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[HP] Chapter 116-118
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 15:00:14 +0000 UTC### [HP] 116: The Wand Has a Problem
Press the switch, and you can transform into a Giant of Light.
That was the information the system provided. Well… Louis still picked it up.
Though he grumbled about it, who could really refuse the chance to become Ultraman?
“If I can’t turn into Tiga of Light, becoming Dark Tiga isn’t too bad either,” Louis muttered as he pressed the switch.
Anyway, Ultraman could change size at will. Even transforming indoors wasn’t impossible.
The “Shining Stick” opened on both sides, dazzling light flaring from within. But the radiance was like water without a source—after just a brief moment, it sputtered out and vanished.
Louis froze, dumbfounded. He tapped the stick a few times, suspicious that the thing might be broken.
Nope. Still nothing.
Sure enough, it was just a damn scam. Maybe he should just throw it away.
Unwilling to give up, Louis poured his spiritual power into analyzing the stick’s structure. While he couldn’t fully understand its principles, he did discover something resembling an interface.
Naturally, it wasn’t a physical port for charging—rather, it was a spiritual one.
That interface connected to the light within one’s heart, allowing those with justice in their souls to transform into a Giant of Light.
But since this was a special edition supplied by the system, there was no complicated ritual or offering required—no “big bone soup” nonsense.
Unfortunately, Louis lacked that bright, righteous spirit.
In short—Louis was black inside and out, through and through. A bad guy. Which meant he couldn’t use the stick.
In the original story, someone did manage to transform into Dark Tiga by using machines in conjunction with the stick. But first, Louis had no such machine, nor the ability to build one. Second, the system’s note was very clear: this stick only contained the power of a Giant of Light, nothing else. No alternate transformations supported.
A straight-up legendary piece of junk.
Rolling his eyes, Louis tossed the stick into his storage space.
Now his mood soured even further. So much that he didn’t even feel like stirring up trouble.
Still, no matter how sulky he was, he couldn’t actually do nothing.
Christmas was an important social holiday. As a friend, it would be rude not to prepare gifts.
So on the second day of vacation, Louis grabbed his wand and prepared to head for Diagon Alley.
Gift-giving was an art, even among wizards. Careful selection was a must.
As Christmas approached, “Mr. Wilson the Magician” was busy as could be—just his stage performances were enough to keep him running ragged. He wanted to go with Louis to Diagon Alley again, but couldn’t spare the time.
Mrs. Wilson had work as well, so she couldn’t accompany him either. That left Louis to make the trip alone.
Fortunately, Louis had always been a mature child. The Wilsons trusted him completely.
All the more so now that he was a wizard—though of course, they didn’t realize that young wizards weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school. Louis certainly wasn’t going to tell them. After all, he couldn’t use the magic of this world anyway, which meant the Ministry’s trace was useless against him.
With keys and wallet in hand, Louis left the house.
Across the street, the Dursleys’ place was unusually lively. Likely, they’d just received Harry’s letter and were thrilled to know that “the freak” wouldn’t be spending the holidays with them.
“Heh.”
Louis sneered, and his body suddenly vanished. A gust of fierce wind whipped up on the spot before fading into silence.
The Snake Talisman. The Rooster Talisman. The Rabbit Talisman.
Using the three talismans together allowed Louis to fly swiftly, unseen by anyone else.
Normally, such usage would violate the principle of mutual reinforcement and restraint among the talismans, but with eleven of the twelve talismans already on the verge of collapse, those restrictions had become meaningless.
After countless days of honing them, only the Tiger Talisman remained intact; every other talisman was cracked and fragile, as though only a slight push would shatter them completely and force them to merge.
In that moment, Louis finally understood the revelation he’d received during Astronomy class at the start of the school year, when he studied the stars.
It had always been pointing toward the Twelve Talismans.
Grains of sand pile up to form a tower, drops of water gather to form an abyss—the message was clear: the twelve powers must be united, not as borrowed strength from foreign objects, but as a force Louis could command at will.
Why, in the original story, had Shendu still been toyed with by a dragon even after gathering all twelve talismans and breaking free from his seal? Why had he seemed bound hand and foot despite possessing the speed of the Rabbit Talisman?
Because the talismans themselves were part of the sealing system.
That so-called “mutual reinforcement and restraint” was merely righteous magic layered upon the twelve signs of the zodiac to bind Shendu’s power. The Tiger Talisman did more than balance the other talismans—it was crucial in stabilizing the balance between the black qi within and the shell of righteous energy without.
