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[HP] Chapter 175-176
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 17:16:31 +0000 UTC### Chapter 175: If Money’s So Useful, Why Didn’t Your Dad Become the Dark Lord?
Nighttime meant social hour in Slytherin once again.
Thoughtfully, Louis left the dormitory, giving the younger snakes a chance to mingle with each other instead of cowering like quails in his presence.
Just as on his very first day at Hogwarts, he sat on the sofa before the enormous glass window, reading under the glow of the Black Lake, the fish outside his silent companions.
Adventures with Werewolves, and he even claims he restored one to human form… Lockhart really dares to boast,” Louis muttered, nearly clapping for the man’s audacity.
Only in the wizarding world, where the population was small and few had the time to fact-check, could such nonsense stand. Otherwise, it would take just one werewolf wizard to expose him for the fraud he was.
Still, though Lockhart’s stories were wildly exaggerated, much of the material wasn’t fabricated. There really had been wizards who lived closely with werewolves, and a spell to reverse their transformation might have existed.
It was just that, thanks to Lockhart the conman, such magic had been completely lost.
“A Restoration Charm… isn’t that just like an anti-Transfiguration spell? Maybe being a werewolf is a kind of Animagus transformation?”
Ever since extracting Quirrell’s foundation in magical theory, Louis’s research in the Potterverse had gone much more smoothly. He could now explore such ideas with ease.
“Werewolves are, without doubt, a form of transformation. The problem is, after transforming, they lose control—and it’s infectious. So the abnormalities must be in the brain, the teeth, and the claws.”
Book in hand, Louis’s eyes gleamed with intellectual fire.
He even felt the itch to capture a werewolf for dissection…
But where would he find one? The only werewolves he knew of were two names: Remus John Lupin—the important character—and Fenrir Greyback, the one who had bitten Lupin.
Of course, those weren’t the only ones. Werewolves were a distinct social group, not a rarity. Otherwise, there’d be no need for Wolfsbane Potion.
Maybe he should consider catching one for “scientific research”?
While Louis was mulling over increasingly dangerous ideas, someone descended the staircase.
Looking up, he saw Cassandra slowly making her way down.
Her hands folded neatly in front of her, she descended with measured steps, unhurried, until she reached the sofa opposite Louis and sat down.
Louis arched a brow. “Don’t you need to be making friends with the others?”
“A gathering of mediocrities,” Cassandra said loftily, lifting her swan-like neck. “Most of them are wasting their years. Even the older students hardly have impressive magical ability.”
“Then why come here? Do you want something from me?” Louis closed his book and locked eyes with her.
“Of course. I’ve heard you’re a descendant of Merlin.” Cassandra’s gaze didn’t waver. Unlike Hermione, she didn’t blush and look away after a few seconds—her eyes were steady, unyielding.
“And so?” Louis leaned back on the sofa.
“I don’t believe it,” Cassandra said flatly.
Girl, what are you, the magical version of a talk-show host?
Louis almost burst out laughing. But Cassandra noticed the twitch at his lips and frowned in displeasure.
“I admit your grades are impressive,” she said, “but that proves nothing. All it takes is for someone to defeat you in this field, and your lie will crumble.”
“So what—you want to play the hero?” Louis couldn’t hold it in any longer and laughed openly.
“Why not?”
“Of course you can. You’re welcome to challenge me,” Louis said carelessly. “But you need to understand—my identity isn’t recognized because of good grades. That sort of thing is meaningless.”
“What do you mean?” Cassandra’s delicate brows knit together.
“That means your information isn’t complete.”
Louis stood up. “That’s why sometimes socializing is important. At the very least, from the mouths of those ‘ordinary people’ you look down on, you can learn things you don’t know yourself.”
“Sweet dreams.”
With that, Louis picked up his book and returned to the dormitory.
Ever since gaining the Merlin template, he had never once worried about his identity being exposed. Whether it was the bounded field called Avalon or his Dream Demon bloodline, both were more than enough to sustain the lie.
It wasn’t something a little witch saying, “I don’t believe you,” could ever overturn—because it had already become reality.
“Sleep well tonight, work hard again tomorrow,” Louis yawned as he walked back. He even canceled his planned nighttime stroll.
After all, once you start slacking off, it’s addictive. Why work so hard when there’s no need?
As soon as he returned to the dormitory, he was greeted by cheers from inside.
When Louis pushed the door open, the cheers dipped briefly but quickly returned to normal. Everyone had grown used to his presence—so long as they didn’t provoke him, they were safe.
But Blaise Zabini was a little different. He eagerly came up to Louis to share the good news.
