Normally, when a wizard casts a spell, the thickness of the beam is fairly standard—about the width of a wand tip.
Of course, there are exceptions.
Take Voldemort, for instance—his Killing Curse was noticeably thicker than usual, which also meant it packed more power.
But a beam as thick as an arm? Honestly, Kyle had never even heard of such a thing, let alone seen it.
That was far beyond the bounds of ordinary magic.
And naturally, the result spoke for itself.
It was just a simple Knockback Jinx—something any third-year student could cast with ease—yet it had left the Dark Lord himself utterly helpless.
Voldemort was slammed into the wall of the Hogwarts Great Hall, tearing a gaping hole through it.
And that wasn’t even the end of it. He kept being pushed back, carving a trench nearly fifty feet long into the ground outside before finally coming to a stop.
By then, he looked like an entirely different creature—limbs twisted, body caved in, and even his face had flattened out, resembling a Bowtruckle that had been battered by a Bludger for five minutes straight.
The entire battlefield seemed to freeze in the wake of that shocking moment.
All eyes turned to Mikel standing at the entrance to the Great Hall—even Kyle’s.
He turned his head stiffly to look at Mikel, who had collapsed from exhaustion, and subconsciously licked his dry, cracked lips.
He had nearly forgotten—Mikel's special condition.
Mikel couldn't control his own magic. Especially during his first year, even a simple Lighting Charm had drained him to the point of magical exhaustion—he’d nearly become a Squib.
For a while afterward, he had to rely on magic-suppressing potions just to keep from being completely drained in class. During his free time, he studied under Professor Sprout to learn how to manage his magic.
What came naturally to other wizards, Mikel had to work tirelessly to master—and that had a direct impact on his performance in other areas, especially practical charm exams.
Even among Hufflepuff, Mikel’s practical spellwork scores were at the bottom.
Fortunately, Hogwarts didn’t have a system for repeating years. Otherwise, he’d never have made it to graduation—he’d probably still be stuck in third year.
But it was also because of his uncontrollable magic that Mikel developed a unique skill no other wizard could replicate.
He could pour his entire magical reserve into a single spell, causing a dramatic surge in its power...
Just like that Knockback Jinx.
Kyle had no doubt—even if it had been Voldemort or Dumbledore at their peak, they’d still have been blasted back ten feet.
“By Merlin’s beard, thank goodness Mikel only used a Knockback Jinx,” Kyle thought with a surge of relief.
If a Knockback Jinx could do that, what would’ve happened if it had been a Blasting Curse? He shuddered at the thought and didn’t dare dwell on it any longer.
Whether or not he’d have been caught in the blast was beside the point—if it had been a Blasting Curse, all of Hogwarts might have needed to be rebuilt from the ground up.
“Damn it, kill that guy!” came a furious shout from a nearby Death Eater, snapping Kyle back to reality.
“Sectumsempra!”
Kyle didn’t spare a glance for Voldemort, who was still sprawled outside. He spun on his heel, raised his wand, and aimed toward the Great Hall doors.
Two Death Eaters who had been trying to ambush Mikel collapsed instantly, blood pouring from the massive gashes across their chests.
“Mikel, are you okay?” Kyle walked over quickly.
The force of the Knockback Jinx had dispersed the Fiendfyre near the entrance. Mikel now lay limp on the ground, barely conscious.
It was no surprise—magical exhaustion was like running ten kilometers in a single second. Only his experience had kept him from passing out on the spot.
Seeing Kyle approach, Mikel slowly gave him a thumbs-up.
"That was incredible," Kyle said with a smile. "The school should give you a certificate for full marks in Charms. What you just pulled off—not even Dumbledore could've done that."
Mikel didn’t respond. He had already passed out. Professor McGonagall, having just stunned a Death Eater, made her way over through the crowd.
“Leave him to me!”
With a wave of her wand, a table rushed over and gently lifted Mikel, carrying him off the battlefield.
Only then did Kyle turn his eyes back to the gaping hole in the wall of the Great Hall—back to Voldemort, lying outside.
Voldemort looked dazed, as if still reeling from what had just happened.
Perhaps he never imagined that, aside from Kyle, Hogwarts was hiding someone like that.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that, in that moment, he had truly felt the threat of death.
Voldemort couldn’t believe it—a Knockback Jinx, of all things, had nearly killed him. The last time he’d felt such danger was when he had faced that wave of Fiendfyre sweeping across the Hebrides.
But Fiendfyre and a Knockback Jinx… it was like comparing the Sword of Gryffindor to a butter knife—they weren’t even in the same realm.
Voldemort was afraid. This time, he was genuinely afraid.
Afraid the boy would strike again. This time it had been a Knockback Jinx—what if next time it was the Killing Curse?
And in his current condition, forget the Killing Curse—he might not even survive another Knockback Jinx.
No. This had to be a plot!
Dumbledore must have done something before he died—left behind some secret weapon aimed at him!
“Damn it!”
Voldemort clenched his jaw in fury, glancing at the battered Elder Wand in his hand. He was ready to retreat.
