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[HP] Chapter 119-121
🕑 Added 2025-08-21 15:30:07 +0000 UTC### [HP] 119: The Dark Assassin Ollivander
“Not… human?” Ollivander was dumbfounded.
The strengthening that came with becoming a Dark Assassin was self-evident.
Dark Assassins were monsters whose arms could carry the weight of a horse, whose fists could support a man standing on them. Three punches could kill a tiger, one punch could shatter a normal wizard’s Shield Charm, two would knock them unconscious, three would send them to the afterlife.
But beyond physical enhancement, what truly mattered was the accidental strengthening of his magic.
Under the crushing pressure of the black mist, all of Ollivander’s magic had been forced to converge in his brain, sharpening his mind and giving him unprecedented mastery over magical control.
And then there was the most terrifying part: Dark Assassins were essentially immortal.
As long as the Black Mist Sorcerer who created them still lived, the assassin would never die.
“So even though your life and death are in my hands, and I can torment you whenever I please, you’ve gained a power that would’ve been unimaginable before. If you think about it carefully, you’ve actually profited.”
Louis lounged in his chair opposite Ollivander, sipping his tea with a calm air. He even poured a cup for the old wandmaker.
“Here, have some green tea. Good for lowering blood pressure.”
Ollivander’s face twitched. His blood pressure was indeed soaring—but now, no matter how high it spiked, he couldn’t even faint. What once might have burst a vessel in his brain now felt like nothing but a drizzle.
Things had reached the point of no return. Helplessly, Ollivander sighed.
“This time I’ve truly lost everything.”
“You haven’t lost,” Louis waved casually. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t bother coveting your wealth anyway. Do business as you always have. I won’t meddle.”
Louis leaned back. “Understand this: I only did this to ensure my own safety.”
Ollivander rolled his eyes.
“By the way,” Louis asked suddenly, “could you custom-make me a wand? Doesn’t have to be the traditional type… maybe a bit longer. If it had some extendable function, that’d be even better.”
“Stop joking. That’s not a wand—that’s a cane!” Ollivander glared at him. “And didn’t you just promise not to meddle?”
“This is just a reasonable customer request,” Louis shrugged. “Besides, you still owe me for scamming me with that fake wand for fifteen Galleons.”
“You’ve got some nerve!” Ollivander nearly exploded. “Because of that measly fifteen Galleons, I ended up losing my entire life!”
“Calm down, old man. Show some dignity, the same way you do when you’re tricking others.” Louis noisily slurped his tea. “I’m not joking. I really do need a wand.”
“But you don’t even use magic! You’ve got no gift for it either—so what would you need a wand for?” Ollivander looked at him like he was deranged.
That monstrous strength of his was already terrifying enough—why play at being a child? For a moment Ollivander even wondered if Louis was some ancient wizard who had rejuvenated himself just to toy with others.
“I need a wand that can channel my black mist magic.”
Louis let a swirling ball of black haze form in his palm. The sight alone made Ollivander’s nerves tighten until he jumped from his seat.
“Relax. I’m not about to slap you with it.” Louis rolled his eyes.
“You literally did slap me with that just now!” Ollivander roared, though after a moment he sat back down. After all, being remade as a Dark Assassin had left him with a strange affinity for the black mist—he no longer feared it as much.
“In short, I need a wand that can guide black mist,” Louis said, letting the haze dissipate. “You now possess both black mist and magical power, and you’ve always had the gift of wandcraft. This shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”
“Yes… the design itself won’t be hard. The main challenge will be stability.”
Once the subject turned to his craft, Ollivander immediately became serious and dependable again.
“Since you’ve made it clear, I’ll do it. Don’t worry—I’ll craft you the perfect wand.”
With that, he stood up, already ready to get to work.
“You’re not going to measure anything first?” Louis was stunned. Wait a second—this old fox isn’t trying to trick me again, is he? Last time I picked a wand he even measured the distance between my nostrils, and now he needs nothing?
