Legend of Hogwarts (Harry Potter x League of Legends)

Both Quirrell and Voldemort were lost in deep thought.

The things on the floor were simply too strange, who would just scatter iron ingots all over the place for no reason?

Maybe someone else might do such a pointless thing, but Dumbledore wouldn’t.

The person who knows you best is always your opponent. For Voldemort, from the age of eleven until now, over sixty years, Dumbledore had always been regarded as his lifelong enemy.

So the question arose, could these neatly stacked metal ingots in Dumbledore’s secret defenses really just be for decoration?

Of course not.

Under Voldemort’s guidance, Quirrell stood at a distance next to the pile of iron blocks, carefully sensing the formation laid out by Dumbledore.

”Strange... no magical fluctuation... no traps... what’s going on?” Quirrell’s scarf was loosened, while Voldemort, convinced he was just one step away from success, patiently observed the mysterious array on the floor. Dumbledore had been lured to London by his little trick, giving him plenty of time to solve this final challenge.

Time passed quickly in their contemplation.

After an hour, the world’s greatest Dark Lord had completed his analysis of the array, using all manner of detection methods.

The result? The pile on the floor was not a defensive formation at all. It was really just a bunch of casually placed metal ingots...

Voldemort was furious. Deep down, he cursed Dumbledore endlessly for deceiving him with such a contrived scheme, but he reminded himself to remain graceful. After all, a loyal servant stood beside him, and he could not risk losing face in front of them.

So, to Quirrell’s astonished eyes, Voldemort took control and carefully manipulated the ingots with his wand, slow and steady, as if dismantling some unknown explosive device.

”My great master, is it done now?” Quirrell asked.

”Should be fine... I still underestimated Dumbledore. He left such a sophisticated defense for my arrival. But in the end, I have seen through it.”

Quirrell was deeply moved, and then promptly red.

Of course, that’s not exactly how the twist came. Voldemort’s verbose self-praise made him slightly embarrassed, but Quirrell fully believed him, after all, it was Dumbledore.

Meanwhile, in his dormitory, a certain student named Allen laughed quietly.

Why laugh?

The answer was simple: the system had granted him a bonus, a Recon Guard.

As the name implies, this device is meant to surveil enemy movements.

When Allen left, he casually placed one on top. The system produced one Recon Guard per week, lasting a day, perfect for watching the aftermath.

What? Stop Voldemort?

Why would he?

At that moment, Allen was pained to the core, he had given up the Philosopher’s Stone, didn’t even get a sip of soup, and Dumbledore had hoarded too much for himself. Ouch... that hurts.

So, he decided to just watch the live ”broadcast”, Voldemort wasn’t going to wreak havoc anyway. Let Dumbledore handle it.

Of course, this wasn’t Allen striking because he wasn’t paid. Really, he could swear on his dormmates’ honor!

Voldemort, using all his intellect, had no idea his every move was being watched by a single person. Allen had the privilege of witnessing Voldemort’s ”circle dance”, he twirled around the Mirror of Erised three times left, three times right, hopped three more times, and occasionally inspected the inscriptions, searching for a nonexistent secret compartment.

”Strange... where is it?” Voldemort muttered.

Of course, there was no reward, besides, the ”treasure” inside was fake, and Harry had already taken the fake stone as a keepsake.

But effort always brings results, even if sometimes the results aren’t what you want. As Voldemort meticulously searched, an angry voice rang from the doorway:

”Tom! Let go of that boy!”

(Me?)

At that moment, Allen felt like he needed a live-commentary system, his ”spirit of mockery” had been fully awakened.

Unfortunately, he had none. No one else was watching either, he alone witnessed the encounter between the world’s strongest White Wizard and the world’s strongest Dark Wizard.

And so, what should have been a dramatic, high-stakes battle turned into a slice-of-life comedy, after all, Dumbledore’s expression upon realizing the boy wasn’t even present was priceless.

An old man tirelessly seeking resurrection and an old man grooming his successor suddenly realized their plans had failed.

When Dumbledore appeared, Voldemort’s plan was already ruined. From that moment, the Philosopher’s Stone was no longer a concern, Dumbledore’s methods ensured it would never exist in the world.

As for Dumbledore, Harry’s failure to appear as planned meant the whole lesson failed. He had intended this adventure to be crucial for Harry’s growth.

But even with plans ruined, Dumbledore still had work to do.

At the very least, he had to deal with Quirrell, at least partially incapacitate him.

A fully empowered wizard greatly amplified Voldemort’s threat, introducing countless variables. Even if Dumbledore couldn’t kill Voldemort outright, reducing him to his weakest state posed no problem.

Faced with Dumbledore’s intimidation, Voldemort’s first choice was to retreat, he knew full well he couldn’t fight Dumbledore.

Yet, just as he prepared to flee, Dumbledore pulled out a small stone.

Even Allen, who had never seen it, instantly recognized it, the Philosopher’s Stone he had long sought.

As he suspected, Dumbledore kept it personally close, compared to any trap, Dumbledore’s own possession was the safest and most secure.

Greed for the Stone made Voldemort pause. He stopped his escape and stood his ground against Dumbledore.

In that instant, Quirrell let out a pitiful scream, green flames erupted from his body, intensifying the magical energy within him.

”Please, Master, don’t!”

It had no effect, Quirrell’s brain was now empty.

The flames reshaped his face, a chalk-white pallor, glowing red eyes, and nostrils long and snake-like.

At that moment, Voldemort regained control by channeling and burning Quirrell’s remaining life force—he was back.

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