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[HP] Chapter 153-155
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 14:30:01 +0000 UTC### [HP] 153: The Mask Research That Could Begin Anytime
Summer vacation did not turn out to be the leisurely holiday Louis had hoped for. Mrs. Wilson had already used up her annual leave on making their romantic trip to France even more romantic.
So this year, there was nowhere to go—they could only stay home.
In Louis’s room, Fafnir and Hastur were wrestling over a piece of cat food.
The Wilsons had quickly accepted Louis’s new “pets,” thoughtfully preparing a soft cat bed and a rather useless litter tray for Hastur.
Most importantly, they bought several big bags of freeze-dried cat food. Hastur loved it, which naturally made Fafnir sulk. With nothing better to do, he often tried to steal Hastur’s share.
So the two “cats” would start brawling, flying and tumbling around Louis’s room.
Fortunately, both of them obeyed Louis. At most it was just play-fighting: Fafnir would retract his claws and keep his beak shut, while Hastur refrained from swallowing Fafnir whole.
Louis let them fight it out—it was a way to blow off steam.
At his desk, he tuned out their noise while studying the object in his hand.
A mask, shaped like a tiger’s face.
The Tala Mask—the mask of the Shadow Legion’s ruler, a powerful artifact capable of commanding the nine tribes’ Shadow Army.
But it came with a fatal flaw: whoever wore it would gradually become enslaved to the mask, transformed into another Tala.
Because of this, it was almost unusable, so Louis had kept it tucked away in a corner until now.
Things were different these days. Louis had fully mastered the Twelve Talismans and even inherited the Demon Sorcerer’s authority—half a Fire Demon himself. The black qi in his body might very well be able to wrestle with the mask’s power.
After all, even when the Demon Sorcerer had been sealed into stone, he had been able to use black qi to indirectly control the mask. Now that Louis was entirely free, there was no reason he couldn’t do the same.
“…Still missing a few materials, though.” Louis stroked the mask, feeling the immense black aura within it. A glint of excitement flashed through his eyes.
Once he mastered the mask and summoned the Shadow Army, the fictitious organization he had fabricated as a scam would become unassailable. No one would be able to expose it—
Because it would be real.
“Sigh… why think so much?” Louis casually tossed the mask back into his storage space and leaned back in his chair, rocking lazily.
He had six more years to waste—plenty of time to slack off. The Shadow Army… those elusive soldiers were probably more useful for errands than for fighting anyway.
“Maybe someday I’ll start a courier company and put the owl post office out of business.” Louis chuckled at his own joke, eyes drifting across the street.
Harry Potter, after returning from Hogwarts, had enjoyed a brief period of peace.
The Dursleys, unsure of the extent of his magical ability, held back from bullying him at first, afraid of being punished by magic.
But Harry was still a child. He didn’t know how to bluff convincingly, and since he wasn’t allowed to use magic, his own guilty conscience betrayed him. Before long, he was back to being ordered around.
It wasn’t hard to understand. Children don’t scheme deeply. Harry naïvely thought he could finally relax—until one order after another slowly dragged him back into his old chains.
His wand was locked away, as were his broomstick and Hedwig. All of his magical belongings, even his homework, were shut back inside the cupboard under the stairs.
The only “privilege” was that he now lived in Dudley Dursley’s old bedroom. And Harry was already content with just that.
Too easily satisfied? No—this was simply habit.
He was used to being ignored, used to being mistreated. A little kindness was enough to make him overjoyed.
He had lived less than a year at Hogwarts, but eleven at the Dursleys’. Habits like that weren’t easy to break.
To put it bluntly, Harry was currently more skilled at laundry, mopping floors, helping in the kitchen, serving others, and hiding himself carefully than he was at using magic or soaring across the Quidditch pitch.
And this summer might well be the hardest of his life.
Louis opened the window to admit an owl carrying letters.
The moment an “outsider” appeared, Hastur and Fafnir stopped their scuffle and turned in unison, glaring viciously at the intruder.
The poor owl nearly tumbled from the sky in fright, wobbling before crash-landing onto Louis’s desk.
“Quiet.” Louis flicked out a Magic Hand to rap both Hastur and Fafnir on the head, then pulled out some of Fafnir’s dried mice to reward the miserable messenger.
That only made his two beasts more displeased—their eyes practically shot malice.
Those dried mice were their favorite treats.
The owl was delighted at first, but under the burning stares of two monsters, it didn’t dare eat. Clutching the snack, it fled in a panic.
“You two, be generous. There’s plenty of treats to go around.”