“Louis,” he said, “Malfoy’s father is donating a whole set of Nimbus 2001s to our House Quidditch team!”
“Oh? The latest broomsticks? Not bad. Looks like Slytherin will have the advantage this year.” Louis’s gaze flicked to Draco Malfoy, who was wearing a proud smile.
“So, Malfoy is going to join the team?”
“Yeah. The old Seeker graduated, so Malfoy’s got a chance to take the spot,” Zabini explained.
“Then he’d better be careful.”
Louis’s interest was piqued. He walked over to the small group celebrating Draco’s impending position as Seeker.
For a moment, Draco panicked when Louis approached. But quickly he forced himself to calm down, reminding himself he hadn’t done anything to offend him.
“I hear you’re Slytherin’s new Seeker?” Louis asked.
“N-Not yet, but soon. I’ll be playing in the first match this term,” Draco answered cautiously, even forced into sounding modest.
“That’s still good. I’ve got a suggestion—want to hear it?” Louis said.
“Fine, let’s hear it,” Draco said, trying to sound tough.
Louis chuckled, unconcerned with Draco’s fragile pride. “My suggestion is simple: stay low-key, and train hard. Don’t end up flying on the brand-new broom and still lose to Harry’s Nimbus 2000.”
“Impossible! Our whole team is switching to Nimbus 2001s. Gryffindor, apart from Harry, are still using Cleansweeps. It’s no contest!” Draco mustered the courage to argue.
“If money were really that useful, then the Dark Lord would never have ruled. Your family would have.” Louis gave a cutting comparison. “So good luck. Because if you lose, you’ll be a laughingstock.”
He didn’t know if his words would actually make Draco wiser. He was just tossing it out there, hoping to squeeze a few Fate Points.
As long as Malfoy didn’t slack off—if he played properly while Harry was being chased around by Bludgers and managed to catch the Snitch—that’d be a big win.
“Just think about it. You’re on a Nimbus 2001, but you lose to Harry Potter. Doesn’t that sound like a joke?”
Louis’s words stabbed into Draco like an awl. Yet Draco didn’t dare show the slightest dissatisfaction.
Because Louis was absolutely right—and Malfoy didn’t dare cross him.
---
Chapter 176: He’s Still a Professor, I Can’t Just Beat Him Up
The next day, Louis didn’t bother waking up too early. He went to the Great Hall just in time for breakfast.
He was expecting a package to be delivered, and this was the perfect time for it. No need to risk receiving something like that in some uncertain setting.
Breakfast was simple—Louis made himself a sandwich and washed it down with milk.
For reasons of her own, Cassandra once again chose to sit beside Louis, with Blaise Zabini on his other side, the three of them lined up like sentinels. Given Cassandra’s personality, it was easy enough to understand—blending into the group wasn’t really her style.
Soon, the sound of wings flapping overhead filled the hall. Among the owls, the largest—Fafnir—was especially conspicuous, swooping down like a precision bomber and dropping a large parcel squarely toward Louis.
Louis caught it with practiced ease. The heavy thump in his hands left no doubt about its weight.
“What’s that?” Blaise Zabini asked.
“Potion ingredients. I’m planning to study some advanced potion work lately,” Louis replied casually.
That was half true. There were indeed potion ingredients inside, but most of it was for analyzing the Tara’s Mask.
Blaise had just opened his mouth to praise Louis’s diligence when a piercing shout made him jump.
“RON WEASLEY!”
Every head turned to look. A Howler, transformed into a gaping mouth full of fangs, was roaring furiously at a red-haired boy.
“Wow, a Howler. Sounds thrilling,” Blaise said with a grin.
Most of the students were more than happy to watch Ron make a fool of himself—even the Gryffindors. Sure, they had celebrated his “brave stunt” last night, but that didn’t stop them from laughing at his misery today.
“…If this gets your father sacked, I won’t be surprised! If you ever pull such a reckless stunt again, pack your things and come home!”
The Howler finished its tirade and shredded itself into pieces, ending the noise.
The students chuckled among themselves, but Ron and his partner-in-crime Harry sat with dark faces, silently cursing their luck.
When breakfast was over, Louis slipped away and stashed his package inside the Room of Requirement. Just as he was heading to class, he ran into Snape.
“Mr. Wilson.” Snape’s face was grim, though not on Louis’s account. “I hope this year you’ll be a bit more… active.”
“Professor, do you mean earning more House points?” Louis asked.
“Exactly.” Snape nodded sharply, still brooding over last night’s fiasco.
He’d missed a golden chance to deduct a massive haul of points from Gryffindor, and it gnawed at him. Last year’s House Cup loss had nearly driven him up the wall.
