[HP] Chapter 140-142

### [HP] 140: Why Does This Trial Feel Like a Joke?

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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### [HP] 141: Humiliation: Can’t Even Snatch from a Child

“Shut up!” Voldemort snapped, furious to the point of humiliation, wishing he could rip Louis’s mocking mouth clean off.

He hadn’t expected that the trials set up by all of Hogwarts’ professors to protect the Philosopher’s Stone would turn out to be this brain-dead.

But what else could he do? He had only one chance. If he failed because of ignorance of the trials, he would lose the Stone forever.

“So what exactly are you doing now? Bullying a little kid? Don’t tell me you can’t even win against a child.”

Louis cast a glance at Harry, who was clutching his pocket in panic.

“I cannot touch him. His body is protected by magic. You—help me!” Voldemort demanded.

Louis’s lips curled, and then he burst into wild, manic laughter.

“Hahahahaha…”

The unhinged laughter was so chilling it left both Harry and Voldemort stunned, staring blankly at Louis in confusion.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the laughter cut off. Dio Brando’s face twisted into a sinister, terrifying snarl.

“And who do you think you are… to order me?”

The wave of killing intent hit like a storm. Voldemort involuntarily stumbled back, and Harry—utterly overwhelmed—collapsed to the floor with his legs giving out.

Seeing Voldemort retreat, Louis’s expression turned scornful.

He walked over to Harry and, under the boy’s terrified gaze, plucked the Philosopher’s Stone right out of his hand.

Holding it up, Louis examined the gem as though in deep study.

“The Philosopher’s Stone… I’ll hold onto this for now.” He smiled faintly at Voldemort.

“Don’t even dream of it!” Voldemort roared. “Don’t think I truly fear you. Push me too far and I’ll use my very soul to curse you!”

Even addled as his mind was, Voldemort’s viciousness hadn’t dulled. He clearly meant that if Louis refused to hand over the Stone, he would drag this “Dio Brando” down with him.

It sounded rather menacing.

Louis tossed the Stone lightly in his palm. Of course, he knew this Stone was only half—the Yin-aligned portion was missing. Even if Voldemort got it, so what?

And even if he held the complete Philosopher’s Stone, what then? Was Voldemort going to brew the Elixir of Life right here on the spot?

“Having the Stone now is useless to you. Without the prepared elixir, brewing it in your condition is nothing but waiting for death.”

With a snap of his fingers, Louis summoned forth a weapon hidden within his Stand’s body—a sword, gleaming in his hand.

He flung it before Voldemort. The blade sank into the ground with ease, icy frost radiating from its edge, its seamless form leading to a hilt of deep, abyssal black.

It was the Demon Lord’s Sword, one of the legendary set of enchanted blades.

“Take it. It can grant you immortality, and its power can cut through anything in this world.” Louis said calmly.

Voldemort stared at the suspiciously convenient weapon, hesitating, wary of some trick.

But in that moment, the one they had both nearly forgotten sprang forward—Harry.

He had heard every word. That sword could make Voldemort immortal!

How could he allow that monster to live forever?

He had to seize it before Voldemort did!

Voldemort’s hesitation, coupled with Louis’s spectator’s smirk, gave Harry the opening. He snatched the Demon Lord’s Sword.

Immediately, a surge of boundless vitality flooded his body.

“Ahhh!”

Glaring at Voldemort, new hatred piled atop old, Harry roared and swung the sword—far too heavy for him, yet carried with desperate strength—down at his foe.

Sensing the danger, Voldemort’s face drained of color. He stumbled back in alarm. But suddenly, the body he had been manipulating with such ease—Quirrell’s body—began to stiffen unnaturally…

Quirrell’s phantom suddenly tore itself free from his body and bolted toward the exit.

“Quirrell!!??”

Voldemort roared in disbelief and fury. At the most critical moment, the host he thought he controlled best had betrayed him—and now, of all times!

Quirrell’s body instantly became a masterless shell. The power of the Sheep Talisman activated, forcing Voldemort’s soul to fuse fully into Quirrell’s body.

That meant Voldemort had temporarily revived—but it also meant he could be cut by the sword, even slain again.

And every death, even if it didn’t destroy him outright, left Voldemort gravely weakened.

Dying here would mean losing his one chance at the Philosopher’s Stone.

“No!!!” Voldemort’s unwilling scream tore through the chamber. Trapped in Quirrell’s frail body, his strength was reduced to less than a fraction of a fraction—he couldn’t resist at all.

The sharp blade cleaved through Quirrell’s rotting flesh, splitting collarbone, ribcage, driving with certainty toward Voldemort’s heart.

Harry’s face was twisted with killing intent, exultation of vengeance flashing across his young features.

