"What do we do now…?"
Harry crouched at the edge of the stone bridge outside the town, absently trailing his fingers through the stream below.
Cold water slipped between his fingers, making him shiver. The breeze rolling off the creek carried a cool, damp freshness that erased the heat of the artificial sun overhead.
But nothing could soothe the panic churning in his chest.
Where am I?
What am I doing?
Is any of this real?
None of these questions had answers.
Ever since they left Fairy-Tale Town and fell into this place, reality and illusion were beginning to blur.
The stream at his feet.
The warm sun.
The mud under his shoes.
The bustling town just across the bridge—
It all felt too real.
Had some unknown magic transported him out of Hogwarts entirely?
To a wizarding village? Or… a Muggle one?
He cautiously lifted his head over the embankment.
Dozens of feet away, the dirt road stretched into the small town. Low houses lined both sides. People bustled down the street—laughing, arguing, hawking goods. Horses pulled carts. A troupe of dancers tapped rhythmically past.
A lively, ordinary little town.
Except…
Every single one of them was carved from stone.
Like statues that had suddenly come to life.
Harry slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from yelping, ducking back under the bridge.
Stone people?
A town of living statues?
There wasn't a wizarding book in existence that mentioned anything like this. If such a species existed, someone would have written about it.
And if Hermione had any explanation, she would've given it already—instead of sitting beside the stream like she'd been hit with a Confundus Charm, flipping the paintbrush reward over and over.
Maybe they were still inside the Trial Chamber.
Still on the road to the Philosopher's Stone.
But how was any of this possible?
Harry looked at Hermione. She always had answers. But today… she looked genuinely shaken.
He tugged gently on her sleeve.
Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. "Harry? What is it?"
"Well… uh… I just thought—maybe you're feeling a bit… you know… confused, so I—"
Before he finished, Hermione said:
"If you're asking where we are, I already figured it out. We're inside a painting."
Harry blinked.
"A… painting?"
"Yes. Don't you remember what the narration said when we left Fairy-Tale Town?" Hermione handed him the paintbrush. "And this confirms it."
"How could a paintbrush—?"
He froze.
A crooked, cartoon-like text bubble popped up above the brush the moment he held it.
[Wish-Granting Paintbrush: A magical brush usable only in the Painted World.
Make a sincere wish, and it will create the item you desire!
Uses remaining: 3/3]
"…What."
Harry poked the text bubble. His finger passed through it.
He looked at the brush. The stream. The sun. The wind. All too real.
His brain throbbed.
"So all of this… is a painting?"
Hermione nodded calmly.
She understood why Harry was struggling. When she first realized the truth, she hadn't believed it either.
But unlike Harry, Hermione had pieced together a deeper pattern—
The gadgets Vaughn had given them.
Fawkes's tear delivered right before the trial.
Dumbledore and Vaughn conveniently tricked out of Hogwarts by Snape's ridiculous "urgent diversion".
This was all planned.
And combining that with what the centaurs had revealed—
Dumbledore and Vaughn wanted Harry and Quirrell—no, Voldemort—to confront each other.
Hermione didn't understand why.
Nor whether she should tell Harry.
Was this a test?
Was there a purpose?
She trusted Dumbledore. She trusted Vaughn even more.
But Quirrell—Voldemort—was inside this world with Harry.
And that terrified her.
Above, in the magically concealed airspace…
Dumbledore sat cross-legged on a flying carpet, watching Hermione's troubled expression below.
"Miss Granger seems to be uncovering more than intended," he remarked cheerfully. "A flaw of yours, I think. Giving her toys and Fawkes's tear ahead of time… my dear boy, that breaks the spirit of a blind test."
Vaughn didn't bother answering. He was focused on analyzing every particle of the Painted World, eyes shimmering with alchemical light.
"She'd have noticed regardless," he replied. "Besides… she isn't the target.
Only the Chosen One matters here. And Hermione won't tell him—she's too rational."
Dumbledore chuckled. "How well you know her."
Back at the stream
Hermione ultimately chose not to tell Harry the deeper truth.
Instead, she examined the town again.
Harry peeked out too, watching stone women suddenly break into a fistfight—one punching a hole in a brick wall.
"…Right," Harry whispered. "Maybe we shouldn't walk straight in."
He scanned the surrounding forest.
"Hermione… maybe we go around the town?"
Hermione ignored the suggestion and asked:
"Remember how I described Fairy-Tale Town earlier?"
Harry thought. "You said it looked like a Muggle computer game—fixed rules, puzzle-based…"
"Exactly. Dumbledore and Vaughn created this place. They—"
"WAIT."
Harry stared at her.
"Dumbledore and Vaughn created this? Vaughn Weasley?"
"Yes. Vaughn."
Harry's jaw dropped.
Hermione continued, "This place has obvious Muggle game design elements. Especially that last logic puzzle. Very few wizards could design something like that—not even Dumbledore."
Harry thought back. She was right. Wizards didn't think like that.