One more reason for his failure this time—the wand. It was holding him back. If he could fully master the Elder Wand, not even the combined might of Hogwarts could stand against him.
Yes. He needed to fully claim the Elder Wand first.
Once again, Voldemort transformed into a cloud of black mist and shot toward the outskirts of the school.
But Kyle burst out of the castle at that exact moment.
A dragon made entirely of Fiendfyre reared up in front of Voldemort, forcing him to halt.
Voldemort glared at Kyle in fury.
Kyle stared back, unwavering.
At this point in the battle, there was no way he could let Voldemort escape. He had already noticed that, although the black mist spell was tricky, it could be ignited by Fiendfyre.
That changed everything. And with Apparition blocked inside Hogwarts, there was no way Voldemort could get away!
"Do you think you've already won?" Voldemort’s scarlet eyes locked onto Kyle, his voice cold.
Kyle didn’t answer.
More people were arriving now—Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Chris...
He couldn’t handle this alone. But with so many of them together, they could kill Voldemort.
Voldemort’s face darkened, the hand gripping his wand tight with strain, veins bulging.
“I haven’t lost yet!” His voice was no longer clear and commanding—it had turned hoarse, filled with a serpentine hiss.
It was true—he hadn’t lost.
There were still Death Eaters outside Hogwarts. He had already summoned them. Once they entered the fray, they would buy him the time he needed to escape.
That was the plan. But where were they?
Voldemort cursed them in his heart for their sluggishness.
His Dark Mark had been burning in the sky for five minutes. And still nothing... Even a pack of Muggles could’ve made it here by now!
He gritted his teeth, pouring all his energy into defending himself against the onslaught of spells. His movements grew slower, more strained...
Until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps.
“Attack together—kill them all!” Voldemort shouted, exhilarated.
But no one answered. The silence behind him was unnerving.
He couldn’t help but turn his head—only to realize there was no Death Eater force at all. From beginning to end, there had only ever been one person.
The surface of the Black Lake surged, and a massive wave—thirty feet tall—rose out of nowhere and crashed down toward Voldemort.
He dodged, but the wave slammed into the ground and instantly froze over. A burst of sharp ice spikes erupted in all directions, piercing toward him like a blooming, frozen thorn blossom.
At the same time, the enormous Fiendfyre dragon reappeared above his head.
He had nowhere left to run. His shoulder and thigh were pierced simultaneously, streaks of bright blood smearing across the ice—only to be instantly melted and erased by the Fiendfyre’s heat.
“It’s over,” Kyle said, raising his wand again as the Fiendfyre dragon dove toward Voldemort.
“Stone statues—rise!” Professor McGonagall shouted.
Seven or eight shattered statues suddenly stood once more, swinging their weapons down on Voldemort.
Then came Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout...
“Diffindo!”
“Confringo!”
“Avada Kedavra!”
...
“None of you will kill me!” Voldemort screamed, his voice crazed. “Avada—”
The Elder Wand suddenly burst with a flash of green, like a blazing sun. A massive Killing Curse, wider than any before, swept forward, wiping out all the spells flying toward him.
But at the same time, a sharp crack rang out—the wand snapped clean in half, leaving only the core holding the two pieces loosely together.
“Let’s see how many more of those you can take,” Kyle panted, raising his wand again. Professor McGonagall, though clearly struggling, forced herself to her feet as well.
But just then, a shadow flashed past from the side and crashed straight into Voldemort.
Kyle saw it happen, but he was powerless to stop it.
The Fiendfyre had vanished moments ago, and he’d already burned through most of his strength. At this point, just standing was difficult, let alone conjuring another massive Fiendfyre construct.
With no fire to block him—and thanks to the sudden appearance of whoever had tackled him—Voldemort found an opening and escaped, vanishing into the sky as a cloud of black mist.
“Come back, you coward! Come back!” Professor McGonagall roared after his fleeing form.
She couldn’t accept it. They had been so close to victory, and Voldemort had still slipped away...
“Let it go, Minerva,” Diana stepped forward, trying to comfort her. “Voldemort was ready to throw everything into this fight. If we’d kept going, maybe we wouldn’t have been able to kill him completely—but we would have lost half the people here.”
“I don’t care!” Professor McGonagall shouted. “I wish I could have taken him down with me!”
Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout, standing nearby, nodded without hesitation. It was clear—they meant it. If they had the chance to take Voldemort with them, they wouldn’t think twice.
But Kyle had latched onto something Diana had said... kill him completely.
Completely... of course. The Horcruxes!
Kyle smacked his forehead.
He’d gotten too caught up in the heat of the fight and completely forgotten that Voldemort still had Horcruxes. With those protections, even if he was burned to ash by Fiendfyre, he’d just do what he did years ago—turn into a drifting spirit and escape again.
Maybe after another decade or so, he’d go and possess some professor, sneaking back into the Forbidden Forest to drink unicorn blood.
Still... Kyle wanted to kill Voldemort.
He rubbed at his numb face.
He wasn’t worried—or rather, he wasn’t afraid—of Voldemort coming back.
