"That's almost enough, Professor Dracula," Dumbledore declined the vampire's offer to rub the three-headed dog's head, his voice tinged with reluctance. "Don't you still want to set up a protection level for the Sorcerer's Stone?"
Dracula, seemingly distracted, nodded. "Ah, yes, I nearly forgot."
Dumbledore glanced at the massive dog. "Whenever you have the time, you must give Fluffy a bath. It's far too dirty now—impacts the touch." With a final pat on the dog's head, he added, "Fluffy, time for a bath." The dog's bloated belly shifted, blocking the door.
As they entered the room, Dracula saw Fluffy standing guard on top of a trapdoor, its posture firm and alert.
With a grunt, the dog moved to the side, creating just enough space for Dracula and Dumbledore to step forward.
Dumbledore waved his wand, and the ring on the trapdoor was pulled up by an invisible force, causing it to creak open.
It was dark and deep under the doorway. Yet, with Dracula's exceptional night vision, he could see the situation clearly below.
"Tsk, we specially laid a devil's net. Professor Sprout is afraid that someone coming to steal the Sorcerer's Stone might break it," Dracula observed, glancing at Dumbledore with a playful smirk. "Also, I haven't mastered the slowing spell. There shouldn't be many wizards down there. Maybe this is a level specially prepared for lower-grade students?"
Dumbledore smiled but said nothing as he landed lightly on the ground beneath the trapdoor.
Dracula followed, falling gracefully into the cave entrance. After a brief moment, he landed on the soft devil's net.
"In order to protect the infiltrators, the preparations are thorough," he sighed, his voice low as he lay still on the net, careful not to disturb its strong, dark energy.
After a moment, Dracula stood and, alongside Dumbledore, walked down the stone corridor past the Devil's Net, heading toward the brightly lit room ahead.
The room was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling. Countless birds, gleaming like jewels, fluttered around, filling the space with an ethereal glow. On the opposite side of the room stood a heavy wooden door.
"Set up a wooden door, but left the keys behind, along with a few broomsticks?" Dracula chuckled as he surveyed the room. "Quite the game, isn't it? Keeping the birds in check to prevent intrusion. The protection has been transformed into a level-breaking game, but you've really thought of everything, haven't you?"
Dumbledore couldn't help but laugh at the professor's sharp observations.
"Professor Dracula, I knew it would be tough to hide it from you," Dumbledore admitted with a wry smile. "It is as you said. These obstacles aren't meant to keep out real infiltrators. They're merely designed to test and train the students."
"Test and train?" Dracula raised an eyebrow. "If I had to guess, these levels are for the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, aren't they?"
Dumbledore sighed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "As always, Professor, you see right through me. I do want to train Harry. He's a vital part of the effort to defeat Voldemort."
"So, for his sake, don't make the next levels too difficult," Dumbledore said, his tone mock-serious. "We wouldn't want Harry to lose his confidence before he even faces Voldemort."
Dracula's curiosity flickered. How could a child—barely one year old—have defeated the most powerful dark wizard in the world?
The two of them unlocked the wooden door with a casual flick of the wrist and passed through, moving into a room that still carried the faint odor of something rancid.
"There used to be a giant monster here," Dumbledore explained, wrinkling his nose. "Quirrell moved it yesterday. The smell hasn't quite cleared up. And now, if you don't mind, Professor Dracula, please set up the next level here."
Dracula scanned the empty room, his expression unreadable.
"Before I set up the levels, I have a question," he said, his voice dry. "What level of difficulty would allow a young wizard like Harry Potter to pass smoothly? After all, Hogwarts' first-year students can barely manage a basic charm. The spellcasting abilities are… well, let's just say, near zero."
Dumbledore smiled awkwardly, his eyes shifting for a moment. "I trust that under your guidance, Professor Dracula, the young wizards will make rapid progress."
Dracula waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. Let Quirrell give the troll a bath and stuff it back in." He sounded uninterested, his tone casual, as he turned toward the next door.
Dumbledore, slightly upset, followed Dracula through the next doorway.
Inside, a simple table held seven bottles of various shapes. As soon as they crossed the threshold, purple flames erupted behind them, sealing the door. At the same time, black flames burst from the door in front, trapping them in the middle.
"If you turned Snape's potion test into a logic puzzle, did he even fight for you?" Dracula remarked dryly as he eyed the parchment beside the bottles, a smirk playing on his lips.
The puzzle, though set up as a potion test, was actually a logic problem, providing the right potion directly to anyone who could solve it.
Neither Dracula nor Dumbledore were concerned by the moderately warm flames. They simply walked through the black fire, reaching the final level.
At last, they arrived in the final room, where only a massive, imposing mirror stood.
The Philosopher's Stone was hidden within this mirror.
Carved into the top of the ancient mirror was an inscription: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," which, when read backward , revealed its true meaning: "What I show is not your face, but your heart's desire."
Dracula stood still for a moment, a look of interest crossing his face.
"The Mirror of Erised reflects people's deepest desires—usually tied to a goal or ambition. But just like each person is unique, the Mirror reflects differently in everyone's eyes," Dumbledore explained, his voice almost teasing.
"So, Professor, what did you see?"
Dracula paused, his gaze softening before he spoke, almost to himself.
"I see endless fun, flying towards me," he said softly, his voice laced with dark amusement.
But Dracula wasn't telling the truth.
What he truly saw in the Mirror was not himself or any concrete thing.
He saw war—chaos engulfing the entire magical world.
Was that what he truly wanted? To find amusement in chaos, to stir trouble in the midst of destruction?
Perhaps the world needed more turmoil to keep things interesting.
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