[HP] Chapter 181-182

Chapter 181: This Woman Really Holds a Grudge

Lockhart only provided a measly 200 Trick Points—less than what a few minor wizards could give.

Utterly disgraceful.

But compared to the extra reward he handed out, those points weren’t even worth mentioning.

The bonus was truly delicious: a legendary-level Memory Charm!

“This basically means I can do whatever I want now. Hypnotizing the whole school or something… cough cough! No, no, don’t go down that path!”

Louis stroked his chin, quite pleased with this unexpected windfall.

This time, it had been a rather complex fraud.

He had borrowed Mage Hand to use his teleportation ring and stuffed all those Cornish pixies inside.

To keep them from keeling over inside the storage space for various reasons, Louis even topped them up with a burst of Dog Talisman power.

Afterward, he released the pixies right out of Lockhart’s “Four-Six-Three” notes, used illusions to enrage them, and neatly redirected all their fury onto Lockhart.

It sounded simple, but in practice it took quite a bit of effort. Still, the results were worth it.

“What on earth just happened? That was amazing! How did those Cornish pixies just vanish—and then pop out again?”

Leaving the classroom, Ron looked positively delighted as he watched Lockhart being carried away on a stretcher.

Harry, however, had a different reaction. He hadn’t seen anything specific, but his instincts told him that such a miraculous stunt had Louis’s fingerprints all over it.

He had no proof, though—and Louis clearly had no intention of admitting anything.

And so the last class of the day ended abruptly. Fortunately, there were no major losses—apart from the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s handsome face, which would take several days to recover.

Sure enough, that evening as everyone gathered in the Great Hall for dinner, the prefects from each house came around to announce that Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons would be self-study for the next few days.

Although a certain Potions Master was itching to swoop in as substitute, his own workload left him no such time.

Unless he resorted to a Time-Turner—but such large-scale public use clearly violated its rules.

So, self-study it was.

The moment the news spread, groans filled the hall. The girls in particular were devastated—their idol had managed to land himself in the hospital wing on his very first day. And apparently, quite badly too.

“That’s rubbish. His injuries aren’t that serious. Madam Pomfrey could’ve patched him up in no time,” Ron scoffed.

Harry nodded, then added slyly, “But I suppose Lockhart will still need some time to repair his thick skin.”

It was obvious Harry wasn’t talking about the skin on Lockhart’s face.

“Well said,” Ron agreed with a grin.

Over at the Slytherin table, Cassandra—who seemed to have taken up permanent residence at Louis’s side—turned to him.

“What exactly happened in class?” she asked.

“I’d rather not say.” Louis shot her a sidelong glance. “What, are you a Lockhart fangirl too?”

“Fangirl? Hardly. His books are entertaining, yes, but far too flashy. Still, I can understand it. A petty clown trying to dress up his tiny discoveries with theatrics.”

Her sharp tongue caught Louis by surprise.

“You think those words count as elegant?” he asked dryly.

“Elegant?” Cassandra gave him a dazzling smile—one that left Blaise Zabini, sitting nearby, utterly spellbound.

“Let’s hope you can be just as elegant when you’re talking to your little girlfriend.”

Louis felt a chill run down his spine. He jerked his head around and found Hermione staring at him with a blank expression, her knife and fork viciously sawing a German sausage on her plate. The method was brutal.

Poor sausage… just put it out of its misery!

The murderous aura rolling off her made Louis break into a cold sweat.

That woman had set him up!

His lips twitched. Staring straight down at his own plate, he muttered quietly, “You really hold a grudge, huh? Just because I wouldn’t tell you what happened in class?”

“I never said that.” Cassandra cheerfully dabbed her mouth with a napkin—her dinner consisting of just a small slice of bacon and a few vegetables. “Enjoy your meal.”

With that, she rose gracefully and left, stealing the gaze of half the boys in the hall along with her.

That girl…

Louis glanced at Hermione. Seeing she was about to leave too, he quickly finished his own dinner and hurried after her.