Thus, the Tiger Talisman was the true core of the set, the focal point where their righteous force converged.
Louis had dealt with eleven of the talismans already, but that was only half the journey. The harder part lay with the Tiger Talisman.
Still, it wouldn’t take long. He estimated that before summer arrived, he’d fully invade the righteous chains of the Tiger Talisman and fuse the twelve powers into one.
He just didn’t know what kind of transformation would follow.
In the blink of an eye, Louis appeared at Charing Cross Road. Even as a Muggle—despite having magic and sorcery from another world—he could not see through the Muggle-Repelling Charms.
But his spiritual power spread outward like a tide, covering the entire street, easily guiding him to the door of the Leaky Cauldron.
Inside, the pub was as lively as ever. Tom the barman was directing his staff as they decorated for the holiday, filling the place with a festive air.
No one paid much attention to Louis, who stood alone. At most, some glanced at his tall top hat. With Hogwarts on break, it wasn’t unusual for children to show up here.
Squeezing through the crowd, he reached the back door, pulled out his wand, and tapped a special brick in the wall.
What should he buy in Diagon Alley today? As Louis finished tapping and waited for the wall to open, he began mulling over what kind of gifts to prepare.
But after a long wait, nothing happened.
The wall didn’t open.
Did he get the sequence wrong?
Frowning in confusion, Louis stared at the wall.
Footsteps sounded behind him—another wizard heading to Diagon Alley.
Quickly, Louis vanished into invisibility and stepped aside. He watched as the wizard tapped the bricks in the same order he had.
This time, the wall opened, revealing the passage to Diagon Alley.
Louis slipped inside with him, but the doubt in his mind lingered like a cloud.
Why hadn’t the wall opened for him? Because he was a Muggle?
That didn’t make sense. All it should require was a wand.
Emerging into a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, Louis revealed himself and stared at his wand, sinking into thought.
He suddenly remembered that time when Peter Pettigrew had attacked him with his wand.
The rat had tried to use the Killing Curse—but it hadn’t worked. Almost as if he didn’t know how to cast it at all.
But how could someone, fully intent on murder, use a spell they didn’t know?
“…My wand has a problem?” Louis whispered, staring at it. Slowly, he lifted his head, gaze falling on the distant sign of Ollivander’s wand shop.
That old man—he was the only one Louis had never been able to deceive.
---
### [HP] 117: Dealing with Ollivander
Though it wasn’t the start-of-term season, Ollivander’s wand shop was still open.
Aside from personally managing his shop and crafting wands, Garrick Ollivander also accepted commissions from wealthy wizards to maintain their wands.
That service wasn’t cheap. In fact, a single maintenance often cost as much as a brand-new wand.
But as a master wandmaker, one whose status in the British wizarding world rivaled even Dumbledore’s, the fee was perfectly reasonable.
Of course, sometimes wizards came to order a second wand as well. Those spares were usually for… less savory purposes. Ollivander never asked questions.
The price, however, was much higher—anywhere from fifty to a hundred Galleons. Those who could afford a second wand didn’t mind spending the money.
That was one of the reasons Ollivander’s shop had endured so long without ever running at a loss. Wand materials weren’t cheap. Some—like phoenix feathers—might be gifted, but most still had to be purchased at significant expense.
At the moment, Garrick Ollivander was tidying up his shop. Soon, he would travel to replenish supplies.
A new batch of young witches and wizards would be entering Hogwarts, and he needed to prepare a wide variety of wands so each child could find the one meant for them.
His regular customers were already taken care of. No one new was likely to show up today.
Or so he thought.
The doorbell jingled as the shop door opened. A boy in a peculiar tall top hat stepped inside.
At first, Ollivander didn’t pay him much attention, assuming he was just another curious child approaching the age for school. But when he looked up—ah, it was a familiar face.
“I remember you. Wilson. Yes, Louis Wilson,” Garrick Ollivander said with a smile. “What brings you here?”
Louis removed his hat, watching the smiling old man with a twitch at the corner of his eye.
“You should already know why I’m here, shouldn’t you?” Louis hung his hat on the stand. “I almost couldn’t get in from the Leaky Cauldron.”
Ollivander’s eyes lit with understanding.
“Ah… yes, that’s an excellent place for wand diagnostics. I won’t ask how you managed to get through—that must be your own secret.”
He remained perfectly calm, even pulling a chair and table from the cluttered shop. “Please, sit. Even if you’ve come here to accuse me, I mustn’t be rude. Would you like a drink?”
“I suggest you have some green tea,” Louis said casually as he sat down. “It’ll help with your blood pressure in a moment.”