For one, nearly all of Voldemort’s loyal Death Eaters had been wiped out. Without followers, resurrection would be nearly impossible.
The ritual required a servant’s flesh... and his father’s bones? Good luck finding that again.
And even if, somehow, Voldemort managed to survive and dig up some new way to come back a decade later, Kyle was confident he could beat him into the ground without breaking a sweat...
He wouldn’t just stand still in the years to come. When the time came, handling Voldemort would be nothing. He’d hang him from the top of the castle tower.
So if Voldemort resurrected again, all it would mean is another round of beatings—nothing more.
But the fact that he escaped now still made Kyle burn with frustration. In his heart, he was cursing Snape nonstop.
Because he had seen it. The person who ultimately helped Voldemort escape... was Severus Snape.
Kyle really wanted to ask him—did he actually think he was a Death Eater?
“So what, you wanted to stand by and watch Professor Minerva McGonagall and the others get killed?”
“Of course not.” Kyle lifted his head and looked at Diana, speaking quietly. “I just... I can’t stand it.”
“There was no other choice,” Diana replied.
Kyle sighed. “But Mum—why are you even here?”
“Yeah,” said Chris, who had just run over. “Unspeakables aren’t supposed to get involved in... well, wars that could change the fate of the magical world, right? Did they change the rules?”
“No,” Diana said calmly. “I quit.”
She clearly didn’t want to linger on the subject. After exchanging a few more words with Kyle, she walked over to find Professor McGonagall.
Kyle, meanwhile, made his way back into Hogwarts Castle.
While they had been confronting Voldemort outside, the others had finished off the Death Eaters inside. People were now tending to the aftermath of the battle.
Some had died—not just Death Eaters, but students, professors, and Aurors.
Kyle spotted a small body lying motionless on the cold floor.
He recognized him. Dennis Creevey—a fifth-year student.
Someone his age definitely wouldn’t have been allowed to stay during the battle. He must have snuck back on his own, without telling anyone.
Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, was also dead—only half of his body had been found.
Several newly-of-age young wizards stood with blank expressions, showing none of the excitement or eagerness they'd had before the fighting began, even though they'd won.
But that’s war.
Everyone thinks war is about passion, that courage alone is enough... until they see life slip away before their very eyes.
And then, very quickly, they understand the truth.
That all-consuming fear crushes every ounce of will, shatters it, grinds it down until nothing remains—no strength, no spirit, only collapse.
They were lucky. Most of the Death Eaters had been kept occupied outside the castle, which allowed the professors to focus their full efforts on the enemies within. If that hadn’t been the case, the toll would have been far worse—they might not have lasted until the end.
Kyle spotted Lupin. He was in terrible shape, his body gaunt and shriveled, skin clinging to bone, wrinkled and brittle—he looked like a dried sprig of scorched rue.
It seemed to be the effect of some Dark Magic. Fortunately, tonight was a full moon, and the werewolf’s body granted him vitality and resilience far beyond that of a normal wizard. That was the only reason he was still alive.
Tonks was tending to him.
Beside her lay Dedalus and Hestia, both once members of the Order of the Phoenix. But they hadn’t been as lucky. They lay still and silent.
Kyle walked through the aftermath with a heavy heart. It might have been selfish, but he was deeply relieved—not a single familiar face, no close friends among the fallen.
Cedric had made it through. Ryan and Mikel had also escaped with their lives.
Fred had lost an ear, but he didn’t seem the least bit upset about it. On the contrary, he insisted it was reason enough for celebration.
Now, at last, everyone would be able to tell him and George apart.
“I just had a brilliant idea,” George said, slumped against a wall, too tired to lift a finger, but still talking nonstop. “We could design a prosthetic Unicorn ear. Trust me, it won’t fall off even if you're wearing glasses.”
“I think a Three-Headed Dog’s ear would be better,” Fred replied, clearly enjoying the idea.
“Or elephant ears,” Kyle chimed in. “In a pinch, you could use them as weapons.”
“Brilliant,” Fred laughed. “Just make sure they look decent, yeah? Ideally, they should work like Extendable Ears. Otherwise, all that size would be wasted.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kyle grinned. “But… have you considered getting the original reattached? Madam Pomfrey might be able to put it back.”
“Eh… forget it this time.” Fred shrugged without a care. “I’ve always wanted to try a new one anyway.”
...
“Oh—Harry! I’m so glad you’re alive.” Neville’s voice came from around the corner. “Where are you guys going?”
“To do something. Something that has to be done,” Harry said. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to defeat Voldemort.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, Neville. I need you to do something for me.”
“But Voldemort’s already—”
“If you see a snake with three heads, you must kill it.”
“Harry, what I’m trying to say is—”
They had already turned the corner.
Harry froze as he looked at the activity unfolding inside the castle.
What was going on? Why was everyone cleaning up the battlefield and treating the wounded?
Where were the Death Eaters?
Where were the spells flying everywhere?
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Neville finally said. “Voldemort’s been driven off. We’ve won.”