Rolling his eyes, Louis picked up the letters the owl had dropped.
There were two.
One was from Hermione. She wrote that she would be vacationing in France, so she might not be able to reply promptly during the summer.
Vacationing in France, huh. How come everyone loved France so much?
Louis felt nothing at all—if anything, he almost wanted to burn something.
He stuffed her letter into a drawer with the rest of Hermione’s letters, including the card she’d sent.
The second was from Cedric, the upper-year Hufflepuff.
It wasn’t unusual; the two had stayed in touch and could be considered good friends, though their conversations were usually casual and nothing worth mentioning.
This letter congratulated Louis on taking first place in the year-end exams and included some thoughts on Transfiguration.
Discussing magic was something they often did. Louis’s imaginative “Muggle-born” perspective often gave Cedric unexpected insights.
But now things were different. Back then Louis had no choice—unable to use magic, he could only talk philosophy. Now, after extracting Quirrell’s Basic Magic Mastery Lv10, he could debate on equal footing.
Louis quickly wrote a polite reply, adding his own thoughts to the discussion. Then he grabbed Fafnir—yawning after its scuffle—and handed it the letter.
“Go on, deliver this,” Louis patted its wing. “Every so often, you should actually do your job.”
---
### [HP] 154: Seeking Fiendfyre
This time when Louis returned home, he brought back everything he could—including the three Dark Assassin cannon fodder and Ravenclaw’s diadem.
He stationed them around his house as guards against anything foolish enough to show up.
Chuan, however, did not come back with him. As the only subordinate with real brains, Louis had sent her to search for Horcruxes.
There were still two Horcruxes whose exact whereabouts were unclear:
One was Slytherin’s locket, and the other was Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, which held the Resurrection Stone.
The first priority was the ring with the Resurrection Stone.
It was essentially a buy-one-get-one-free deal, with a defined search area, making it the easiest Horcrux to claim now.
The ring was hidden in the Gaunt family’s ancestral shack near Little Hangleton—about four or five miles away from the village—fairly easy to locate.
But at this moment, Louis was already regretting sending Chuan away.
“Should’ve known better than to let her leave. Now if I want to buy something, I have to go myself.”
Tidying himself up, Louis put on a top hat and prepared to head out.
He needed magical materials for his research on the Tala Mask. He planned to ask Garrick Ollivander first—if they couldn’t be purchased through official channels, he would consider other options.
Although it had been proven that his wand was fake and couldn’t open the door to Diagon Alley, Louis still carried it. He intended to replace it with a proper one.
“Dad, Mom, I’m heading out.” At the door, Louis finally greeted the indifferent Wilson couple.
“Go on, go on. Will you be back tonight to sleep?” Mr. Wilson didn’t respond at all, only Mrs. Wilson offered a vague show of concern.
“Back to sleep? Shouldn’t you be asking whether I’ll be back to eat?” Louis felt obliged to educate his parents—underage wizards were still minors, after all. They shouldn’t be so unconcerned.
“Oh, then will you be back for dinner?” Mrs. Wilson smiled from the living room.
“Yes, of course I’ll be back!” Louis sighed. “I’m leaving now!”
Sigh… growing up too fast means losing the warmth of being spoiled too soon.
――――
It was the peak of summer. The scorching sun seemed intent on blinding passersby.
Louis tilted his hat to catch the shade of the brim, glancing up at the blazing sun. His lips curled as he licked them.
Hungry.
Though he had swallowed phoenix fire, that was only a stopgap. It couldn’t truly satisfy him. A Fire Demon didn’t crave purifying flames.
Now, whenever he saw anything related to fire, his mouth watered.
“Maybe only Fiendfyre would suit me—and not just any Fiendfyre, but the kind that’s grown powerful enough to take shape.”
Fiendfyre was a terrifying magical blaze that consumed both matter and magic, growing endlessly until it manifested as beasts that attacked indiscriminately.
Its infamy came from how hard it was to control. More often than not, it turned on its caster. And apart from the Killing Curse, few spells could affect it at all.
Left unchecked, Fiendfyre could engulf the entire world. Hence, it was also known as Demonfire.
This was exactly the sort of fire Louis longed for. Just the thought made him drool.
Unfortunately, Fiendfyre was rare, and truly powerful Fiendfyre even rarer. Louis couldn’t conjure it himself, but maybe Garrick could.
After all, even a sixth-year like Crabbe had managed it in the original story. Surely a grown wizard like Ollivander wouldn’t be incapable?
――――
“Don’t look at me. I don’t know the Fiendfyre Curse.”