“Oh, those measurements for wands don’t actually matter much. Just for show,” Ollivander replied casually.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.” Louis stared speechlessly at Ollivander, who was already busying himself with work. After a moment, he said, “Don’t just bury yourself in wand-making—remember to train your new abilities, too.”
“I’ll get around to that later.” Having entered his work mode, Ollivander didn’t care in the least about master or servant. With a wave of his hand, he briskly dismissed Louis: “Go on, stop disturbing me.”
“You’ve got to be…” Louis rolled his eyes. Did I recruit a subordinate or did I hire a boss?
Well, whatever. The man was working seriously, generating income—Louis couldn’t really complain about someone making profit on his behalf. Might as well leave him to it.
“Wait—actually, I can’t go yet.” Louis suddenly remembered something. “Garrick, you’ve got channels for buying and selling magical creature materials, right?”
“Of course. Plenty of them. Why do you ask?” Ollivander replied offhandedly.
“Oh, I’ve got a steady supply of Acromantula venom. Help me sell it off, I’ll cut you in later.”
“Steady supply of Acromantula venom?” Ollivander turned and looked up at Louis. “Got a sample? Let me see.”
“Here.” Louis tossed him a vial filled with venom.
Ollivander snatched it deftly out of the air—only to crush it instantly in his grip.
The venom splashed onto his hand and the floor, hissing as corrosive white smoke rose up.
“…Looks like you’ll need to get used to your new body before you can start wand-making,” Louis remarked, watching as Ollivander’s arm blackened rapidly before just as quickly returning to normal.
“You’re right.” Ollivander nodded, examining his hand where the poisoned flesh was already vanishing at an incredible rate. “I should first accustom myself to this miraculous body. I feel like I can be far bolder with my experiments from now on.”
“Emmm, well—that’s your freedom.” Louis pulled out another vial of venom, one of the many he’d collected over several days. His storage still held more than twenty bottles. “Want to check the quality again?”
“No need. I’ve already experienced it firsthand.” Ollivander gestured toward his hand. “The quality’s good. Through my contacts, one pint goes for about a hundred and twenty Galleons. Not expensive, since most of my suppliers trade on favors—prices stay low that way.”
“Not bad.” Louis nodded. Stability was the true advantage of Ollivander’s channels. “Alright then, sell all of these for me.”
He set twenty bottles down in front of Ollivander.
That was everything—twenty-two in total. Ollivander had crushed one, so twenty-one remained.
A haul worth 2,520 Galleons.
“This much?” Ollivander was shocked. “Where in the world did you find so many Acromantulas?”
“The Forbidden Forest.”
“Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest has such dangerous creatures?” Ollivander’s eyes went wide.
“Dangerous? They’re fine. They all stay deep in the forest and rarely come out.”
“…Alright, never mind. If it’s you, I suppose it doesn’t matter where they are—they’re not dangerous to you at all.”
---
### [HP] 120: The Invisible Book That Could Turn Invisible
It didn’t take long for Louis and Ollivander to finalize the deal for selling the Acromantula venom.
Louis would get ten shares.
Ollivander—zero.
Not because Louis was being overly harsh, but because Ollivander had asked for it himself.
“I’ve no use for Galleons. If you come across good wand materials, just bring me some.”
Ollivander explained, “Acromantula fangs, or the fine hairs from their legs, for instance. That benefits you as well, since I’ve never crafted the sort of black mist wand you’re asking for. It obviously won’t work with phoenix feathers or unicorn tail hair.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Louis couldn’t really say much—after all, his subordinate didn’t even want a salary. “Oh, by the way, do you have any Galleons on hand? Advance me a little. When the venom’s sold, just deduct it from my share.”
He couldn’t show up with a shabby gift—those few coins he had probably wouldn’t be enough. Originally, he’d planned to sell the venom in Knockturn Alley for some quick cash, but now that Ollivander had taken it all, he could only borrow from him.
Thud!
A large pouch of Galleons landed in front of Louis.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Ollivander said, with the air of a man who regarded gold as dirt. “Take it. I don’t need it.”