…………

Thankfully, Hermione wasn’t the unreasonable type. She had only been momentarily dazzled by Cassandra’s smile and felt a twinge of worry.

With a little reassurance from Louis, that worry was soothed, and no real conflict broke out.

Still—Cassandra’s intentions were vile. Absolutely despicable.

But Louis couldn’t do anything about her.

He, Louis Wilson, had always walked the line straight and narrow: doing every wicked deed possible and yet never punished—because he still had principles.

And bullying a girl? That crossed the line. Too vile, not something he could do.

A week slipped by quietly, and soon it was the weekend—time for Quidditch team practice.

“So, Gryffindor’s training now. But the two of us? One Slytherin, one Ravenclaw. What are we going there for? We’ll just be treated like spies and kicked out.”

Louis looked at Hermione after she suggested they go watch.

“There’s really such a rule?” Hermione blinked in confusion. “Isn’t it just flying on broomsticks? There are strategies to that?”

“Of course there are…” Louis might not like Quidditch, but he knew at least some basics. After all, he’d read Quidditch Through the Ages.

But before he could finish explaining, a pair of twins suddenly popped up and grabbed him by the arms.

“No need to worry! If you want to watch Quidditch practice, go ahead.” Fred winked at Hermione. “Right now Slytherin’s hogging the pitch, and trust me, they don’t care who’s watching.”

“Yeah, it’s not like they’ve got any plans. Just a pack of thugs,” George added.

“As payment—” Fred grinned. “We’re borrowing your boyfriend for a bit.”

But before they could even take two steps, Louis hoisted both of them up with ease.

“And just what are you two planning to do?” he asked suspiciously.

The twins might have been two years older, but Louis was already taller. Picking them up was child’s play.

“We want to show you our technical breakthrough!” they said excitedly, unfazed by being dangled in the air.

“Technical breakthrough?” Louis’s eyes lit up.

Could it be… a breakthrough with their Transforming Canary Cream?

Had they finally developed a product that could trigger full transformations?

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Chapter 182: The Queen’s Aura

The original date plans seemed to be going up in smoke.

Louis was far too curious about the “technical breakthrough” the twins had mentioned—after all, it directly concerned his plan to replicate their Transfiguration Candy.

“Sorry, Hermione…” Louis told her. “I’ve got to take care of something. You’ll have to go watch Quidditch practice on your own.”

“That’s fine, go on.” Hermione was gracious about it. After all, she sometimes did the same—when inspiration struck, she would throw herself completely into her studies.

Louis was dragged away, but Hermione’s interest didn’t fade. She still wanted to see how Slytherin trained.

So she went to the Quidditch pitch alone, intending to watch from the sidelines.

From what the twins had said, there should be plenty of spectators around. If others could watch, why not her?

Sure enough, when she arrived at the pitch, there were already quite a few onlookers.

Besides a number of Slytherins, students from other houses had also gathered, including some Quidditch players trying to spy. Not that the Slytherin team cared in the slightest.

After all, their edge was in sheer hardware.

Nimbus 2001s. Every single one of them. Which house in Hogwarts could possibly compare?

Let the others seethe with envy!

A few Gryffindor players were there too, standing stiffly as they stared at the gleaming new brooms, jealousy practically written across their faces.

Hermione found a spot and sat down, looking up at the Slytherin players zipping aimlessly through the air. She frowned slightly.

What is that supposed to be? No system, no coordination—it looked more like they were just showing off their new brooms.

That made Hermione worry for her own house’s team. Ravenclaw’s Seeker was her friend Cho Chang, after all.

And these new brooms were far faster than the Cleansweep series used by the other houses.

“Mind if I sit here?” A voice rang out, slightly familiar.

Hermione turned and saw Cassandra, shading herself with a pointed witch’s hat.

Every time Hermione saw Cassandra, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. The girl exuded an innate sense of hauteur, and her wizard-like attire only added to the aura of mystery.

Her friend Padma had warned her more than once to be careful around that girl.