At the back of his wand shop, Garrick Ollivander shook his head as he continued crafting a wand, having just heard Louis’s request.
“You don’t? How old are you now, and you still don’t know Fiendfyre?” Louis mocked.
“I could live a hundred years and I still wouldn’t know something I’ve never studied.” Ollivander shook his head again. “Fiendfyre is purely destructive. I have no use for such a spell. I’ve never touched it.”
“But you can ask among the pure-blood families. Some of them, reckless as they are, dare to study Fiendfyre as soon as they come of age—sometimes even before. If you want, I can make introductions.”
Louis realized then that he’d made a rookie mistake—he had asked the wrong person.
The Ollivanders had always been upright, obsessed with wandcraft, caring little for destructive curses.
The Crabbe family, on the other hand, were pure-bloods and staunchly pro-Voldemort. Crabbe’s ability to use Fiendfyre in sixth year was due to his family background, not his own brilliance.
In truth, the Fiendfyre Curse wasn’t difficult to learn. All it took was a heart full of destruction. The difficulty lay in controlling it.
“But if you want to approach the pure-blood families, you’d better hurry,” Ollivander added. “There’s unrest in the markets. Lots of Dark artifacts are flowing around. Rumor is, the Ministry’s planning a crackdown.”
“If you wait too long, they won’t risk talking about something as dangerous as Fiendfyre.”
“Forget it. I don’t trust them.” Louis shook his head in regret.
Ollivander looked up from his wand, giving Louis a measured glance. “What do you want Fiendfyre for? To destroy something nearly indestructible?”
The strongest thing about Fiendfyre was that it burned everything. It was the ultimate method of erasure—perfect for keeping secrets. Even Horcruxes couldn’t survive it.
“No. I need Fiendfyre because I want to eat it.” Louis said bluntly.
Ollivander froze mid-movement, staring at him as though he’d misheard. He rubbed his ear. “What did you just say?”
“I want… to devour Fiendfyre.” Louis’s pupils turned golden and slit like a dragon’s. His aura of draconic dominance swept through the shop. “Understand now?”
Ollivander shivered and immediately averted his eyes.
“You’ve grown even more terrifying than before,” he muttered. “I’ll ask around for you. Hopefully I can find something.”
Just then, the shop bell jingled—a customer had entered.
“Handle them for me,” Ollivander said, resuming his work. “I can’t step away right now.”
“Oi, remember I’m the master here. Since when do you order me around?” Louis rolled his eyes. “And I don’t even know how to fit someone to a wand.”
“Just stall them a little. Don’t let them leave. I’ll be done soon,” Ollivander said offhandedly.
---
### [HP] 155: Cassandra
You really couldn’t say Garrick treated Louis like an outsider at all.
Muttering under his breath, Louis walked out of Ollivander’s private workshop and into the storefront. At the counter stood a customer—about one and a half meters tall, wearing a pointed wizard’s hat.
The customer was craning her neck to look up at the stacks of wand boxes piled to the ceiling, perhaps marveling at the layout of the shop.
“Hello, welcome to Ollivander’s Wand Shop,” Louis greeted smoothly.
He’d never run a store before, but he knew the gist of receiving customers—politeness, warmth, and just a touch of trickery. Simple enough.
It was a pity Ollivander’s was essentially a half-charity monopoly. No need to con anyone—otherwise Louis might have earned a few Trick Points on the side.
Don’t be fooled by the fact he already had over a hundred thousand points. In practice, that was just enough for a single legendary ten-pull. By the time the legendary lottery opened, who knew how much more he would need to save?
When the customer turned toward the sound of his voice, Louis froze for a moment.
Not because he recognized her—but because she was striking.
A blonde girl with the face of an angel, around ten years old judging by her build. She wore a finely tailored pale-green dress trimmed with elegant decorations. Her slightly upturned eyes made her green gaze especially sharp, and her long golden hair was brushed neatly to one side, the very picture of grace.
A new classmate? Louis rubbed his chin.
“Hello,” the girl said, her voice clear, her every word and gesture refined. “My name is Cassandra Vole. I’ve come to purchase a wand. Is Mr. Ollivander here?”
“A wand? But Hogwarts hasn’t sent out the acceptance letters yet, has it?” Louis asked curiously. “So eager to buy a wand already?”
The girl named Cassandra didn’t so much as acknowledge his question. She only maintained her polite, slightly distant smile.
“Forgive me. That’s a personal matter. Is Mr. Ollivander available?”
Ah, so she’s a proud little lady.
