, and walked forward into the sunlight, ready to face a brand new, infinitely wider world.