“Alright, I’ll try my best,” Louis agreed.
Though, in truth, he didn’t think it likely. Snape might lean outrageously toward Slytherin, but Dumbledore wasn’t exactly impartial either.
“What’s the point in fussing over daily points if they’re all overturned with bonus points in the end?”
Shaking his head at Snape’s retreating back, Louis sighed.
…
“Your stunt really is baffling. What made you think flying a car to school was a good idea?” Louis asked on the way to class.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Ron protested. “We couldn’t get onto the platform, my parents couldn’t get out, so what else could we do?”
Harry nodded earnestly, backing Ron up. “I even thought about sending Hedwig with a letter, but I was worried about that house-elf…”
“Wait, right! We could’ve just sent a letter!” Ron blurted, stunned.
Both Harry and Louis fell silent, staring at Ron with unreadable expressions.
“You two didn’t need to drive the car at all. If you’d just waited by it, Mr. Weasley would’ve sorted things out for you. But now, with what you did, you’ve basically thrown Mr. Weasley into the fire. He’s already under heavy scrutiny lately,” Louis said.
“Oh, come on, Louis, give me a break. I’ve suffered enough this time,” Ron groaned.
He clearly didn’t understand what Louis meant. All he could do was sigh over his wand—snapped in two and held together by a fragile strip of wood.
Harry, unable to stand watching any longer, turned to Louis. “Louis, can you fix wands?”
“That’s an honor of a question, Harry,” Louis replied dryly. “But haven’t you thought about it? I’m your age. Why would I know how to mend wands?”
He shrugged at the two of them, but still took Ron’s wand and inspected it.
Normal repair charms wouldn’t work on broken wands. Only something like the Elder Wand, with its unparalleled amplifying power, could restore one.
Of course, Louis could use the Horse Talisman’s restorative power. That spell ranked higher than anything in the Harry Potter world. Fixing a wand would be child’s play.
But Louis hesitated.
After all, this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would eventually be undone by this very wand—its backfiring spell would rebound, leaving him memory-wiped on the spot.
Fixing the wand meant saving Lockhart…
Hmm…
“Sorry, I can’t,” Louis said firmly.
Let Lockhart die.
“Figures.” Ron hadn’t held out much hope anyway. With a sigh, he took back his battered wand.
…
That day’s lesson was Herbology, taught by Hufflepuff’s Head of House, Professor Sprout.
She was a short, plump, kindly witch, though today she didn’t look particularly cheerful. Considering Lockhart’s constant chatter beside her and the bandaged arm she carried, the reason was obvious.
They’d just come from the Whomping Willow. Yesterday, two blockheads had flown a car straight into it.
Said blockheads hung their heads in shame.
As Sprout and Lockhart approached, Lockhart’s booming voice carried to the waiting students.
“I’ve encountered no fewer than ten of these dangerous plants, and without fail I subdued every one of them—what I mean is, no one understands the Whomping Willow better than I do.”
Sprout clearly had no patience for him. Turning to the students, she said, “Well then, children, what are you waiting for? Greenhouse Three. Today’s lesson is repotting Mandrake seedlings. I hope you’ve all brought your dragon-hide gloves and earmuffs.”
She expected that once class began, the braggart would finally shut up. But instead, he seized two students—Harry with his left hand, Louis with his right.
“Behold, two celebrities,” Lockhart said proudly. “Forgive me, Professor Sprout, but I’ll need to borrow your students for a moment.”
He hadn’t even finished speaking before his right hand burned as though scorched by fire. With a hiss of pain, he instinctively let go.
Staring at his palm, he wondered if he’d actually been burned. But there was no mark at all—no redness, no blistering. As if it had all been an illusion.
But could an illusion feel so real?
Lockhart stared in confusion at the second-year boy rumored to be a descendant of Merlin.
“Sorry, Professor Lockhart, but I’m not fond of physical contact with men,” Louis said.
Polite, but only barely so. Altogether dismissive.
Then he stepped toward Professor Sprout, making his preference clear.
Sprout’s expression softened with approval. She was very pleased with his attitude. If it wouldn’t have seemed disrespectful to the “sacrifice”—ah, no, the professor—she would’ve awarded him ten points on the spot.
Harry wished he could be as smooth as Louis, but lacking his tricks, he struggled in vain to free himself.
“Well then,” Lockhart said with a strained smile, though his eyes still flashed with irritation, “I’ll just take Harry with me…”
Harry’s helpless glance over his shoulder made his misery clear. Louis only shrugged in response—there was nothing he could do.
He couldn’t very well haul off and punch Lockhart. The man was still a professor, after all.
---
