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[HP] Chapter 151-152
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 14:30:02 +0000 UTC### [HP] 151: When It Comes to Shamelessness, the Headmaster Wins
The curse that came out of the Fate Draw seemed to hold an incredibly high priority.
Even though Louis had already fully fused with the Twelve Talismans, and even though he had swallowed phoenix flames with their purifying power, he still caught a cold. Who in the world could he argue with about that?
Even if Louis activated the Horse Talisman’s healing effect, it only made him feel comfortable for a fleeting instant—then he would immediately experience again the rapid onslaught of illness and its misery.
“So this is fate? Illness, once written into fate, becomes a continuous process. Even external forces can’t erase it completely—it just relapses again and again.”
Sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Louis rubbed his nose.
In his eyes, stars crisscrossed. Every person was wrapped in transparent, glimmering threads of starlight. When he looked up, he could see a single green thread twined around him, stretching upward into the whirlpool above.
Damm it—that card labeled [Illness] and [Three Days] had given him the fate of being sick for three days. No treatment could cure it.
Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing was about ready to pull her hair out. It was obviously just a common cold, but no matter what potion he drank, even if he improved temporarily, within moments the sickness would return.
Hermione, who had stayed with him the whole time, was utterly delighted—she got to watch Louis’s ears spewing steam several times in a row.
In the end, Madam Pomfrey vowed through clenched teeth that she would cure him, until Louis finally explained it was a curse and that it would pass after three days. Only then did she reluctantly let him go.
And today happened to be the third day. It was also the final day of the school year.
Tomorrow, all the students would board the Hogwarts Express to return home for the summer.
But for now, everyone was gathered in the Great Hall for the year’s last and most important event
—
The House Cup.
For this, nearly every student was invested. Louis, however, didn’t really understand what sort of attachment made them care so much about a mere title.
This year, the Cup once again looked destined for Slytherin. They had won the last Quidditch match as well, and the fifty–point lead cemented their advantage.
Banners of green and silver hung in the hall, and the Slytherin students were cheering wildly.
The other houses were visibly disheartened.
Because of one shameless Head of House, Slytherin had already won six House Cups in a row. The other houses were gnashing their teeth.
But this year was fated to be different.
Louis glanced toward the professors’ table, where Snape’s face was dark as thunder. Clearly, he already knew Dumbledore was about to award points to Gryffindor.
Sure enough, before the feast began, Dumbledore tapped his goblet with a golden spoon and called out loudly:
“Silence!”
The hall immediately quieted, and all eyes turned toward him.
“I am very glad that everyone has safely completed another school year. You have learned much, made many friends, and—most importantly—brought honor to your Houses with your actions.”
“According to the hourglasses, this year’s House Cup winner is, once again… Slytherin.”
The Slytherin table erupted in cheers. The other tables gave perfunctory applause, most students looking utterly dejected.
Dumbledore waited for the noise to die down, then continued.
“However—this year, there is one exception!” His voice turned grave. “Professor Quirrell attempted to steal a Hogwarts treasure. He very nearly succeeded. Fortunately, our brave students stood up and stopped his plot in time.”
“Therefore, I award one hundred points to Mr. Harry Potter of Gryffindor!”
The Gryffindor hourglass immediately rose by a hundred gems—but still not enough to surpass Slytherin.
Snape had been ruthless in docking Gryffindor points all year, so even with this hundred they only managed to climb above Hufflepuff.
But Dumbledore was not finished.
“Additionally, I must commend Mr. Ron Weasley for the wisdom he displayed at wizard chess. He too shall receive one hundred points!”
Now Gryffindor roared in delight—their total had nearly caught up to Slytherin’s, and clearly the awards weren’t over yet.
Everyone turned toward Neville Longbottom, who had also been among the troublemaking trio.
“I must also commend Mr. Neville Longbottom’s courage! He overcame his own timidity and showed the bravery befitting a true Gryffindor. To him, I award another one hundred points!”
Three consecutive awards! At that, the Slytherin students were beside themselves. If Dumbledore weren’t Headmaster, they would have leapt up to tear the roof down.
