130: Is There a Demon Living in His Head?

Harry Potter had endured many hardships in his life.

His aunt and uncle despised him, and his cousin Dudley bullied him constantly.

He never had a room of his own, forced instead to live in the tiny cupboard under the stairs.

He never owned anything truly his, and the best birthday present he ever received was a one-pound coin.

Harry Potter had endured many hardships in his life.

His aunt and uncle despised him, and his cousin Dudley bullied him constantly.

He never had a room of his own, forced instead to live in the tiny cupboard under the stairs.

He never owned anything truly his, and the best birthday present he ever received was a one-pound coin.

If a day passed without being beaten or scolded, without his oversized, hand-me-down clothes becoming the subject of ridicule at school, then that was a day worth celebrating.

But even after all that—

Even after a childhood full of misery—

Harry still felt that the torment he suffered today at Nolan's hands was worse than his entire upbringing combined.

—

"Uggghhh—BLEEEGH—"

Soaking wet, he lay sprawled on the ground, his body convulsing as he vomited uncontrollably.

After emptying the last of his stomach's contents, he weakly gasped, "Why… why did it suddenly start raining frog eggs from the sky?!"

—

Beside him, Neville (who was most definitely not normal) looked like he had just been fished out of a toilet. His entire body dripped with a foul substance, his robes thoroughly soaked in a revolting mixture of slime and filth.

With an eerily calm expression, he muttered, "Nolan Von Draugr… I swear I will kill him with my own two hands. Personally."

—

"After facing leeches, a rotting hag, slimy slugs, and a downpour of frog eggs… I honestly wouldn't be surprised by anything anymore."

Harry lay sprawled on the floor, utterly defeated.

"What's next, Neville?"

—

Just moments ago, he had been swallowed whole by a giant pitcher plant.

Its corrosive digestive fluids had completely dissolved his trousers.

And after that, he had been subjected to a public whipping—at the hands of Neville, who was wearing a skintight bodysuit.

Nolan's twisted imagination was beginning to make Harry question his very existence.

And, more importantly, whether the Philosopher's Stone was really worth all of this.

—

Yet, after countless humiliations, the two of them finally stood before what appeared to be the final space.

Voldemort—face blank, expressionless—cleaned himself off with a simple spell. Then, turning toward the inscription on the wall, he read aloud:

"Congratulations, Brave Hero. You have reached the final square. Now, you may kiss your Princess.

For what is a hero's journey without the traditional ending—sealed with a kiss?"

—

"Princess? A kiss?"

Voldemort's expression twitched.

Because standing before them—

Wearing a sparkly pink princess dress—

Was a Troll.

—

A filthy, swamp-dwelling creature that clearly had no concept of hygiene.

And the reason it was called a Pighead Troll?

Well.

Because its head was literally that of a pig.

—

Harry's voice shook. "W-We… we have to… kiss the Troll?"

—

Voldemort let out a snort.

"Not we, Chosen One. You."

He gestured toward Harry's ridiculous green cap.

"See your hat? You are the Hero. I am not."

—

"Oh, Neville, I can't do this—" Harry's knees buckled as he tore off the cap, his voice trembling. "After everything we've been through, I think—maybe—we should have an open discussion about this. Neville, I—I'm just not the type of person who—who wants to give his first kiss to a pig!"

—

"Neither do I."

Voldemort's voice was merciless.

Then, with a cruel smirk, he added, "Look, it's wearing a dress. If you close your eyes, it's not that bad."

—

...Had Voldemort just made a joke?

—

Harry stared at the Pighead Princess, his entire body trembling.

He swallowed hard. "I… I don't know if I can—"

—

And yet—

Voldemort encouraged him.

With a voice as smooth as silk, he whispered:

"You are Harry Potter. You are the Boy Who Lived. You are limitless."

"Believe in yourself."

"Think of what lies beyond this door—the Philosopher's Stone."

"You cannot allow the Dark Lord to claim it, can you?"

—

"You're right!"

Harry squared his shoulders with newfound determination.

"I must protect the wizarding world!"

And, like a true hero, he marched forward toward his destiny.

—

Meanwhile, at the entrance to the labyrinth…

Nolan pushed open the doors.