Louis shrugged. “He’s in the back working. Wait a moment if you like. Make yourself at home.”
With that, he flopped into the shop’s only chair, easily finding a packet of good green tea from Garrick’s stash and brewing himself a cup.
Apparently worried about his blood pressure, Ollivander stocked nothing but green tea.
Louis’s casual behavior made Cassandra frown slightly, though she didn’t comment. She also didn’t search for a place to sit among the clutter, but instead stood gracefully where she was—like a noble swan.
Good form, Louis noted.
By “form,” he didn’t mean looks or figure, but the way one sat, stood, walked, and carried themselves—the essence of a person’s spirit.
Take Cassandra, for example. Even though the only person present was Louis, she still held herself in the most elegant stance, hardly moving at all.
It wasn’t because of anyone’s eyes on her—she demanded it of herself.
A strictly disciplined person. At first Louis thought her aura was similar to that brat Draco Malfoy. But no—Malfoy was still Malfoy, leagues beneath this girl.
The shop was utterly silent: Louis sipping his tea in peace, the girl standing still as a statue. The atmosphere looked painfully awkward.
But Louis didn’t care. He wasn’t bothered by awkwardness. The girl didn’t care either, untouched by her surroundings.
It wasn’t until Garrick emerged from the back room that the stalemate broke.
“Hello, young lady. You’re here to buy a wand?” Ollivander said kindly to Cassandra—then shot Louis a puzzled look, as if wondering why he’d left a guest waiting while he sat there drinking tea.
“Yes, you must be Mr. Ollivander? I am Cassandra Vole.”
Cassandra lifted the hem of her skirt in a perfect curtsey.
Every movement was precise, as though measured by rule.
This kind of person—one who bound themselves so rigidly with rules—made Louis yawn without thinking.
What a boring person.
“Vole, is it? A very old family name,” Ollivander murmured, writing Cassandra’s name into a thick, ancient ledger. “Now then, let’s measure the necessary dimensions.”
Louis rolled his eyes. Ollivander really doesn’t mind the trouble, does he.
With a wave of his hand, animated measuring tools bounced over and began recording all sorts of strange data from Cassandra.
Cassandra, proud and elegant as ever, raised no objections. Louis, however, couldn’t understand why choosing a wand required taking a girl’s measurements—and even more baffling, why she accepted it so naturally.
Once the sizing was done, Ollivander thought for a moment before pulling out a wand.
“Elm, unicorn hair, eleven inches. Try it.”
He handed it to Cassandra.
She accepted it with practiced ease, giving it a casual flick. A sudden gust of wind toppled a mountain of wand boxes.
Seeing the wand’s reaction, Garrick shook his head. “Not this one.”
He bent down, retrieved another, and passed it over.
“Hawthorn, dragon heartstring, ten inches.”
This time, a jet of flame burst from the tip—nearly setting Ollivander’s hair on fire. Fortunately, the old wandmaker was agile enough to dodge in time.
Gulp. Louis swallowed hard, distressed.
“Mmm. A promising reaction,” Ollivander said, oblivious to Louis’s unease. “But I believe it must be this one: Elm, dragon heartstring, ten inches.”
He presented a third wand.
The instant Cassandra took it, she felt a strange harmony. The wand thrilled in her grasp, shimmering with golden light.
… … …
Suddenly, Cassandra’s breath caught. In that resonance, she seemed to feel the wand core itself breathing. The dragon’s sinew pulsed with raw power, but then—it faltered.
It was afraid.
Through their bond, Cassandra instinctively turned her gaze toward Louis, who was lounging in his chair, yawning.
The terror from the wand seemed to stem from him.
Who is he? Why does merely standing there make a wand recoil in fear?
“Yes, this is the one,” Ollivander nodded. “Elegant and strong. A perfect fit for you.”
But Cassandra appeared distracted, still staring at Louis.
“This wand is nine Galleons,” Garrick reminded her.
She blinked back to herself, apologizing softly. “Forgive me—I was distracted. Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander.”
She paid, cast one last deep look at Louis, then turned and left.
“Remarkable,” Ollivander said after she was gone, watching Louis wipe a tear from the corner of his eye brought on by yawning. “Simply sitting there, and you made a wand’s faint consciousness tremble in fear.”
As a wandmaker, who believed wands were alive, he could feel their emotions.
The wand’s reaction had been like that of a lesser being under natural oppression.
And that was dragon sinew!
---
PS: Cassandra is an original game character. The author doesn’t know her deeply, but will do their best to flesh out her personality and role. If you have thoughts or suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comments.