While Slytherin sank from elation to despair, the other houses cheered.
It wasn’t only Gryffindor who resented Slytherin’s behavior. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff did as well. They didn’t mind who toppled Slytherin—so long as someone did, they were happy.
Even the Hufflepuffs at the bottom weren’t upset in the least.
Among Slytherin, Louis was perhaps the only one out of place. His expression remained calm throughout, broken only by the occasional sneeze.
So what if it was the House Cup? What was the point? With Harry Potter and Dumbledore around, even if Louis worked himself to the bone collecting points, he’d never overcome an opponent with someone pushing from behind the scenes.
That’s why Louis had never intended to earn Trick Points from this—it was effort for no gain.
“When’s this going to end…” Louis yawned, listlessly tugging a chicken leg from the platter. It tasted like wax on his tongue.
His nose was blocked, his tongue numb—he couldn’t taste a thing. With his special body, he never even felt hunger. Eating was just going through the motions.
At last, when the bells tolled, the feast was over. Students filed out in order and returned to their dormitories.
Louis packed his belongings—most importantly, arranging for Fafnir and Hastur.
Those two, of course, had to come home with him, packed in with the luggage. He gave them a few careful instructions, and only when they nodded obediently did he relax.
“Wait… wasn’t I forgetting another pet?”
Lying down at last, preparing for a proper sleep, Louis muttered drowsily before drifting off.
Meanwhile, far away inside the bounded field he had completely forgotten, poor Norbert was miserably using his claws to loosen the soil in the garden.
Under the guidance of an unknown, transparent figure, Norbert had become a qualified gardener.
Who knew how much he had suffered? At the corners of his eyes, tears seemed to well as he tilted back his head and howled in unwilling grief.
“ROOAAAR!!!”
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### [HP] 152: The Soul-Stealing Scroll’s New Ability
Before leaving Hogwarts, every student had to sign a contract: the agreement that underage wizards were forbidden to use magic outside school.
This contract left a magical trace on their wands called a Trace, which monitored magical activity around it. If the Ministry detected signs of spellcasting near a non–wizarding area, a warning letter would be delivered at lightning speed.
This was called a Yellow Card Warning. It was only a warning the first time, but if the student ignored it and continued, the consequences were grim—their wand would be snapped and they would be expelled from Hogwarts.
Still, after a year of lessons, most first-years had already learned some control over their magic. Barring accidents, they were unlikely to become Obscurials.
An Obscurial was a twisted being born from suppressing magical talent and refusing to use magic. It lashed out with uncontrollable surges of destructive power, causing immense harm.
If Harry Potter hadn’t been admitted to Hogwarts, there was more than a ninety percent chance he would have turned into such a monster of destruction.
Louis signed the contract without hesitation. In the Muggle world, so long as a young wizard didn’t want to cause trouble, there was hardly any need to use magic anyway.
And Louis—well, even if he wanted to cause trouble, he had no need for a wand.
At most he could snap his fingers and ignite someone, or crush them into pulp with telekinesis and mental force. None of that required magic.
Harry, however, looked pale as he signed.
He had believed that, now he possessed magic, he would no longer need to fear the Dursleys’ bullying. But if he couldn’t use magic, how was his life any different from before?
“Professor McGonagall, I think you should consider Harry’s circumstances.”
Louis, standing behind Harry, spoke up.
It was Professor McGonagall who was overseeing the signing. As Deputy Headmistress, she was frighteningly dutiful, handling matters big and small—enough to make anyone collapse from exhaustion just watching her.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Wilson?” McGonagall asked crisply.
“Harry’s situation is rather special. Where he lives, he needs to use magic to deter people who bully him,” Louis explained. “I live across from Harry’s house. I see the way his family treats him. To be honest—it’s not good. Without some magical deterrent, Harry’s summer won’t be easy.”
Harry turned toward Louis in surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone to speak up for him at this moment. From the bottom of his heart, he instantly counted Louis as a true friend.
What he didn’t know was that Louis was only making a small gesture of compensation—for that kick he had once landed on Harry.
Professor McGonagall studied Louis with suspicious eyes.
