[HP] Chapter 162-163

### Chapter 162: Dobby Takes Action

“Louis Wilson, is it?”

At the mention of the boy, Dumbledore hesitated.

“His ability to learn is remarkable. In the final exams he scored full marks across every subject—even in the practical spellcasting test, every professor gave him high praise.”

“That sounds quite promising. If possible, I’d like to pass on some of my knowledge to him.” Nicolas Flamel looked interested, but then, seeing the strange look on Dumbledore’s face, he asked: “What, is there a problem?”

“Not exactly a problem. He’s usually polite and pleasant enough… but he does hold grudges. When someone insulted him, he retaliated by giving them nightmares for almost a week. In Slytherin, he’s practically a tyrant.” Dumbledore sighed.

“Sounds even more extreme than Voldemort in his school days—though this one is far more forthright about it,” Flamel observed.

“Precisely. And unlike Voldemort, he shows little ambition. Most of the time he looks downright uninterested. I honestly don’t know whether he’d even want to study under you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just ask casually. If he’s willing, bring him here during the summer holidays next year.”

“Very well. I’ll let him know,” Dumbledore promised.

---

Surrey, Little Whinging, the Dursley household.

Louis, having memorized both what the Eye of Fate had revealed and the coordinates it recorded, threw himself back into the party.

The gathering carried on merrily. Vernon Dursley praised Mr. and Mrs. Mason, then quickly chimed in to flatter Louis’s magic and Mr. Wilson’s “excellent” teaching once the Masons began complimenting them.

Quite the effort for Vernon Dursley. The man loathed anything magical—including stage magic—and yet here he was, swallowing his distaste and fawning over others. Money truly worked wonders.

If Dumbledore really wanted Harry to be treated better, all he’d have to do is send the Dursleys a monthly allowance. They’d be groveling at his feet in no time.

But then Harry would likely turn out just like Dudley 2.0.

Louis cast a glance toward Dudley, who was busy stuffing himself in the corner—three slabs of cake and five servings of pudding already gone. The boy could really eat.

If Harry had been raised like that, he’d never make it as a savior.

Louis sipped his tea, savoring the fragrance, when suddenly he noticed something. His gaze drifted upstairs.

Something felt off.

In his mental sight, a presence had appeared above—one that could only be the house-elf, Dobby.

So, the creature was already beginning to show Harry his unique brand of “helpfulness.”

“More tea, dear?” Petunia Dursley, Harry’s aunt, approached with a sickly sweet smile, offering to refill his cup.

“Exactly what I wanted,” Louis replied with flawless manners. In gatherings like this, polished etiquette naturally won respect. Eccentricity had its place—but not at the expense of social harmony.

The thought reminded him of that Cassandra girl he’d met in Ollivander’s shop: insufferably arrogant, but her posture and etiquette had been impeccably precise.

Suddenly, loud thuds came from upstairsbang! bang! bang!—like someone repeatedly bashing their head against furniture.

The lively chatter ground to an awkward halt. Vernon Dursley forced a smile, though his eyes blazed with fury.

“Sorry—must be my dog misbehaving. I’ll just go up and deal with it.” He stomped upstairs in a rage, like an enraged boar.

“You have a dog?” the Masons asked curiously. “Why not bring it out? We love dogs.”

Petunia stammered, mortified. “Well… it’s a bit fierce. Might frighten you.”

A flimsy excuse, but the Masons were none the wiser. Mr. Wilson, however, frowned, suspicion plain on his face.

He leaned toward Louis. “That boy, Harry Potter—where is he? I haven’t seen him all evening.”

“Didn’t you hear Mr. Dursley? Upstairs,” Louis replied.

“This is…” Mr. Wilson bit back his anger for the sake of the guests, but muttered to Louis, “This is far too much.”

To call one’s nephew a dog, refusing to let him meet visitors—disgraceful.

“Yes, outrageous. But the school seems unwilling to interfere,” Louis said evenly.

“The school too? But wasn’t Harry Potter the one who did so much for the wizarding world? Why would they ignore him?” Mr. Wilson’s outrage grew.

As a magician, dreamy and idealistic, he was perhaps naïve—but that only sharpened his sense of justice. Still, his courtesy wouldn’t allow him to spoil an important dinner by speaking out. It left him simmering silently.

“Perhaps the school has its reasons,” Louis murmured, just as Vernon’s thunderous footsteps shook the staircase.

“Terribly sorry to dampen the mood,” Vernon announced, smiling stiffly. “I’ve disciplined that dog thoroughly. Now, where were we? Ah yes—magic tricks! That reminds me of a funny story from one of my golf games…”

He launched into a dull anecdote. Louis smothered a yawn and glanced at the pudding tower Petunia had so carefully prepared.

She had clearly poured her heart into it—the towering dessert gleamed with cream and sugar glaze, almost demanding attention.

But oddly, Petunia wasn’t the one bringing it out.

The pudding was floating—drifting from the kitchen, in plain view from where Louis sat.

And at its source: a filthy, rag-wrapped house-elf pointing a finger, levitating the dessert with magic.

Louis rolled his eyes. So much for avoiding that warning letter.

Crash!

The pudding slammed onto the kitchen counter. Cream and custard splattered the walls, turning the room into a mess.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward the scene—where Harry Potter stood with his hand half-raised, looking utterly stunned.

And Dobby the house-elf had already slipped away.

---

### Chapter 163: Let’s Hope the Ministry Knows Better

Mr. Wilson also noticed Harry Potter and gave him a friendly nod, a polite gesture of greeting.

But clearly, Harry wasn’t in the mood to acknowledge Mr. Wilson’s kindness. His face was whiter than a wall smeared with cream.

“Sorry, sorry, that’s my dim-witted nephew. He’s always getting into trouble. Truly sorry.”