“So, you intend to make me bleed a little,” Ollivander chuckled. “That’s fine. Actually, I’m more curious about what you really are.”
“Me? I’m just an ordinary little wizard.”
Louis glanced at the rows of wands around him. “This shop of yours must be quite profitable, right?”
“Just enough to get by,” Ollivander shook his head. “The wands I sell normally barely cover the cost of materials.”
“Fifteen Galleons for an empty wand shell is just ‘materials’?”
“That was hush money. Hardly the same thing,” Ollivander replied calmly.
“…You’re remarkably honest,” Louis muttered.
“There’s no need to hide the truth,” Ollivander said lightly. “And you can rest assured—I’m not in the habit of spreading secrets.”
Louis eyed him suspiciously.
Garrick Ollivander truly was a man of integrity, tight-lipped and discreet. Unlike Hagrid, who acted as though he’d been raised on Veritaserum.
Unless you tortured him.
In the original tale, Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him, forcing him to reveal the connection between Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s, and to admit that the most powerful wand of all was the Elder Wand.
Normally Ollivander was fine, but when it really mattered, he was bound to crack. In the past, he would have been the perfect material for a traitor.
What if Voldemort tortured him one day and he spilled Louis’s secrets like beans from a jar? What then?
With that thought, Louis’s gaze toward Ollivander grew dangerous.
“Don’t even think about killing me,” Garrick Ollivander said meaningfully. “With my status, even the most incompetent Ministry would be forced to investigate thoroughly. A wandmaker of my standing isn’t so easily killed.”
“You make it sound like I’d dare to kill you,” Louis coughed awkwardly, then his expression hardened.
“Mr. Ollivander, you must be over sixty now, yes?”
“Seventy-two,” Ollivander replied, pouring himself a cup of tea. “But that’s nothing. Unless something unexpected happens, I could easily live another hundred years.”
Ah, right—wizards typically lived around two centuries unless they met with accidents.
Louis scratched his head and asked again, “Then, do you desire great power, Mr. Ollivander?”
“I’m interested in great wands,” Ollivander shrugged. “But I’m more fascinated by what powerful people do once they possess them. For myself? I don’t really care.”
Damn it! What a salted fish!
For a moment Louis almost hallucinated, seeing a big dead fish flopping on the beach with Ollivander’s face, sneering at him.
“So lofty, so above it all, huh? Transform for me!”
Louis lost patience instantly. He raised his hand, slapping a wave of black mist across Ollivander’s face.
The old wandmaker flinched in shock, about to resist, when a sharp gust whooshed behind his head—then came a heavy thud, and his vision went dark as he collapsed unconscious.
Louis, who had circled behind him with the speed of the talismans, silently tossed a solid gold club into the golden vortex at his side.
“Peh! Couldn’t just accept it quietly, had to make me dirty my hands.”
He clicked his tongue, only to realize the black mist—which could normally turn an ordinary person into a dark assassin—was being repelled, unable to seep into Ollivander’s body.
“…Troublesome.”
Louis went to the shop entrance, flipped the sign to “Closed,” and dragged Ollivander into the back.
Then he pulled out a boiling cauldron and began his work.
“Well, looks like I’ll have another subordinate soon. What should I call you?” Louis muttered as he tossed ingredients into the cauldron, glancing at the unconscious Ollivander.
Yes—his solution was to turn Ollivander into a dark assassin, manufacturing him into one of his own men.
That way, Louis would never have to worry about his identity being exposed.
“Consider yourself lucky. If your fake wand hadn’t stopped Peter Pettigrew’s curse, I’d have silenced you for good.” Louis grumbled, chanting spells.
After all, killing without leaving suspicion was far too easy for him. He could summon a random “Dio” or simply have Chuan handle it. Simple.
No one would ever suspect that the man orchestrating two of the world’s greatest villains into one grand organization was Louis himself.
So yes—killing was simple. But Louis thought there were more interesting ways.
For example, imagine Voldemort storming in to interrogate Ollivander… only to get slapped flat by him instead.
---
### [HP] 118: You’re Awake, And You’re Not Human Anymore
Thick black mist coiled around Ollivander’s body, trying to seep inside and reshape him.
The process was anything but simple—unlike in the original story, where the dark sorcerer Dao could casually raise his hand and corrupt the cannon-fodder trio.
After all, those three—plus the black tiger Ah Fu—were mere mortals. Garrick Ollivander, however, was a true wizard.