Hermione sighed. "And Vaughn… well, Vaughn is… fond of pranks. If this is his game, then we should absolutely follow his rules. Otherwise—"
Otherwise, Vaughn's cruelty would crush them.
Harry visibly paled as memories of Vaughn's "virtual personality" training resurfaced.
"Right," Harry swallowed. "We'll go through the town."
CRACK.
Lightning slammed into the far side of the forest—exploding trees and sending up plumes of smoke.
Both Harry and Hermione gasped.
"RON!"
The far forest — on the opposite side of the town
Ron Weasley stood between three charred trees, white as parchment.
A patch of forest floor—previously a soft mat of fallen leaves—was now a black, smoking crater.
A twitching, soot-covered Quirrell lay inside.
"I told you! I told you the moment that weird puzzle popped up—that only Vaughn would invent something so twisted!" Ron ranted.
"This whole place screams Vaughn!
And I said we should follow the narration!
But nooo, you had to walk through the forest—"
"Silence, Weasley!"
Quirrell pushed himself up, trembling. He desperately wanted to cast a curse and end the boy.
But he didn't dare.
Harry was right about one thing: punishment lightning grew stronger each time.
"You've already caused three punishments. If you keep provoking the rules—how many more shocks do you think I can endure?"
Ron stared back defiantly, conveniently forgetting he was screaming two minutes ago.
Quirrell gritted his teeth, took out a potion from his bag, and drank it.
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Unicorn-blood potion, right?"
Quirrell's lip curled. "Did a centaur tell you that? Or did you deduce it with that empty skull?"
Ron flushed.
"Harry and his little sidekick," Quirrell sneered. "Two hopeless idiots."
Ron stiffened at "sidekick"—hit harder than he wanted to admit.
Quirrell smirked, then turned toward the stone town.
He threw a pebble at its edge.
Two stone villagers stomped over—looked at the pebble—
Then smashed it into dust.
"We need a method to enter," Quirrell muttered. "Ideas, Weasley?"
"This whole town looks like a chessboard," Ron muttered gloomily. "The stone people look like chess pieces."
The other side — with Harry and Hermione
They had reached the same conclusion.
Hermione threw a stone in earlier; the statues pulverized it instantly.
"Harry," Hermione said thoughtfully, "look at the houses. Every one is identical. Perfect squares. If each house is a square, and the streets are lines…"
Harry lit up.
"It's a giant chessboard! And the villagers are pieces! That's why they look familiar!"
Hermione poured cold water immediately:
"We still don't know how to enter safely."
"I think…" Harry scratched his head. "We have to enter as chess pieces. Like joining a half-played game and continuing the match."
Hermione blinked. She didn't actually understand chess.
But she nodded anyway.
"And how," she asked, "do we view the whole board?"
Harry froze.
"…We need a broom. Except… we didn't bring one."
Hermione lifted the paintbrush.
"We have one."
Above, Dumbledore clapped like a delighted Muggle watching a soap opera.
"Ah! Brilliant girl! Using the previous level's reward for the next challenge—I love this design, Vaughn!"
"This is from Muggle arcades," Vaughn corrected absently, still scanning symbols.
As they hovered above, Vaughn's alchemical sight revealed the Painted World's true form:
Symbols.
Endless, shimmering alchemical symbols.
Air, earth, sunlight, trees—everything built from runic building blocks.
He was stunned.
"…Albus. How many symbols did you use to construct this?"
"Thirty-six basic runes, thirty-four thousand two hundred seventy-two variants," Dumbledore replied casually. "Around three million symbols total."
Vaughn stared.
"You summoned over three million runes from the Aether… in two months?"
Dumbledore smiled.
And for a moment, Vaughn felt the oppressive truth of the title:
The Greatest White Wizard of the Century.
Then Dumbledore ruined the moment entirely:
"If you agree to a blood alliance, I could consider taking you as a full apprentice."
Vaughn's expression deadened.
"Heh."
It was both an answer and a rejection.
Dumbledore hid his disappointment behind a sigh.
Vaughn was too much like a young Dumbledore—brilliant, terrifying, and unwilling to be bound.
He would not choose chains.
The narration thundered from below:
"Heroes and Dragon's Servants have entered Chessboard Town.
Team A: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger — White Side.
Team B: Quirinus Quirrell, Ron Weasley — Black Side.
You will replace the pawns.
There is no stalemate.
Only slaughter.
Defeat the enemy King to win."
Harry and Ron reached the solution simultaneously.
Magic grabbed them.
Before Harry could blink, dizziness washed over him. Someone shouted—
"HARRY! WAKE UP!"
He blinked rapidly.
And froze.
The town had transformed into a colossal chessboard, stretching like a black-and-white prairie into the horizon. Mist curled over every square.
Hermione stood nearby—on a raised pillar—posed like a suit of armor gripping a sword.
Far away, on the black side—
Ron and Quirrell crouched on their own pillars.
"R—RON!"
Harry shot upright.
Then he saw Quirrell.
Not just Quirrell.
Voldemort.
"RON, GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Harry shouted desperately.
He tried to run. Tried to reach his friend—
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