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The Joestars had many artefacts, placed about their mansion for function and aesthetics. Dio had spent many an afternoon researching them, probing them with his magic to unravel their secrets, and manipulating George to discuss them in detail. After all, the estate would one day be his, and everything in it his to use.
It had all been.
There was one artefact Dio had found after unravelling old locking charms and security enchantments. The sheet upon it had been dusty; so not even a house elf had been allowed inside to clean it.
It was a mirror.
It had been Dio’s favourite, for it reflected everything he had dreamed of. Everything he loved.
Himself; taller and stronger, lounging upon a luxurious throne of sculpted gold, a crown upon his head. Riches adorning his body, heaped in enormous piles about him, precious and priceless. And at his feet, people with their hands and foreheads to the floor, prostrating themselves to their ruler.
Oh, what a dizzying, beautiful vision! Everything he had ever wanted. All there, in the mirror. So real, he could almost touch it...
It had to be only one thing. His destiny.
That was his only explanation. None of the books in the library had spoken of a magical mirror such as this. Day after day, Dio had been drawn back.
Inevitably, it had all been ruined.
JoJo followed him. The mirror had enchanted Dio so, he had not even noticed the clumsy oaf sneaking after him. He had even forgotten a locking charm.
The vision warped and shattered as Jonathan entered it. Dio had almost throttled him then for the crime.
Of course, there would be no JoJo in his vision of the future. Jonathan had to die for it to come to fruition. But the brat had forced his way in regardless. Always messing up Dio’s happiness and pleasure. He would pay for it later.
But Jonathan had looked in the mirror, and oddly enough, saw his own vision. What future could he have seen?
‘Oh…’ Jonathan murmured. He’d put a grubby hand against the priceless glass, eyes growing wide and far too shiny. Dio remembered how he wished to burn those filthy little fingerprints off, to ensure Jonathan would never again mar his glorious destiny.
‘What is this…?’ he’d asked softly, enough it could’ve been to no-one at all, transfixed by whatever he saw beyond the reflection.
‘Shouldn’t you know? It’s in your ancestor’s house, after all,’ Dio had said, finally grabbing and yanking JoJo’s wrist.
Jonathan barely reacted, eyes glazed over and far away.
‘No, I’ve never seen it before…’
Dio dropped his hand in disgust. What a fool his so-called brother was. Sitting on a wealth of magical power and knowledge, and all he cared about was silly games and spells. One day, he would regret it all. His complacency.
Dio had not wished to share any knowledge, but the desire to prove himself superior won yet again.
‘Clearly, it is a scrying artefact,’ Dio had said, staring at the gleaming towers of gold, the priceless objects, the people kneeling at the foot of his throne. Everything he deserved.
Jonathan, the ignorant brat, had shaken his head.
‘The future…? That is… impossible.’
Dio did not need a wand to land a welt on Jonathan’s stupid head. JoJo slapped at it with a yelp, glaring back.
‘What was that for, Dio?’ he’d cried out.
‘For pretending you know anything about this mirror!’ Dio snapped, ‘it clearly shows the future of the beholder, you fool.’
Their yelling had attracted the servants; idiot JoJo had left the door open behind him. Dio had never experienced George’s anger quite like JoJo had; he found it rather mild and unimpressive. A night without supper was nothing. The slight loss of respect was far more infuriating, but easy enough to recover with time.
Still, Dio blamed Jonathan entirely for the incident. He told him as much on the glum march back to their rooms. What a fool he was.
JoJo’s shoulders had sunk. But before they could part, he’d turned, with that familiar determined spark in his eye.
‘It can’t show the future, Dio,’ Jonathan said quietly, surely, ‘my Mother won’t come back from the dead.’
An unpleasant jolt shot down Dio’s spine; but it had been easily dismissed. That was easy enough to explain, he supposed, and had hidden his smirk.
Well, it won’t be too long until you join her, idiot JoJo.
Dio was sure of it. The vision contained only himself and faceless followers.
But he had no ability to study the mirror further. The true punishment was its absence; sent far away by George, where Dio could no longer gaze upon his glorious destiny.
Perhaps for the best, he’d reasoned.