For someone his age, this Harry Potter was ruthless—swinging directly at the vital point.

Louis, standing right beside them, clicked his tongue in surprise. He had genuinely been caught off guard by Harry’s sudden ferocity, and in that instant hadn’t managed to intervene.

But he still needed Voldemort alive—he couldn’t allow Harry to finish him off.

If Voldemort were killed outright, who knew which Horcrux might shatter from the rebound? That would leave one less Voldemort to join the coming chaos.

And that would make things far less entertaining.

So Louis reached out to stop Harry’s strike.

The Demon Lord’s Sword, famed for cutting through anything, was no joke—Louis certainly wasn’t about to grab it barehanded with his Stand.

Instead, he chose a far flashier method.

Cling!

A sharp metallic note rang out. The sword edge froze in mid-air—unable to advance, unable to retreat.

Harry’s look of triumphant fury twisted into stunned disbelief. He raised his eyes to see Louis calmly pinching the blade between just two fingers.

Two fingers! Holding a sword-edge, without the slightest wound!

No matter how sharp the weapon, its spine would never cut flesh. And Louis, armed with the passive skill Swordmaster, knew blades better than anyone. For him, such a feat was easier than drinking water.

“You nearly ruined everything,” Louis said coldly, lips curling into a cruel smile. He lashed out with a single kick, sending Harry flying.

He didn’t use full force this time—unlike what he’d done to Pettigrew, he didn’t leave a crater. But even so, Harry collapsed on the floor, curled up in agony, unable to make a sound.

With casual disdain, Louis drew the Demon Lord’s Sword from Voldemort’s bleeding chest, sneered at the bloodied man, then tossed the weapon back to him.

“Pathetic,” Louis said. “Can’t even win against a child in a fight for scraps.”

Voldemort’s face darkened, but the moment his hand wrapped around the hilt, he felt vitality surge endlessly into him, and color returned to his cheeks.

Raising the blade, he turned toward Harry.

Louis arched a brow. “Well? Your goal is achieved. Aren’t you leaving?”

“No. I’ll kill Harry Potter first. Once he’s dead, my greatest threat will be gone.” Voldemort lifted the sword, preparing to strike.

And Louis? He seemed to have no reason—or excuse—to intervene.

Was the Boy Who Lived about to die here?

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### [HP] 142: The Chase of Three and Louis’s Secret Buff

Louis watched as Voldemort, brandishing the sword, rushed to strike down Harry Potter—only to be blasted away by a sudden beam of light before he could even touch him.

The scene gave Louis déjà vu. It looked exactly like the time Voldemort was kicked flying by a unicorn.

Voldemort crashed to the ground, but the Demon Lord’s Sword’s gift of undying vitality allowed him to rise again almost instantly.

Yet despite supposedly being immortal, his body bore a deep gash that kept bleeding.

The wound that should have appeared on Harry instead marked Voldemort—just like back then, when the Killing Curse that should have killed Harry had rebounded upon him.

“No… I can’t hurt him.” Voldemort’s eyes burned with fury. “That damned curse!”

He turned to Louis, shouting, “Kill him for me!”

He never finished the order before a slap cracked across his face, sending him flying. If not for the Demon Lord’s Sword’s buffs keeping him alive, that blow might have taken his borrowed head clean off.

“I’ll remind you one last time. Know your place. You dare to order me?”

Louis was in an excellent mood. Slapping Voldemort was immensely satisfying.

The World drifted back after delivering the slap, and Louis noticed Voldemort’s gaze locked on it.

The World never allowed itself to be seen by outsiders.

So Voldemort could see Stands. Louis’s worries were justified—among wizards, the exceptionally powerful and gifted really could sense them.

“Stop groveling like a weakling. Are you playing at being pitiful? Dumbledore and the other professors will be here any moment. Leave—now.”

Louis turned to go, adding coolly, “Of course, whether you can escape is up to you. If you can’t even manage that, you don’t deserve to join us.”

With the Philosopher’s Stone in his possession, “Dio Brando” strode away. Voldemort cast one conflicted look at the unconscious, pain-wracked Harry Potter, then clenched his teeth and fled the chamber.

Harry couldn’t be killed this time—but that could wait.

His eyes boiled with murderous rage.

But Quirrell, the traitor who had defied himhe must die!

One hand gripping his wand, the other clutching the Demon Lord’s Sword, Voldemort brimmed with confidence.

With a blade that made him undying, paired with his own magic—even Dumbledore no longer frightened him.

He burst out of the chamber, ignoring the two students who hadn’t fled far.

They were irrelevant. Not even worth a glance. His target was clear.

——

A few minutes earlier.

