At night, Louis wandered through the halls of Hogwarts Castle, moving like some ghost haunting an ancient fortress.
It wasn't even past eight o'clock, yet Hogwarts was already terrifyingly eerie. With its gloomy atmosphere and the occasional ghost drifting through, anyone without nerves of steel would find life here unbearable.
Earlier, he had been relaxing at home, and he was still enjoying that comfort. Sitting by the fireplace, chatting idly with his parents about amusing school stories, he had only sent a portion of his focus to control the Faceless Phantom as it roamed the castle.
As expected of a Stand with Range A, the Faceless Phantom didn't disappoint. Even with Louis far away from Hogwarts, it could still move freely here.
What Louis was pondering now was whether Harry would sneak out for a midnight adventure on Christmas night.
He didn't know whether Hagrid, whose mouth was as leaky as a bucket with holes, had accidentally mentioned Nicolas Flamel's name.
Nor did he know if Hermione—who was no longer constantly glued to Harry—had told him anything about Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone.
So he couldn't be sure whether Harry would wander into the Restricted Section under his Invisibility Cloak and then stumble upon the Mirror of Erised in panic.
But it didn't matter. Whether Harry found it or not, the Mirror would appear when it was destined to, and only then would it be removed.
Louis wasn't curious about Harry—he was curious about the Mirror itself. He wanted to see what the Mirror of Erised would show him when it reflected his own image.
It was said that truly happy people saw only themselves in the mirror.
Louis wondered if he could count himself as "happy enough."
Finding the Mirror wasn't hard—perhaps because Dumbledore never truly intended to hide it at all.
Louis located it in a certain room.
The Mirror stood at least three meters tall. Its glass was cloudy, faintly yellow, so much so that it couldn't reflect an image from even two meters away.
The Faceless Phantom stood before it, but as a spiritual projection it naturally cast no reflection—nothing appeared in the mirror.
Louis tried manifesting the Stand into a solid body, but still, no image appeared.
"Does it need the real body?" he wondered.
He decided he would return later that night.
After all, it wouldn't do to suddenly vanish mid-conversation at home.
…
Deep into the night, once his parents were asleep, Louis swapped places with his Stand from his bedroom.
On his bed, the Faceless Phantom slowly shifted into Louis's form, lying there and pretending to be asleep.
The real Louis, meanwhile, replaced his Stand's position and reappeared at Hogwarts.
He didn't run into Harry cloaked in invisibility—according to the timeline, Harry wouldn't receive the Invisibility Cloak until Christmas Day itself.
Once more standing before the Mirror of Erised, Louis dropped his invisibility and looked at his reflection.
To be honest, the idea of seeing his heart's desire made him both excited and uneasy. After all, one's truest wish was sometimes hidden even from oneself—and might even be something one couldn't accept.
The mirror first reflected Louis's own face. Then, slowly, the image began to shift.
Louis's eyes widened as the scene grew more and more absurd.
A salted fish—rotting, stinking—flopped weakly on the sand of a beach…
"The hell is this…" Louis's face darkened. Isn't this just bullying an honest man?
Whose dream was it to become a salted fish flapping about on a beach?
And wait—wasn't the Mirror of Erised supposed to show the person plus their deepest desire?
What the hell—where was everyone? Just a salted fish flopping on the sand?
"Even if my ultimate dream is to lie flat and rot, it shouldn't insult me like this." Louis glared at the mirror, itching to smash it to pieces on the spot.
But picking a fight with a mirror was pointless, and that only made him more irritated.
And when Louis was in a bad mood, he wanted to stir up trouble. Doing so under his own identity, however, was out of the question—technically speaking, he wasn't even supposed to be at Hogwarts right now.
"Voldemort's been way too quiet lately. Isn't he the villain? What's he being so peaceful for? Get out there and cause some chaos already!"
So, annoyed, Louis decided to arrange something for Voldemort.
But how?
At first, Louis considered letting Dio Brando make another appearance—but the idea suddenly felt dull.
Maybe this time he should let Chuan handle it. It'd be a good chance to test her ability to stir up trouble.
With that thought, Louis called her name directly.
"Chuan."
The ever-reliable young woman appeared before him instantly.
"Master," Chuan bowed respectfully.
"Voldemort's been far too quiet," Louis said. "Find him something to do."
"Any specific requirements?" Chuan asked.
"No, just make him move, make Dumbledore nervous. That's all." Louis waved it off casually.
Keep it simple—no need to blow things out of proportion.
"Understood." Chuan immediately grasped her master's intent. He was bored but couldn't act himself, so he wanted someone else to stir the pot in his place. "Then I'll give Voldemort a reason that will draw everyone's attention away."
"Sounds good." Louis's eyes lit up. "But how are you going to make him do that?"
"Very simple. Master, you just need to watch." With that, Chuan dissolved into a puddle of water and slipped away, but not before leaving behind a marker to guide Louis.
The marker, however, pointed outside the castle—toward the Forbidden Forest.
"Hm? Voldemort isn't in the castle?" Louis pulled out the Marauder's Map, which he had reclaimed from Peter Pettigrew. Sure enough, neither Voldemort nor Quirrell's name appeared within Hogwarts.
The Map only displayed names inside the castle. Chuan had realized this and marked the path deliberately.
"Not bad—this Chuan really knows what she's doing." Louis was very pleased with his subordinate's performance. Following the guide, he headed straight for the Forbidden Forest.
Quirrell and Voldemort were there for a simple reason: the thrice-a-day Little Red Potion was no longer enough to sustain Quirrell's rapidly deteriorating body. In the end, he had no choice but to take the path of drinking unicorn blood.
Before long, Louis arrived at Voldemort's hunting ground. The first thing that caught his eye was the magnificent creature itself.
A unicorn. Its coat was a pure, crystalline white, its frame sleek and strong, its horn thrust skyward.
It strolled lazily, unafraid—here in the Forbidden Forest it had almost no natural predators. Even Acromantulas would not dare to prey on a unicorn.
But today, a merciless hunter had entered the woods.
In the shadows of the dense trees, a pair of scarlet eyes glared greedily at the pure creature.
Suddenly, a gust of wind rustled the leaves, catching the unicorn's attention. At that very instant, a strange, spider-like figure lunged down from the branches.
It was Quirrell, controlled by Voldemort. Quirrell's body was already half-decayed; only Voldemort's will could force it to move, to hunt!
Just as Louis thought he'd get to witness the rare sight of Voldemort striking down a unicorn, the startled creature reared up.
And with one mighty kick, it sent Voldemort flying.
…Ah.
Louis covered his face. The secondhand embarrassment was almost too much to bear.
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