Well, that worked out perfectly.
Louis had been worried about not having enough money for a decent gift, but with this hefty pile of Galleons, he could buy with confidence.
He pushed open the door and stepped out of Ollivander’s shop, still sensing the complex mix of emotions in the wandmaker’s heart.
A Dark Assassin had no secrets before their master. Any thought of betraying Louis would instantly set off alarms in his mind.
And besides, Louis had his clairvoyant sight into possible futures. Not once among countless visions had he seen Ollivander betray him.
“Garrick Ollivander is a clever man. He isn’t greedy, all his passion lies in wandcraft. He’s safe.”
Louis was very satisfied with this new subordinate.
“Now to pick a gift.”
With money in hand and no more unease, Louis planned to find something suitable for Hermione.
For Hermione… a book was still the best choice.
With that thought, Louis headed straight for Flourish and Blotts.
Diagon Alley had two famous bookshops. One was Flourish and Blotts, known for its complete collection, mostly new editions, and the most popular choice among first-years.
The other was a purely second-hand bookshop, selling only used or damaged books. The quality was often lacking, but the prices were cheap, and with some luck one might stumble upon rare old editions.
Though the odds were slim.
Still, when buying a gift, Flourish and Blotts was the place to go. Otherwise, it would look half-hearted. A careless gift was worse than no gift at all.
Compared to the last time Louis had visited, the shop looked slightly tidier—but only just. Books were stacked in rough categories rather than neatly placed on shelves.
The owner was a woman who clearly didn’t care much about appearances. She glanced up at Louis, saw it was just a child, and returned to her reading without a word.
Louis didn’t mind. He walked up and tapped the counter.
“Excuse me, do you have any books suitable as Christmas gifts?”
Realizing he was actually a paying customer, the shopkeeper grew a touch more enthusiastic—though only slightly.
“If it’s for a gift, I’d recommend the works of Gilderoy Lockhart. All rare masterpieces.”
Gilderoy Lockhart?
Louis’s expression twisted. That fraud?
Still, though Lockhart was a fraud, the knowledge in his books wasn’t fake. And he was a decent writer—at least in fiction. He had a talent for cleverly grafting other people’s experiences onto himself.
It was just a pity for those wizards who could have contributed so much to wizarding society—their life’s work ruined in Lockhart’s hands. That fraud was a bungling wizard no better than a Squib, utterly incapable of making use of such precious knowledge.
Of course, Louis couldn’t use it either, so he decided to ignore the charlatan.
“Hello, please wrap up a full set of Mr. Lockhart’s books for me,” Louis said casually, with the air of someone with money to burn.
Now that was a big order!
The owner of Flourish and Blotts instantly brightened, hurrying over with genuine enthusiasm to package the books.
Lockhart’s books weren’t cheap. His adventure series—covering “Werewolves,” “Witches,” “Yetis,” “Banshees,” “Ghouls,” “Vampires,” and “Giants”—all cost five Galleons each.
A sign in the shop even advertised Lockhart’s upcoming release: Magical Me, scheduled for next summer, which would be even pricier at ten Galleons.
The total came to thirty-five Galleons—a considerable sum, nearly as much as a Hogwarts professor’s weekly salary.
Louis paid without batting an eye. The shopkeeper, delighted, even tossed in a freebie.
“This is The Invisible Book of Invisibility. Consider it a bonus,” she said brightly, setting down… thin air on top of Louis’s stack of gifts.
Louis: ???
What in Merlin’s name was this? The Emperor’s New Book?
He studied the shopkeeper, who didn’t look like she was joking. Tentatively, he reached out.
Sure enough—there was a book there. Completely invisible, under a powerful invisibility charm.
“Whoever wrote this must’ve been seriously ill in the head,” Louis muttered as he flipped through the see-through pages. Only the sound of paper turning and the faint breeze of the pages moving gave it away. No letters, not even a sheet was visible.
At the moment, he looked like a clown pretending to perform a comedy act without props.
