When Harry, Ron, and Neville slipped into the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor, Chuan, who had been waiting for the right moment, was just about to follow them. But a sudden figure appeared, blocking her way.
Chuan instantly became alert. The golden whip coiled around her arm lashed out in unison with the companion whip of the Dark Assassin, both striking forward like venomous serpents ready to bite.
Yet, in the blink of an eye, those two deadly snakes turned into docile sheep, hanging limply toward the ground.
"Master." Chuan dropped to one knee. Through the resonance between the Dark Assassin and the Black Mist Sorcerer, she confirmed the identity of the stranger before her.
Though his appearance and aura were different, the faint pulse of their contract—like seeing through layers of frosted glass—made his identity unmistakable.
"Chuan, I'll handle things here." Louis, disguised as Dio Brando, handed her a sinister scroll that radiated with malice and resentful wails.
The Soul-Stealing Scroll of Mejia! A cursed artifact that devoured souls to strengthen its master.
"You go and lie in wait by Dumbledore. When Quirrell's soul arrives, let him speak—just don't let him finish."
Louis had already confirmed on the Marauder's Map: the so-called "absent" Dumbledore was, in fact, hiding safely inside the Headmaster's office.
"Yes, Master." Chuan accepted the scroll with reverence, melted into a pool of water, and slipped away to her post.
With her demon-of-water abilities, there was no chance Dumbledore would notice her presence. Louis had no worries on that end. He turned and stepped through the wooden door, finding himself face to face with the three-headed dog, straining against the trapdoor.
Already enraged and uneasy because some students had slipped past it earlier, the monstrous dog wasted no time with growls. With three gaping maws snapping wide, it lunged to tear the intruder apart.
Anyone bitten by those jaws wouldn't need to worry about burial rites—just prepare a cenotaph.
But Louis was no ordinary intruder. He was invincible Dio, whose Stand was the ironclad The World.
He didn't even need to use its full ability. The World materialized behind him and pummeled the beast's noses with a relentless barrage of muda muda muda.
With double-A power and speed, even capped at "just fifty percent," it never dropped to a B. A in stats meant infinity. As one of fiction's top-tier villains, Dio's base stats were outrageously broken.
In the blink of an eye, each of the three snouts took three punches. The monstrous heads shortened by several inches, and the whole beast slammed against the wall, knocked unconscious.
Louis stood tall and proud, his heart utterly unmoved, even tempted to strike a flamboyant JoJo pose just to mock human anatomy.
With the dog dealt with, Louis was ready to move forward. But he paused. Left like this, who knew when Dumbledore would finally notice? Better not risk Quirrell arriving with no one there to deliver his message.
So Louis triggered Time Stop and unleashed a storm of punches against the castle wall.
Time itself froze, locking the wall in place. Yet The World's blows did not dissipate—they piled up, force upon force, waiting.
When time resumed, hundreds of punches landed in a single instant. A deafening boom echoed through the castle, and the entire fortress shuddered.
That should do it.
Louis nodded in satisfaction, leapt down the trapdoor, and met the Devil's Snare. His body flickered and dissolved into the formless Phantom Wraith, slipping effortlessly through the constricting vines to the next chamber.
And it was here that the absurdity of these so-called protections became painfully obvious.
If he were protecting something as important as the Philosopher's Stone, he would seal it in layer after layer of traps, no escape possible. If there were to be trials, they would be deathtraps, not… games.
Yet look at what had been set up: Devil's Snare easily bypassed with Herbology knowledge, a Quidditch-style broom chase for a key, a giant Wizard's Chess set, and a riddle involving potions.
They were nothing more than logic puzzles and parlor games—so long as you played fair, victory was guaranteed.
Quirrell was the only fool here, stuck with the mountain troll. Classic dimwit move.
"They're treating Quirrell like a complete idiot," Louis muttered, resuming his Dio form as he strolled leisurely toward the next challenge.
The third trial, prepared by Madam Hooch, was the Quidditch mini-game: find the correct key among a swarm of fluttering, winged keys.
Inside the cramped room, hundreds of keys buzzed like mosquitoes, wings humming as they drifted lazily through the air. Harmless at first glance—but once disturbed, they became sharp and deadly as blades.
Louis was certain: Quirrell couldn't possibly ride a broom. After drinking unicorn blood twice, he didn't even have the strength to mount one, let alone fly. Casting spells was already questionable.
That broom had been prepared for Harry Potter.
But Harry was a bit much—he and the others had taken both the key and the broom with them. What about the people coming after them, how were they supposed to pass?
"Doesn't matter. I'm not here to play the game anyway."
Louis walked up to the door. It had been sealed with an Anti-Unlocking Charm, so opening it with magic wasn't going to be easy…
Bang!
Dio Brando smashed his fist into the lock, flattening the wooden mechanism into two dimensions.
No Stand required. For a mere door lock, the physique of a vampire with stats of fifty was more than enough.
He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.
His approach was obvious now: screw these puzzle-games. He was going to smash this carefully stacked tower of blocks into dust!
The fourth trial was a giant Wizard's Chess set, crafted with Professor McGonagall's expert Transfiguration.
It was probably the most professional setup among all the trials—but in terms of real use? Pretty underwhelming.
Honestly, only first-years would obediently sit down to play the game.
But Louis wasn't about to fight through them. Each piece had the ability to reset itself—fighting through would just be physical labor and a waste of time.
So Louis struck a flamboyant pose with his hand, and shouted:
"ZA WARUDO!"
The World answered his call. Time froze solid, all colors washed away into dull gray.
Louis bolted forward immediately.
He had no choice—the knock-off version of The World only granted two seconds of time stop. If he didn't sprint through, he'd be caught among the living chessmen.
They wouldn't exactly butcher him on the spot, but it would be awfully uncomfortable.
Graceful striding across the courtyard might look cool, but not getting smacked was far more important.
…Wait.
Just as he passed the fourth trial, Louis suddenly stopped, rubbing his chin.
…What was he even doing all this for? He could've just phased through the wall with his Stand!
"Still stuck in old habits," Louis muttered, smacking his own forehead at his own stupidity.
The final challenge was a logic puzzle: determine which potion allowed safe passage through fire.
There Louis found Neville and Ron, just preparing to go back and inform the professors.
Louis flashed them a devilish smile, then dove headfirst through the fire.
Boring.
He phased straight through Snape's ring of fire and arrived at the final chamber, where Dumbledore had placed the Mirror of Erised.
And there, he saw it: Harry Potter and Voldemort facing off inside the circle of flames.
Voldemort, still possessing Quirrell, was trying to seduce and trick Harry into handing over the Philosopher's Stone.
At that moment, the Stone—or rather, the Yang-aligned Philosopher's Stone—was clutched in Harry's hand.
And Voldemort looked every bit like a thug trying to snatch candy from a child.
How disgraceful…
"Utterly disgraceful." Louis said it aloud.
The sudden voice shocked both Harry and Voldemort, who turned toward the doorway to see Louis.
"Dio Brando? What are you doing here?" Voldemort's tone was tinged with both surprise and deep unease.
Dio Brando? Who's that? Harry thought, baffled why Voldemort cared so much about this stranger.
"I just came to see what kind of trials could possibly hinder the great Dark Lord," Louis sneered, voice dripping with mockery.
"And to think… it was nothing but childish games. You wasted nearly a whole year fumbling around with this?"
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