Vernon struggled to explain, desperately trying to smooth things over and make everyone ignore the unpleasant scene. Petunia Dursley wore a stormy look, but still forced a smile as she brought out ice cream for the guests.

The Masons were reasonable people. They understood that a child who liked to smash things probably ought to be locked away, and they didn’t let it ruin their evening visit.

What did bother them were Vernon Dursley’s dull jokes, which only made things awkward. They were far more eager to chat with Mr. Wilson about magic tricks.

Mr. Wilson’s imaginative ideas and witty way of speaking were exactly what a social gathering should feel like.

But tonight’s little party was destined for disaster.

Before the atmosphere could warm up, the sound of wings flapping came from outside. Louis knew that sound all too well—Fafnir’s wingbeats were like that, only much louder.

Clearly, the Ministry’s warning letters had arrived with efficiency. Just as efficiently, Mrs. Mason’s face turned pale.

“W-w-what is that?” she stammered, pointing at the dark shadow outside. She was about to scream when Louis rose smoothly to his feet and silenced her with a gesture.

He casually picked up the top hat he’d just used in his performance, flicked it across the window, and clapped it down on the table.

The hat twitched and rattled, a muffled squawk of protest sounding from inside, but Louis quickly suppressed it with brute force.

“Just a post owl,” Louis said with a small smile to the Masons. “Don’t worry. I’ve caught it. I’ll let it go in a moment.”

As he spoke, he quietly slipped away two envelopes. No doubt one was addressed to him, the other to Harry.

Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief—especially Mr. Mason, who knew just how terrified his wife was of birds. If one had actually gotten close to her, she’d have bolted from the house in hysterics.

“Which way to the garden, Mr. Dursley?” Louis asked, holding the twitching hat, while Vernon looked as though he’d just survived a calamity.

“Oh, oh, that way, please—” Vernon started to point out the path, only for Louis to interrupt:

“No need for the trouble. Let him take me instead.”

He gestured toward Harry Potter, whose face was still deathly pale, his hands twitching uncertainly at his sides.

“Well… fine,” Vernon said reluctantly. “But be careful. Don’t believe a word that boy says. Unlike you, a true gentleman, he’s mad.”

As he spoke, he cast Harry a vicious glare.

Of course, Vernon had no idea the gentleman before him was also a wizard—though disguised, he was far more wondrous and powerful than most wizards could ever be.

“Thank you,” Louis said with a polite nod. He walked to Harry’s side. “Please take me to the garden. Much obliged.”

Harry gave him a grateful glance, then led him toward the back yard.

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry whispered. “I thought Uncle Vernon was about to kill me just now.”

“If you acted more forceful, he wouldn’t dare,” Louis replied calmly. “Because deep down he’s terrified that you might kill him first.”

“But… magic outside school isn’t allowed. And I’d never kill anyone,” Harry protested.

“Your uncle doesn’t know that. He uses his feeble little brain to imagine what Hogwarts is like. In his eyes, it’s a school that breeds monsters. And of course he’s afraid that one of those monsters might grow fangs and tear him apart. After all, no one knows better than he does how he’s treated you.”

Louis’s words were cold, merciless. They sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“Louis, you look really angry,” Harry asked cautiously.

“What else should I be? You expect me to be happy?” Louis pulled out two letters, handing one to Harry. “Read it.”

Harry took it with a puzzled look. “Who’s this from?”

He glanced at the envelope—addressed to him.

---

Dear Mr. Potter:

At 9:12 this evening, we detected the use of the Levitation Charm in your vicinity.

This is a violation of Article 1875 of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. In addition, you have violated Article 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, which prohibits exposing magic in front of Muggles. Such behavior constitutes a serious crime.

This is your final warning. Any further infractions will result in your expulsion.

Wishing you an enjoyable summer.

Sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Office for the Prohibition of the Misuse of Magic

---

After reading, Harry was struck with indescribable fear and worry. He dreaded being expelled—and dreaded even more being trapped forever in this hopeless house.

“Louis, this letter—” Harry started to explain, but then remembered Louis also had one in his hand. “Wait… did you get a letter too?”

“Of course. Keep reading.” Louis handed him his own.

The contents were identical, with the same signature. The only difference: the addressee. Instead of Mr. Potter, it said Mr. Wilson.

“I’d bet the Ministry doesn’t have any reliable detection methods at all. And those half-witted clerks don’t even care whether the letters they send out make sense or not.”

Louis sneered as he strode into the garden, tossing the panicked owl from his hat back into the air.

“Honestly, even a troll could do their job.”

Harry swallowed nervously, suddenly more unsettled. Somehow, Louis’s anger felt more frightening than the Ministry’s warning.

“I’m sorry, Louis. This was all my fault,” Harry said quickly, sensibly offering an apology. “Actually, it was a house-elf. He used the Levitation Charm.”

He hurriedly explained about Dobby.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Louis said flatly. He wasn’t angry at Harry—only at the Ministry’s idiocy. He had deliberately left his wand behind when coming to the Dursleys’, yet he was still warned. The whole thing was absurd.

But for now, there was nothing he could do. Louis’s influence couldn’t yet reach into the Ministry.

Better to take it straight to Dumbledore. Surely the headmaster couldn’t just ignore this?

And if even Dumbledore couldn’t—or wouldn’t—intervene, then Louis would have a permanent feud with the Ministry.

And when that happened, they had better not blame the “United Villains” for striking hard.

Of course, Louis would never actually drag Dio Brando or Chuan into this—linking himself openly with that fabricated organization would be sheer stupidity.

But from this moment on, he regarded the Ministry of Magic as an enemy.

Until the day its entire upper echelon was replaced.

Let’s hope the Ministry knows better.

---