After all, he could not make his destiny a reality if he spent his life in front of a mirror.
-
‘My Lord-’
‘Do not disturb me tonight, Terence.’
He flicked his hand to wordlessly unlock the charms, but paused at the sensation of different wards. He, DIO, had not placed them. Vanilla would not dare, not without permission. But what need would there be? His, DIO’s, charms, would be more than enough, even for such a priceless artefact...
His eyes finally fix upon Terence, allowing himself to be mildly impressed that the man does not waver.
‘What is the meaning of this, D’Arby?’
‘My Lord,’ Terence says, dipping his head in deference, though it does not change his defiant tone a whit, ‘forgive me, but I believe that my Lord’s… continued visits to this room harm him.’
Vanilla stood dutifully by the door, his eyes narrowed at the temerity of the younger D’Arby. Malevolent magic gathers about him, ready to strike upon command. So loyal, but DIO knows now there is merit to questioning.
This, however…
‘Harm DIO?’ he says quietly, allowing his own magic to unfurl, ‘what nonsense do you speak of? How could I, DIO, come to harm?’
Terence shudders under the miasma of power, knees threatening to buckle, but he does not fall.
‘Not a physical harm, my Lord! But a malady of mind-’
DIO brings D’Arby to his knees. Vanilla stares at him with utter awe.
‘Do not speak a word of things you have no understanding of, D’Arby. Not another word.’
‘My Lord spends his nights in front of a fantasy-!’
‘Silence.’
Terence has no choice. His throat seals shut and he falls to the stone floor, thrashing until he begins to turn blue.
DIO unseals it before his minion falls unconscious. If it were anyone else, outside of his inner circle, he would let the curse kill them. But Terence has shown his value. And he is… loathe… to…
‘Vanilla.’
‘My Lord?’ Vanilla replies, sparing not a glance for his wheezing compatriot.
‘See that I am not disturbed.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Vanilla replies, voice thick with reverence.
DIO locks the door behind him with a wave of his hand. His own magic is thick in the air, rich with woven spells against sound and sunlight. It is dark, but for the lights placed just so around the artefact in the center of the room; to not starkly reflect while illuminating every inch.
Vanilla is the only one permitted in this room; the only one he can trust to prepare it without becoming greedy. DIO is certain that Vanilla’s desire is very real. He envies him, that.
It has been cleaned to a shine, the wine and glasses replaced afresh, the cushions adjusted and fluffed. Meticulous.
The mirror, his mirror. Such a twist of fate, that it survive the destruction of the Joestar mansion. All thanks to…
‘JoJo.’
The reflection was not of the future. No.
It was too lovely to be it.
Jonathan beams, hurrying up behind his reflection to throw a hug around his shoulders.
DIO holds those arms up, curling around himself. In the mirror, he is younger, he is not DIO, but Dio, with his own body, his own hands returning the embrace. It is Dio’s neck Jonathan kisses, Dio’s cheeks that traitorously flush as he turns to return a peck.
The brilliant, beautiful expression on JoJo’s face leaves DIO starving. He’s flushed with warmth, with adoration and joy. He meets DIO’s eyes and melts against Dio, eyes crinkled at the edges as he fully embraces the reflection.
He rests a clawed hand against the glass. Jonathan places his atop Dio’s, smile soft.
Jonathan rests his full, healthy, living head on Dio’s, brown curls mingling with blond locks. DIO trails a hand through his hair. It’s longer than Dio’s, heavier. Colder.
JoJo frowns slightly, his gentleness quirking with sadness. He strokes Dio’s hair, and the man stiffens, before leaning into the caress, eyes drifting half-closed. An impossible level of vulnerability. Of trust.
DIO cannot bear to look at it. It’s a corkscrew against his malformed soul. Violence more cruel than JoJo is capable of. He sits on the cushions, weathering the waves of regret crashing against his chest.
When he looks again, both are staring back.
Jonathan sits behind him, very slightly taller, one arm protectively around his waist. The other is pressed to the mirror.
His expression is one of complete forgiveness. Tenderness. Love.
DIO reaches, pressing as hard as he can, willing his magic to subvert reality itself, and to meet that warmth.
The glass is cold beneath his fingers.
-