“Mr. Wilson,” she said stiffly, “whatever the case, they are still Mr. Potter’s family. He must learn to live with them peacefully, not threaten them with magic.”
Harry lowered his head at that. He didn’t know how to explain what life with the Dursleys was really like.
“Professor, let’s be honest. Surely you know what kind of people the Dursleys are.”
Louis spoke slowly, deliberately: “I think even if Harry’s life in the Muggle world were a little better, it wouldn’t stop him from loving Hogwarts. Don’t you agree?”
Those words hit the mark, straight to the heart.
Professor McGonagall’s composure nearly cracked. She glared at Louis, her voice sharp: “Mr. Wilson, I know you are clever, and that you carry the blood of the ancients, but that does not excuse rudeness!”
Any other student might have trembled in fear at such a rebuke. Louis only shrugged, throwing Harry a helpless look.
“Well then, forgive my rudeness,” Louis said with an utterly insincere apology. Tipping his hat, he turned and left the castle.
Harry Potter—a child starved of love. Those who truly loved him were either dead or imprisoned. Everyone else either respected his achievements from a distance or sought only to use him.
Professor McGonagall’s expression flickered. It wasn’t that Louis had exposed her intentions, but rather that his words had stirred up thoughts she did not want to admit to herself.
She sighed, then turned to Harry, who was lingering, reluctant to leave.
“It’s time to go, Mr. Potter. The train is waiting.”
Watching Harry depart with such longing in his eyes, Professor McGonagall thought she ought to have a talk with Dumbledore.
No matter what, Harry was still just a child. He deserved a better childhood.
――――
The train slowly pulled away from Hogwarts’ little station.
As the castle receded into the distance, Louis felt no emotion whatsoever. In fact, he was even looking forward to his holiday.
Summer vacation, for Louis, was a time to return to the world of ordinary people and relax. He wasn’t like Harry—he had a warm, loving family. At home, he didn’t need to think too hard about anything; he could let himself slack off without a care.
Still, before slacking off, he had a few matters to take care of.
Yawning, Louis mumbled an apology to Hermione in the same compartment and promptly pretended to fall asleep, ignoring her puffed-up, indignant expression.
His thoughts were on the changes to Meja’s Soul-Stealing Scroll. That sinister artifact had altered after devouring Quirrell’s soul.
In the game, its effect was to stack layers with every kill, each layer increasing spell power. Once maxed out, it even granted extra movement speed.
But in reality there was no such thing as “spell power.” Instead, each soul absorbed gave him a slight increase in soul strength, and more intriguingly, allowed him to freely extract one skill from the soul.
That was… interesting.
For example, Quirrell’s soul had the following skills listed on the scroll:
- Defense Against the Dark Arts Lecturing Lv1
- Dark Magic Mastery Lv3
- Basic Magic Mastery Lv10
- Advanced Magic Lv2
- Muggle Studies Lecturing Mastery Lv10
The skill ranks ranged from None → Proficient → Mastery → Perfect → Legendary, much like draw tiers, with each tier further divided into levels. The higher the number, the stronger the skill; Level 10 was the peak, after which one could break through into the next tier.
One important catch: each skill could only be extracted once.
So if Louis chose to extract Quirrell’s “Dark Magic Mastery Lv3,” then even if he later absorbed a soul with “Dark Magic Mastery Lv10” or even a Perfect-tier Dark Magic, he could never take it again.
“Obviously the stronger the better,” Louis mused. “But as for Basic Magic, that’s harmless enough. Taking Quirrell’s version and using it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Beneath the cover of his robes, his hand brushed over the Soul-Stealing Scroll, and soon he had drawn out Basic Magic Mastery: Lv10.
As he absorbed it, Louis felt a surge of knowledge flood his mind—the experience and understanding Quirrell had accumulated through his studies of magic. His fingers twitched eagerly around his wand.
“No rush. There’ll be plenty of chances. Once I find the time to get a proper wand, I’ll see if I can actually cast magic now.”
For the moment, his wand was still just an empty shell. Even if he knew spells, he couldn’t channel them through it.
After all, he hadn’t learned anything as advanced as wandless casting.
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