When Louis had shattered the wall with Time Stop and a storm of punches, the quake and thunderous noise had immediately alarmed Dumbledore.

He had originally intended to wait, to see how Harry and Voldemort’s encounter unfolded. But he could no longer sit still. Already worried about the unknown intruder lurking in Hogwarts, he decided at once to seek Harry out.

But as Headmaster, he couldn’t leave the school in chaos.

“Phineas, Dippet—notify Minerva to guard the students carefully. Watch for intruders.”

Dumbledore spent several minutes arranging school affairs. If disaster struck, he had to take responsibility.

The portraits of past headmasters stirred, spreading his commands. Meanwhile, Dumbledore readied himself to rescue Harry.

His first instinct was to Apparate directly to the chamber of the Stone.

Voldemort had to struggle through the trials one by one. As Headmaster, Dumbledore did not.

And in the instant Dumbledore vanished—Chuan, hidden in the Headmaster’s office, was dumbfounded.

She couldn’t Apparate, nor track him. She had no idea where to find him.

Had the mission just failed?

While she fretted, a strange ghost burst into the Headmaster’s office.

“Dumbledore! Where’s Dumbledore? I must see him!” Quirrell’s soul shouted, startling the portraits that remained.

“Who is this? Never seen that ghost before.”

“Unclear. He’s not like the others.”

“…Feels oddly familiar, though.”

The portraits chattered noisily, tormenting Quirrell’s nerves.

“Enough! Shut up!” Quirrell roared. “Voldemort is about to be resurrected, and you’re still bickering!?”

“Voldemort? Resurrected?”

The portraits froze in shock.

“Quick, notify Dumbledore!”

“Dumbledore already left.”

“Where did he go?”

“No idea, he didn’t say.”

The portraits broke into another round of heated debate.

Quirrell was dumbfounded, his head practically exploding with anger at them.

Soon, his rationality screamed at him: stop wasting time on the portraits—finding Dumbledore was what mattered.

His body was still in Voldemort’s hands!

As Quirrell’s ghost slipped through the wall, the water droplet that was Chuan silently followed.

It didn’t matter if Dumbledore had slipped away—so long as she shadowed the mission target, her task remained intact.

——

When Dumbledore returned to the Philosopher’s Stone chamber, he froze in alarm.

Seeing Harry sprawled unconscious on the floor, he nearly believed his beloved savior had perished.

Voldemort couldn’t kill Harry, but the unknown intruder lurking in Hogwarts very well could!

After checking, though, he exhaled in relief.

Thankfully, Harry was only fainted.

Summoning Fawkes, he let a few tears fall. In an instant, Harry stirred awake.

“Headmaster Dumbledore…! Headmaster!” Harry grabbed his hand. “Be careful… the sword in Voldemort’s hand… with that sword, he can’t be killed…”

“And… be careful of Di—”

Before he could finish, Harry’s body seized in pain, and he passed out once more.

“The sword in Voldemort’s hand?” Dumbledore frowned, rising to his feet and drawing the Elder Wand.

Voldemort wasn’t here. He would have to hunt him down.

“Fawkes, take Harry back to my office. Protect him.”

The phoenix dipped its head, seized Harry in its claws, and vanished in a blaze of fire.

Fawkes’s flame-travel was unaffected by Hogwarts’ protective enchantments.

“Voldemort… Quirrell…”

Elder Wand in hand, Dumbledore Apparated out of the now-useless chamber.

But where was Voldemort?

——

Elsewhere in the castle, a furious Voldemort stalked the corridors, Demon Lord’s Sword in one hand, Quirrell’s wand in the other, searching for Quirrell’s trace.

Relying on the faint bond between body and soul, he could just barely sense Quirrell’s location, and was making his way toward it.

Thanks to Professor McGonagall’s sharp foresight, the students—released after exams—had already been ushered out of the castle. Thus, Voldemort encountered none of them along the way.

Meanwhile, guided by the corridor portraits, Dumbledore was swiftly closing the distance, chasing after Voldemort.

Quirrell’s soul, on the other hand, was flitting through the castle like a headless fly, lost and frantic.

Three beings, chasing each other within tightening circles—about to collide.

——

While those three played their game of pursuit, Louis hid in the Room of Requirement, holding in his hands the now-whole Philosopher’s Stone, fused together.

The chamber around him looked bare and limited in space, but under the effects of an Extension Charm, it was vast enough to contain the waters of the entire Black Lake.

This was to prevent catastrophic damage to the surroundings when he unleashed the talisman’s full power.

The mastery and refinement of the Tiger Talisman had reached its critical point. Now was the moment to claim its power completely.

“Let’s begin.” Louis licked his lips, eyes locked on the Stone, its activated crimson glow flickering in his gaze.

Boom!

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