Even unconscious from the blow, the magic within him instinctively resisted the invasion. The mist, though insidious, found it difficult to penetrate.
The corruption seemed to make no progress, but Louis wasn’t anxious—he had a backup plan.
After ten fruitless minutes, he switched tactics, manipulating the mist with brute force instead of subtlety.
He drove tendrils of black fog straight into Ollivander’s limbs, violently breaking down his flesh.
This wasn’t gentle corrosion—it was brutal contamination.
Without conscious control, Ollivander’s magic couldn’t fend off the assault. Soon, the black mist had overtaken most of his body.
But such violence left the already-aged wandmaker teetering on the brink of death.
Louis, however, didn’t consider that a problem. While feeding more mist into him, he simultaneously used the Horse Talisman’s healing power to repair the damage.
During this cycle of destruction and rebirth, the black energy fused with muscle, blood, and nerves, unknowingly reshaping Ollivander into Louis’s desired form.
Muscles swelled. Wrinkled skin stretched smooth.
His complexion darkened to a bronze shade, faint blue energy lines slowly surfacing across it.
Ollivander was rapidly transforming into a Dark Slayer. His magic, retreating step by step, fell back until it clustered in his head.
Louis was sweating heavily now, the mist inside him depleting faster than expected.
But he could hold on—and the process was nearly complete.
At this stage, he only needed to use the Dog Talisman’s power to prevent Ollivander’s death at the final surge of corruption, and the transformation would succeed.
But Louis did not.
Instead, he halted the mist’s final invasion of the head, redirecting it through Ollivander’s body, hiding it beneath the skin where it would remain unseen.
Under his guidance, Ollivander’s skin tone returned to normal, the glowing veins faded—but the hardened muscles and taut skin remained, thrumming with explosive power.
Louis had deliberately spared the man’s mind.
As a wandmaker, Ollivander’s knowledge and experience were worth more than his life. If those were lost, he would no longer be Ollivander, and keeping him alive would be meaningless.
By focusing on fusing his body with the dark mist while leaving his mind untouched, Louis ensured both control and usefulness.
After all, Louis didn’t need a wand himself—but having a master wandmaker as his subordinate was invaluable.
“And besides,” Louis murmured, “I need a wand of my own… or rather, a cane.”
With the right wand, his black magic would cast faster and strike harder. Ollivander’s expertise would help him craft something tailored to his power.
When the last step was done, Louis let out a long breath. His reserves of dark mist were nearly exhausted, leaving him with a hollow weakness.
But it was just an illusion. With the Twelve Talismans, he could still punch a cow to death with one strike.
Packing away the ritual materials, Louis sank into a chair and poured himself a cup of cool green tea.
He drank leisurely, waiting for Ollivander to wake.
Half an hour later, the wandmaker finally stirred. The moment he opened his eyes, he gasped softly.
Something was different. The lingering eye problems he’d carried for years from endless wandcrafting—gone. His vision was clear.
Before he could savor it, he realized something else: he was lying on the floor.
What happened?
Scrambling to his feet, he marveled at his newfound agility, then spotted Louis calmly sipping tea. Memories rushed back.
“You!” Ollivander’s eyes widened. “You knocked me out and then… what did you do to me?”
The line sounded awkward enough—but coming from a seventy-year-old man, it was downright ridiculous.
Louis rolled his eyes. “Just tell me how you feel now.”
“Good. Very good. Better than ever before!” Ollivander said, piling on three goods in a row.
He flexed his fingers. His frailty was gone. His hands were more nimble than ever.
For wandcraft, precision mattered as much as experience. Most wandmakers were at their peak for only a decade—young enough to have fine control, yet old enough to have learned.
Some, of course, were useless from youth to old age.
But now, Ollivander felt as though he had his youthful body back, with all his wisdom and experience intact.
And perhaps it was just his imagination—but his mind felt sharper than it had in his prime.
“But how did you do this?” Ollivander asked, staring at Louis as though he were some rare specimen. “Did you bathe me in Felix Felicis?”
Felix Felicis—the potion of “liquid luck.” It didn’t literally grant fortune, but boosted inspiration, energy, and confidence, letting one achieve their utmost potential.
But it could never reverse aging. It could make one shine—but not restore youth.
This young man… just what had he done?
“You’re curious, aren’t you?” Louis said with a mysterious smile. “Do you really want to know?”
“No matter what you tell me, from this moment forward you are my closest friend,” Ollivander declared firmly.
“Well then, don’t be mad,” Louis replied with a grin. “Congratulations—you’re not human anymore.”
“From the very moment you woke up.”
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