Still, Hermione wasn’t the type to be rude without reason. Smiling, she said, “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra removed her hat, setting it aside. She smoothed her hair with an elegant motion, golden waves cascading softly over her shoulders.

Hermione’s envy spiked again. “Your hair looks amazing,” she admitted, eyes full of admiration.

Her own bushy curls always stuck up like a lion’s mane. Every morning, it took ages to tame them into something manageable.

“My hair, hm?” Cassandra looked very pleased at the topic, especially with Hermione’s admiring gaze.

“It’s not bad, though sometimes I use Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion—it makes it much smoother.” She reached out and touched Hermione’s curls, then shook her head. “Yours are so dry. Like straw. Careful, or you’ll end up losing it.”

Her tone was as lofty and sharp as ever, but then she added, almost casually, “I still have a few unopened bottles. I’ll give you one sometime.”

“Really? That’d be great!”

And just like that, once the conversation turned to girl talk, the two of them grew lively. Within minutes, the tension was gone, and they were chatting happily together.

As the two girls chatted pleasantly, the Slytherins on their brooms couldn’t resist circling them, or else diving down at full speed right over their heads.

“Let’s move somewhere else,” Hermione muttered, annoyed at the interruptions. “They don’t even look like they’re training for Quidditch, just showing off their brooms.”

Cassandra was about to agree when a mocking, drawling voice rang out.

“Well, well. A Ravenclaw Mudblood who thinks she’s too good for the Slytherin Quidditch team!”

Draco Malfoy, astride his Nimbus 2001 and flaunting it like a sports car, pulled up right in front of Hermione and Cassandra.

He glared venomously at Hermione. “You filthy Mudblood—what do you know about Quidditch?”

Soaring through the air on his new broom, Draco felt a rush of heady pride. It made him think Harry Potter wasn’t so great after all; once the real matches began, he was certain he could leave Potter far behind.

In his eyes, Louis’s earlier warnings meant nothing—just pointless stabs at him. His simmering dissatisfaction boiled over, and Hermione’s offhand remark had been the spark.

And of course, this was the perfect chance to show off in front of Cassandra.

Smug, Draco failed to notice the slight furrow in Cassandra’s brows.

“What do you mean by that, Malfoy?” Hermione’s hand darted to her wand. She remembered clearly what Louis had told her: if anyone ever called her “Mudblood,” she was free to retaliate with magic—no need to hold back.

And that was exactly what she intended to do.

But Draco, oblivious to how close he was to a hex, carried on, puffed up with self-satisfaction.

“I said you’re a Mudblood. What, you think clinging to Wilson makes you something else? No way, not a chance. What, going to run crying to him?”

He was crafty enough to jab where it hurt—trying to stop Hermione from tattling to Louis by goading her instead.

The rest of the Slytherin team hovered closer, their faces full of malice.

From the stands, the Gryffindor players—who had been scowling enviously at the new brooms—immediately stepped forward, ready to close ranks. Compared to Slytherin, the other houses stood together. Backing up a friend was only natural.

The tension built.

Hermione glared at Draco, her voice cold.

“I won’t tell Louis. But…”

She drew her wand, preparing to silence him on the spot—when Cassandra moved first.

Smack!

A white glove struck Draco Malfoy square across the face.

Cassandra stood tall, almond-shaped eyes blazing, one pale, slender hand still frozen in the motion of throwing.

“Pick it up!” she commanded, her voice like steel. “Do you need me to teach you what pure-blood pride really means, Malfoy?”

The queenly aura she radiated froze the crowd in awe. Even Ron, watching nearby, couldn’t help blurting out, “She’s amazing!”

“You… what did you say?”

The sudden blow left Draco reeling. He stared blankly at the glove lying on the ground, utterly at a loss.

“Hmph. Disrespecting women—is that what passes for Malfoy family pride?” Cassandra tilted her chin high, her tone imperious. “Pick it up. I think it’s time I taught you what honor really means.”

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