Lord Voldemort desperately wanted to flee. To get as far away as possible. But he quickly regained his composure. He couldn't do it! For eleven years, he had been a broken, ragged soul, forced to hide and live in torment. Do you know what that was like? He'd been reduced to inhabiting small rodents in Albania, preying on creatures just to scrape together a bit of life force. He had lived a life worse than a stray dog, not even daring to seek out the powerful servants who once groveled at his feet. To go back to that? He couldn't bear another second of it. He had to reclaim his body.
And then, he'd kill them both. As he saw it, if either of the two prophesied boys died, the prophecy would be null and void. A wave of murderous intent washed over him, and with a slight lift of his hand, countless ropes bound Neville, tying him up like a mummy.
Looking at the two boys now, writhing on the ground like maggots, Voldemort's fear quickly subsided. He was in control now. What was there to be afraid of? Even if Quirrell was a bit of a mess, he was an adult wizard, and with Voldemort himself in control, how could a couple of young wizards possibly win?
"Give me the Philosopher's Stone!"
First and foremost, he had to get the Stone, get his body back, and return to his former glory. This was non-negotiable. He waved his wand, and Harry's body flew uncontrollably towards Quirrell. Voldemort was certain the Stone was on Harry. He knew Dumbledore had set up these traps, and he knew his former Transfiguration professor believed in the prophecy even more than he did.
He grabbed Harry by the shoulder. Once he had the Stone, he would kill both Potter and Longbottom.
But to his shock, this simple action instantly turned the tide. The moment his hand touched Harry, it was as if he had grasped a handful of powdered flesh-eater. His hand, his wrist, and his arm began to melt away. Quirrell let out a pained shriek, and Voldemort felt an unbearable agony.
A curse! Potter was protected by some sort of curse! A curse meant specifically for him! In that moment, Voldemort suddenly understood how he had died all those years ago. But it was too late. The body he shared with Quirrell was no longer able to sustain a spell.
Clink.
Just before the body fully dissolved, he saw it. The Longbottom boy was holding a glowing red stone. The real Philosopher's Stone! It seemed fate had played another cruel joke on him. He had chosen wrong again!
"Harry Potter! Neville Longbottom!"
With his last remaining strength, Voldemort shrieked in frustration as the body dissolved into a foul, greasy puddle. A shadowy, gas-like thing then emerged, a black vapor forming a twisted face. It was Voldemort's remaining soul, abandoning Quirrell and trying to flee. Screaming, cursing, and spewing countless threats, it flew toward the door.
"Looks like I got here just in time," Dudley's voice boomed.
He had appeared at the doorway, right in the path of Voldemort's escape. Then, he did something that took everyone by surprise. He raised his hand and, with a casual motion, delivered a massive smack to the gaseous form of Voldemort's soul.
A golden light filled the room.
The shadowy Voldemort was not concerned. In fact, he was delighted. Just when he needed a new body, a wizard showed up at the perfect moment. He instantly recognized Dudley as the wizard he had fought in the Forbidden Forest and remembered his impressive physique. Voldemort flew directly at Dudley, intending to possess him. A mere slap, no matter how strong, couldn't harm him, for a soul has no physical form. As long as he got a new body, he still had a chance. This time, he would not touch Harry. He would kill him some other way. And he would take the Stone from Neville. Victory was within his grasp.
But then, Voldemort regretted his decision for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
Dudley's palm glowed with golden sparks.
"Hamon Overdrive!"
Hamon was a ripple of life energy, a powerful technique that could enhance one's strength and awaken their potential. It was also highly effective against dark creatures like vampires. A golden film of Hamon energy formed over Dudley's hand, illuminating the entire room.
The slap landed squarely on Voldemort's soul. The twisted face of the Dark Lord showed an expression of pure astonishment. Before he could react, he was sent flying, crashing hard against the wall. The black vapor scattered.
The black gas began to slowly re-form, attempting to gather back into its previous shape, but the golden Hamon energy from Dudley's palm had caused significant damage to his remnant soul. It failed to reassemble several times. In the world of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, Hamon only harms vampires, but in this world, things are different. Hamon energy could cause immense damage to anything with a negative or dark nature. This included Voldemort's soul.
After a long while, the black magical vapor finally coalesced, and Voldemort's form re-emerged, though it was much lighter, as if it could vanish at any moment.
"You dare... you dare..."
The Dark Lord, in all his former glory, had just been swatted against a wall like a common housefly by a buffoon like Hagrid. It was a disgrace. A complete and utter disgrace! Voldemort's voice was a raspy hiss as he stared at Dudley, but he didn't dare to make another move. Dudley had proven he could hurt him. That single slap had sapped five or six years' worth of the life energy he had collected in Albania. Another slap, and he would be truly gone.
But even with his fear, Voldemort's desire for Dudley's body grew. The Hamon energy gave Dudley not only muscle, but also an extraordinary life force. It was exactly what Voldemort craved. If he could possess Dudley, he would be back to full strength in no time.
Dudley's left hand was held up to his face, five fingers slightly spread apart, stopping just five millimeters from his skin. He twisted his torso fifty degrees, a bizarre pose as he faced Voldemort. The silver moonlight from the window above shone down on him. The imposing figure of a seven-and-a-half-foot man with bulging muscles created a truly shocking sight. A subtle BGM seemed to play in the background.
"Aiyaiyai..."
This was Dudley Dursley, under the moonlight!