The first thing he saw was Hermione Granger, sitting in the Graveyard—the designated area for eliminated players.

Raising an eyebrow, he mused, "You ended up in the graveyard? Lucky you."

—

Hermione, unfazed by his sudden appearance, simply let out a heavy sigh.

"No," she said flatly. "My luck is terrible."

She sounded utterly defeated.

"I don't know if Harry and Neville can pass your trials. Their spellwork… is not the best."

"To be honest, my so-called 'trials' have nothing to do with magical skill," Nolan shrugged. "They're just disgusting little tricks."

He cast a casual glance toward Hermione. "This labyrinth was never meant to stop the Dark Lord. If he were at his full strength, he could blast these suits of armor apart with a few spells. Why would he ever bother playing by my rules?"

—

Hermione frowned. "Then… what was it meant for?"

—

Nolan let out a cold chuckle.

"Humiliation."

His tone was almost cruel.

"If you lack the strength to take something from me, but still dare to try—then you will pay the price of shame."

His golden eyes gleamed. "Granger, the one thing I hate most in this world… is a thief. Wouldn't you agree?"

—

Hermione's hands clenched into fists.

"We just wanted to protect the Philosopher's Stone..."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She was beginning to feel a deep, sinking dread.

"...Ron. How is he?"

—

Nolan sneered. "Madam Pomfrey is tending to Weasley. He hit his head."

—

Hermione stiffened.

"Hit his head?"

—

"That's right." Nolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "He wasn't struck by Dark magic. He wasn't cursed. He simply… fell over."

He shook his head mockingly. "Just like a Muggle."

—

A terrible realization dawned upon Hermione.

She could feel her breath catch in her throat.

"This labyrinth… no one else has entered it, have they?"

—

Nolan folded his arms. "Besides you four Gryffindors? Not a single trace of anyone else."

His smirk widened. "Take a good look at the mess you've made, 'heroes'."

—

"...Oh no."

Hermione screamed, clutching her head.

—

Had they been completely mistaken this entire time?

Had Snape never intended to steal the Stone at all?

—

If this was true, then—

Tonight, the four of them weren't heroes.

They were fools.

Four ridiculous little clowns, playing at heroism.

—

And worst of all—

They had ruined the professors' labyrinth and defenses.

—

This… this couldn't be happening.

—

Desperately grasping at hope, Hermione pleaded, "What about Professor Snape? He isn't here in the labyrinth?"

—

At her words, Nolan's expression turned… strange.

"Snape?"

He let out a quiet snort.

"I know you all suspected him. But up until a few minutes ago, he was with me. In fact, it was him who used a potion to save Weasley. Otherwise, that idiot would have knocked himself into permanent brain damage."

—

"...Oh Merlin."

—

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

She couldn't think.

She didn't want to think.

—

If no one was trying to steal the Stone—

Then they had just spent an entire night humiliating themselves for nothing.

—

They weren't brave heroes.

They were just four idiots.

—

And now, their names would be forever recorded in Hogwarts history—

As the biggest laughingstocks of the wizarding world.

—

Nolan suddenly tilted his head. "That being said…"

His voice turned thoughtful.

"I'm actually quite curious… why are you here, Granger? Why not Longbottom?"

—

Hermione hesitated, then sighed.

"Neville… he's changed."

Her tone was low, almost defeated.

"He's become braver. More confident. He even cast a Disarming Charm…"

—

Nolan's pupils shrank.

—

His body went rigid.

Then—a sharp intake of breath.

His expression darkened.

"Then he isn't Neville at all."

—

Hermione's heart stopped.

Her blood ran cold.

—

"W-What…?"

She could barely form the words.

A terrible, sinking dread twisted in her stomach.

—

Nolan's voice was grim.

"The Dark Lord possessed Quirrell once before. Why wouldn't he be capable of doing it again?"

"That night in the Forbidden Forest—Longbottom was there, wasn't he? He was close enough to us, wasn't he?"

—

Hermione felt her entire body turn numb.

—

"You mean to say—"

Her voice shook.

"You're telling me—"

—

She couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to breathe.

—

"Harry…"

Her lips trembled.

"Harry is with the Dark Lord right now?!"

~~~----------------------

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