“This book is very rare,” the shopkeeper explained earnestly. “It contains advanced knowledge of the Disillusionment Charm. Read it through, and you’ll become a master of the spell.”
She gave a big thumbs-up.
“Of course… first you have to see through the invisibility charm on the book itself.”
“If someone could see through that, they probably wouldn’t need the book’s knowledge in the first place,” Louis shot back with an eye roll.
Sure enough, the author had to be insane.
“…Fair point,” the shopkeeper admitted awkwardly. “This book doesn’t sell well, and it’s hard to keep track of. I originally stocked three copies—this is the last one left.”
“What? You sold two of them?” Louis was stunned, wondering if the buyers were equally deranged.
“Not exactly,” the owner sighed. “The problem is I just couldn’t find them. I don’t even remember where I put them.”
Incredible.
Louis could only respect the twisted genius behind this book. It was truly absurd—and truly entertaining. He resolved to play tricks like this himself one day.
After buying the books, Louis headed for the Owl Post Office to mail his packages.
The Owl Post Office specialized in mail delivery and home delivery of goods—that is, owl rentals.
But on the way, Louis caught sight of the Quidditch supply shop. After a moment’s thought, he decided he ought to show Harry Potter a bit of goodwill. After all, he had promised Dumbledore to look out for him.
So he went inside and bought a broomstick maintenance kit to send Harry as a gift.
Since he was already mailing something to Harry, Louis figured he might as well include something for Ron too. He casually grabbed a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, had them wrapped, and sent them along as well.
Just a little pity gift, really.
---
### [HP] 121: Let Them See the Living Heir of Merlin
Louis was woken up by a faint rustling noise outside his window.
When he opened his eyes, he found the world outside blanketed in white. Snowflakes drifted down, adding a proper festive atmosphere to Christmas morning.
A rare sight—recent years had brought few white Christmases.
And really, if it didn’t snow, could you even call it Christmas?
“Louis, are you up yet?”
Mrs. Wilson’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Come down for breakfast.”
“Got it, Mom.”
Louis rolled out of bed, dressed neatly, washed up, and then finally went down.
By then, Mrs. Wilson had already prepared breakfast and was waiting for him to arrive.
“See? Our son stays calm no matter what. Not like other children who can’t sit still on Christmas morning.”
Mr. Wilson set down his newspaper and waved to him. “Merry Christmas, Louis.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad. Merry Christmas, Mom,” Louis greeted obediently. “Oh, how’s the bath gel I sent you working out?”
“It’s wonderful—feels so refreshing. Lately I’ve even felt healthier.” Mr. Wilson looked quite pleased. “That’s magic too, isn’t it?”
“Sort of,” Louis said casually.
“There’s nothing… strange in it, is there?” Mr. Wilson lowered his voice, clearly concerned. After all, he had seen potion ingredients before.
“Relax, there’s nothing odd. The main ingredient is dragon’s blood,” Louis explained as he sat down at the table. He caught the aroma of fried eggs and couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret.
His own cooking skills were half-baked, and he’d never managed to teach Hogwarts’ house-elves to make fried dough sticks. They did know how to make soy milk, but without the fritters, pairing it with bread just felt wrong.
He was starting to miss the taste of home.
“Dragon’s blood?” Mr. Wilson asked in awe. “So there really are fire-breathing dragons in the wizarding world?”
“Of course. But they can’t be privately kept.”
Louis finished and picked up his knife and fork, only for his father to interrupt again: “Aren’t you going to open your presents first?”
“What surprise could they possibly hold? Socks and magic tricks, that’s all,” Louis replied indifferently. He hadn’t even glanced at the Christmas tree when he woke up.
“This year’s different. You’ve got a lot of gifts—not just from us.” Mr. Wilson sighed, shaking his head in wonder. “Who would’ve thought our son would be so popular in the wizarding world?”
“A lot?” Louis yawned, turning his eyes toward the tree—only to freeze in place.
Underneath the Christmas tree lay an enormous pile of beautifully wrapped presents, so many that the tree itself was nearly buried beneath them.
