HP: The Wizard Slayer

"That was fun..." Toji muttered, strolling through the dimly lit streets of the black market. He blew a bubble of gum, the pink orb popping loudly as he turned a corner, blending seamlessly into the suspicious crowd. Behind him, in a narrow alley, three wizards lay battered and groaning, their broken wands shoved rather creatively into each nostril.

Toji didn't spare them another glance. His hands casually stuffed in his pockets, he meandered through the maze of shady vendors and shadowy figures hawking dubious wares. "They are taking their sweet time, aren't they?" he mused to himself, his smirk widening as he pulled a glowing red object from his pocket.

The Philosopher's Stone gleamed in his palm, its vibrant light drawing curious stares from the occasional passerby. Toji didn't care—he wasn't exactly trying to be subtle. Tossing the Stone lightly into the air, he caught it with practiced ease, as if it were a toy rather than one of the most coveted artifacts in wizarding history.

"I'm sure he knows it's gone by now," he murmured, a chuckle escaping his lips. "And since I'm the only unexpected player in the game, it's not like he's got many suspects to choose from."

He continued tossing the Stone idly, letting it catch the faint glow of lantern light as it arced through the air. Despite its supposed legendary properties—turning metal to gold, granting immortality—it felt oddly mundane in his hand. "Turning people immortal, endless wealth... You'd think everyone would be foaming at the mouth for this thing. Hell, even a Dark Lord would give their wand arm for a shot at it."

He stopped in front of a stall selling suspicious-looking potions and cursed trinkets, the vendor eyeing him nervously. Toji returned the Stone to his pocket, his grin never faltering. "But no," he continued to himself, "it's almost like they've forgotten it exists. Maybe they've gotten too comfortable waving their little sticks around. Makes you wonder what they'd do if someone really shook things up."

A sharp glint of mischief lit up his eyes as he turned and walked further into the market. The thought amused him. Wizards had magic, sure, but at the end of the day, they were human—short-sighted, greedy, and far too predictable.

"Maybe it's time to remind them what's at stake," he muttered under his breath, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't about to let the world treat something this powerful as a mere footnote. If no one else was going to make things interesting, he'd just have to take the lead.

Sliding his hands back into his pockets, he vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only the faint echo of his gum popping. Somewhere, deep in the twisting alleys of Diagon Alley's black market, a storm was brewing—and Toji Fushiguro was holding all the cards.

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It was early morning in Diagon Alley, the kind of time when the streets were usually quiet save for a few shopkeepers setting up for the day. A man in a pinstriped suit, carrying a briefcase, walked briskly toward his office. He had an important meeting to attend and couldn't afford to be late. Waking early, taking his usual route, and heading to work—just another mundane day.

Or so he thought.

As he made his way down the cobblestone street, he noticed something unusual—an odd buzz of chatter rising in the distance. It wasn't normal for so many people to be out this early, let alone so noisy. His curiosity piqued, he quickened his pace, following the sound until he reached a large crowd gathered near the heart of Diagon Alley.

"Excuse me, sir," he asked a man standing near the edge of the group, chatting animatedly with his friend. "What's going on so early in the morning?"

The man gestured ahead, his face a mix of excitement and disbelief. "What's going on? Can't you see for yourself?"

The crowd blocked his view, but the buzz of murmurs and gasps only heightened his curiosity. He pushed his way forward, mumbling apologies as he wriggled through the throng. Finally, he reached the front, and the sight that greeted him made his jaw drop.

The Diagon Alley he had walked through countless times—humble, charming, filled with memories of his first trip with his parents to buy school supplies—was gone. In its place was a version so ostentatious it could blind you. Every surface that had once been mundane was now gilded. Window frames, door handles, and even the lampposts shimmered in dazzling gold.

The man blinked, momentarily blinded by the absurdly shiny scene. But that wasn't the most shocking part.

In the middle of the street, on a hastily erected wooden board, letters crudely cut from solid gold spelled out a ridiculous message:

AUCTIONING OFF THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE!

GET ETERNAL LIFE! GET MONEY! GET BITCHES!

THE PROOF? HERE IT IS.

The letters sparkled as if taunting the gawking crowd.

The man stared, his briefcase slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground. "The Philosopher's Stone?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He had only heard of it in fantastical stories, a legendary artifact said to grant immortality and endless wealth. But now it was here, for sale, and apparently, so were some… other perks.

He gulped, his throat dry. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend how much gold such a thing could fetch. Even selling everything in the Gringotts vault wouldn't scratch the surface of its value. He cursed under his breath, muttering, "I'm too bloody poor for this…"

But while he was poor, he wasn't stupid. His eyes darted around the golden street, and an idea struck him. If he couldn't buy the Stone, he could at least take something.

With a deep breath, he dove to the ground, frantically clawing at the gold plating on the cobblestones. His fingers scraped at the metal, desperately trying to pry it loose. The sight of him sent a ripple through the crowd.

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, as if struck by the same idea all at once, the other wizards lunged forward. "He's right!" someone shouted. "The gold's real! Grab it!"

The crowd erupted into chaos. Wizards shoved and scrambled, wands drawn, spells flying, punches thrown as they fought for pieces of the golden wonderland. Shopkeepers screamed as people ripped gold from their windows and doors. A furious duel broke out between two witches over a golden doorknob. In seconds, Diagon Alley had devolved into a frenzy of greed-fueled madness.

And above it all, perched on a rooftop, Toji watched the chaos unfold, his arms crossed and a grin plastered across his face. He leaned casually against a chimney, looking down at the rampaging crowd with the satisfaction of an artist admiring his masterpiece.

His laughter echoed through the alley, loud and unapologetic. "Now this is what the plot should feel like," he chuckled, tossing the real Philosopher's Stone into the air and catching it lazily.

"Eternal life, endless wealth, and people losing their minds for a bit of shiny metal," Toji muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I knew it, wizards are at the end of the day humans, and they are so predictable. I should charge admission for this."

As the chaos continued to spiral out of control, Toji leaned back, popping a bubble of gum and letting it burst loudly. "Maybe I'll really auction it off if they keep dismissing me." he mused, a mischievous gleam in his emerald eyes.

For now, though, he was content to let them fight over scraps. After all, he had a front-row seat to the best show in Diagon Alley.