Inside the water prison, Voldemort's face was ashen. Hearing Dumbledore's words, his pupils shrank.
Caught… That humiliation was worse than death itself!
No. He couldn't waste any more time—he had to escape.
But then his eyes fell on the Demon Lord's Sword in his hand, and hesitation struck.
That sword wasn't his. He still needed it, to trade for the Philosopher's Stone!
What he didn't know was that the Stone had already been shattered into fragments and absorbed by Louis—there was nothing left to trade for.
Even so, the hesitation lasted only a heartbeat. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, instantly recognized what mattered most.
The sword and the Stone were trivial. If he allowed himself to fall into Dumbledore's hands in this state, he was finished.
With that thought, Voldemort abandoned both his current body and the sword. He cast a dark spell, turning into a cloud of black mist that seeped out of Quirrell's body—and out of the water prison.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. He tried to split his focus and cast wandlessly, but that black mist seemed to ignore all magical power, slipping past his spells to escape right before his eyes.
"So, he slipped away after all?" Dumbledore sighed, dispelling the prison.
The mass of water splashed down, pooling across the floor in shallow sheets. The razor-edged Demon Lord's Sword fell straight down, piercing the stone tiles to stand upright.
Quirrell's dying body slumped into the water beside it.
"Headmaster Dumbledore! Save me—save my body!" Quirrell cried in panic, begging desperately.
"Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said slowly, "even if I do save you, you must face punishment. You aided Voldemort in infiltrating Hogwarts—that is no small crime."
"But Headmaster Dumbledore, I was forced! The moment I had the chance, I came running to report it to you." Quirrell's spectral face twisted with lifelike desperation. "Please—use the Philosopher's Stone to heal me!"
"The Philosopher's Stone!" Dumbledore's heart jolted as Quirrell's words reminded him of the real issue.
The Stone! Where was it?
He rushed to Quirrell's body, searching carefully.
"Not on him." Dumbledore's expression darkened.
Strange. Voldemort, in that mist form, shouldn't have been able to carry anything away. So where could the Stone be, if not on Quirrell?
"It was Dio Brando!" Quirrell shrieked suddenly, his voice cracking with hysteria. "It was him—it was him who took the Stone! No! I'm finished, I'm finished!"
Ripples spread across the water at their feet, and for a moment the faint face of a bewitching woman flickered on the surface.
Neither the frantic Quirrell nor the focused Dumbledore noticed.
Dio Brando?
Dumbledore's sharp mind instantly recalled the half-finished warning Harry had gasped before fainting.
"Who exactly is this Dio Brando?" Dumbledore demanded.
But Quirrell was lost in total despair, clutching his head and ignoring the question completely.
"Don't be nervous, Quirrell. Your injuries can be healed with phoenix tears." Dumbledore tried to comfort him.
The reassurance, aimed at the core issue, eased Quirrell's panic instantly.
"Now, Quirrell—tell me. Who is Dio Brando? And who was it that turned you into… this?" Dumbledore asked in a grave tone.
This was crucial. That so-called "Dio Brando" was very likely the mysterious figure hidden in Hogwarts, the one helping Voldemort stir chaos—perhaps even the "deeper darkness" Firenze had warned of.
"Dio Brando is the leader of the United Villains of the World, All One Big Family organization. His purpose was to test Voldemort, to see if he was worthy of joining their ranks," Quirrell blurted quickly.
"What… what 'One Big Family'?" Dumbledore's first reaction was that Quirrell was mocking him.
What kind of ridiculous name was that? Some kind of joke?
Apologize to every villain in the world!
"That's really the name. The organization is powerful. Dio Brando's subordinates include a female examiner who has been monitoring Voldemort, as well as other strange-looking but formidable lieutenants."
Quirrell continued, "I'm not lying, Dumbledore! That so-called examiner—the woman—she was the one who helped the three-headed dog chase down Snape."
"Examiner? Water? Not good!" Dumbledore's gaze snapped to the puddles at his feet. Alarmed, he seized Quirrell, preparing to Apparate away.
Suddenly, an aura of evil so overwhelming it made even Dumbledore's hair stand on end surged upward from below. Quirrell, beside him, shrieked in horror like prey glimpsing its predator.
A colossal skeletal hand erupted from the water, seized Quirrell in its grasp, and—amid his screams—dragged him down into a sinister scroll.
The scroll fell, landing lightly into a slender, lavender-hued hand.
That hand extended from the water's surface alone, with no body attached.
But soon, more followed. Smooth pale skin, long limbs twined with a golden whip—until the voluptuous figure of Chuan rose fully from the water, appearing before Dumbledore.
"Greetings, Professor Dumbledore. On behalf of my master, I extend you regards." She bent gracefully at the waist, bowing with an elegance that was both mocking and alluring.
"Your master?" Dumbledore's grip on the Elder Wand tightened. "You mean… Dio Brando?"
"Oh, hohoho~ you jest. Dio is merely one of our organization's cadres. My master is someone far above us—an existence beyond compare."
Chuan laughed sweetly, her full chest trembling with the motion.
This woman—this ability… and she claims to be only a servant? Her power over water is more bizarre than blood curses themselves.
Dumbledore's face hardened. "What is your purpose?"
He raised his wand slightly, prepared to strike her down.
"Our purpose? Simple. To gather all the villains of this world… and bring them under unified management. But today, my goal is merely to clean up the loose ends." Chuan's smile faded as her eyes settled on the Elder Wand. "Tell me, Dumbledore—do you really mean to kill me?"
Dumbledore's pupils contracted. His usually gentle gaze sharpened into cold ferocity.
His wand rose. Without a word, a Stunning Spell shot forth—fast, efficient, the kind of silent casting that could catch ninety-seven percent of wizards off guard.
But Dumbledore was fast… and Chuan's whip was faster.
The golden whip around her arm lashed out like a living serpent, coiling around the orb of spell-light. Incredibly, it seized the magic itself.
"What—?"
Dumbledore's eyes widened, more shaken than he had been even by the Demon Lord's Sword cutting through spells.
The golden whip gave a twitch, and the spell shattered like glass. Chuan, unruffled, slowly sank back into the water.
"Do not worry, Professor Dumbledore. We'll have plenty of opportunities to meet again in the future."
Before Dumbledore could unleash a stronger spell, she vanished beneath the rippling surface.
The Demon Lord's Sword disappeared with her.
Dumbledore stood in the spreading puddles, face grim. Suddenly, the anguished cry of Fawkes echoed from the direction of the Headmaster's office.
He spun around, heart clenched.
"Fawkes?"
---
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