“Where did all these come from?” Louis was dumbfounded.
“Owls brought them. If someone uses an owl to send gifts, they must be your friends at school,” Mrs. Wilson said with a smile. “It seems you’re very well-liked, with plenty of friends.”
“Of course—Louis is our son,” Mr. Wilson said proudly.
Clearly, the Wilsons had no real idea what kind of child they had.
“Maybe…” Louis muttered. He knew himself better than anyone. Given the things he’d done at school, any package sent to him was unlikely to contain anything good.
What if they were cursed? Or maybe when he opened one, a swarm of cockroaches would burst out? Or worse—something that sprayed pus all over his face?
These gifts were highly suspicious!
“Are there names on these gifts?” Louis asked.
If there weren’t, he’d toss them all out. If there were, he’d open them first, and if there was any trick, once he got back to school he’d make sure those senders enjoyed a good ten days or half a month of nightmare survival games until they broke down mentally.
Otherwise, he wasn’t Louis!
“Names? Of course. Who sends gifts without signing them?” Mr. Wilson chuckled.
All of them signed? That bold, huh?
Louis raised a brow and casually picked up a package.
It was a broom wrapped in brown parchment paper. The shape was obvious, and from the looks of it, the package was one of the least likely to hide anything nasty inside.
“Lucius Malfoy, with his wife Narcissa Malfoy and son Draco Malfoy, wish Mr. Louis Wilson a happy holiday.”
That was the attached greeting.
“Lucius Malfoy… Draco Malfoy’s father? They’re sending me gifts?”
Louis pondered for a moment, then looked at the other packages. Without exception, they were all from pure-blood families—
including the families of his tormented roommates.
Seeing that, Louis had his guess.
It seemed the pure-bloods’ first instinct toward the so-called Heir of Merlin was to curry favor.
He thought it over, then unwrapped the package that didn’t look dangerous.
Inside was a brand-new Nimbus 2000. Among brooms, it was like the latest sports car—far superior in performance to the school’s Sweeping series, yet just as easy to handle.
It wasn’t cheap. As a gift, it was very valuable.
A normal yet extravagant present—though useless to Louis.
For him, it didn’t matter what broom he had—he flew while carrying it, not on it. Switching from carrying a bicycle to carrying a sports car didn’t change much.
Selling it might be the better option.
“This is… a broom? Why make it so fancy?” Mrs. Wilson asked curiously. Mr. Wilson, however, had seen the Nimbus 2000 before—displayed in the Quidditch shop’s window.
“I remember it—the price tag was twelve hundred Galleons.” Mr. Wilson was stunned. “One Galleon is about five pounds—this broom is worth six thousand pounds!”
The Wilson family wasn’t poor. On the contrary, with Mr. Wilson as a renowned magician, they were well-off.
But spending six thousand pounds on a broom? Anyone would think that ridiculous.
“Who would send you such an expensive gift?” Mr. Wilson asked curiously, taking the broom from Louis. “It can fly, right?”
“Mm. The Nimbus 2000. In the wizarding world, it’s basically the equivalent of a Muggle sports car.”
Louis explained its value, and when his father heard it compared to a sports car, the six-thousand-pound price tag suddenly didn’t seem so outrageous.
“But isn’t that too precious as a gift?” Mrs. Wilson said worriedly. “Did you send them anything in return? Can your gift match theirs in value?”
She thought for a moment. “Should I prepare more pounds for you? You should give them equivalent gifts in return—equal exchange is the key to maintaining friendships.”
Six thousand pounds wasn’t much for the Wilsons; they could easily afford it. But Mrs. Wilson truly worried about her son’s social dealings. Mr. Wilson, on the other hand, was too busy examining the flying broom with fascination.
“Don’t worry, Mom. My return gift is more than enough.”
Louis thought about it carefully. Just being at the same school as them was the greatest gift he could give.
After all, letting them witness a living descendant of Merlin—wasn’t that enough?
---
