[HP] Chapter 122-124

### [HP] 122: Are You Teaching Me How to Do Things?

Louis quickly sorted through the wave of goodwill from the pure-blood families.

It was obvious enough—this goodwill only existed because the students had gone home and told their parents about Louis being the so-called Heir of Merlin. Their parents’ first reaction had been unanimous: curry favor.

But while the pure-blood families believed it and even tried to cozy up to him, they weren’t friends. They could turn into enemies at any moment.

They cared only about profit. If Louis ever displayed true power, he would soon be feared—either courted as an ally or targeted for elimination.

That was fine. Louis had always considered them imaginary enemies anyway.

The only pity was that this kind of indirect scam—deceiving the families through their children—didn’t earn him any Trick Points. Otherwise, this wave would have made him rich.

The gifts from the pure-blood families were all quite good. Most of the items—limited-edition cauldrons, expensive potion ingredients, and the like—Louis packed up neatly into boxes. The few rare trinkets he left at home as decorations.

Hermione had sent Louis a holiday card, which, for a child, was already a thoughtful gift. He placed it carefully into his drawer for safekeeping.

Then, slinging his broom over his shoulder and dragging his suitcase behind him, he headed out.

It was Christmas Day. Mr. Wilson had a performance, and Mrs. Wilson was going to watch, so Louis had to make the trip alone.

Compared to being a considerate child—love still came first.

The Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart at exactly eleven o’clock.

Louis handed his luggage over to the porter and found an empty compartment to sit in.

As he did, he felt the weight of countless eyes on him. Nearly every student in the station was staring at him with complicated expressions.

Most of them, of course, were from the powerful pure-blood families.

It didn’t take long after he sat down for them to start arriving—one after another, each stopping by his compartment.

“Hello, I’m… It’s an honor to be your classmate.”

“Mr. Wilson, I’m from… If you need anything, come find me in Ravenclaw.”

“Mr. Wilson…”

And so on, an endless stream.

Louis felt like some especially holy idol, pilgrims filing in to pay their respects—or like a limited-time NPC in an event, handing out quests to all comers.

This procession continued until Hermione finally appeared. She had looked excited at first, but the sight of so many students hovering around Louis left her dumbfounded.

“What on earth are they doing?” she asked as she squeezed into the compartment and sat down opposite him.

“Mm… seeing God,” Louis replied, spreading his hands.

“…Seeing God?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Stop joking.”

“Think about it. When ordinary people are shocked, they say ‘Oh my God.’ When wizards are shocked, they say ‘Merlin’s beard.’ The principle’s the same, isn’t it?” Louis smiled. “They came to see the heir of Merlin. How is that any different from coming to see God?”

How could that possibly be the same?

Hermione gave him a strange look.

Just then, another knock came at the compartment door.

It was Draco Malfoy—flanked by his two ever-present lackeys.

Draco’s expression was hesitant. He looked at Louis and said cautiously,

“Hello, Louis. Happy Christmas.”

Louis raised a brow.

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy. And thank your family for the gift—even if I’ve no use for it.”

“May I sit here?” Draco asked. A flicker of frustration passed through his eyes.

His father hadn’t even bought him a Nimbus 2000, yet when it came to sending someone else a present, Lucius had been so generous.

Infuriating! But whether it was his father or the boy sitting in front of him, Draco didn’t dare provoke either.

“No.” Louis gestured at the hulking shadows behind Draco. “There’s no room.”

“They can sit somewhere else.” Draco turned and gave a sharp look. Crabbe and Goyle obediently shuffled away.

“And now?” Draco asked again, looking at Louis.

“Can’t you tell?” Louis chuckled, pointing at himself and Hermione. “You planning to come warm us up? Shine your light for everyone equally?”

In other words—you came here to play the third wheel?

That struck Draco like a stomp on his foot. He shrieked,

“Her? A Mudblood? Someone like you—how could you possibly associate with such filth?”

He didn’t even finish before he felt his entire body tighten, as if a giant hand had seized him.

“You’re teaching me how to behave?”

A glimmer of black mist streaked with starlight flashed in Louis’s eyes, his face dark with anger.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he said coldly, “Hermione is my friend. I don’t ever want to hear anyone slander her.”

He rose to his feet, stepping closer to the trembling Draco. His lips pulled back into a smile that carried no warmth at all.

“As far as I see it, your family merely offered me a broom to curry favor—not to buy me. I trust you understand the difference.”

“Now—get out.”

An invisible force slammed into Draco Malfoy, hurling him backwards. He tumbled across the carriage floor in a sorry heap until the not-yet-departed Crabbe and Goyle grabbed him.

Without a change in expression, Louis slid the door shut. When he turned back, Hermione’s eyes were sparkling, her cheeks tinged pink.

“You looked really handsome just now,” Hermione said.

“I think I always look handsome,” Louis replied as he sat back down. “Sorry I lost my temper—did I scare you?”

“No. Actually, you made me feel safe.” Hermione giggled into her hand. “By the way, what did he mean by ‘Mudblood’ just now?”

“You’ve really never read about it, or heard it before?” Louis asked in surprise.

Hermione shook her head. “It sounds familiar… I think I might’ve overheard it on the first day of school.”

“That was probably someone talking about me,” Louis said lightly. “Mudblood means a wizard born to Muggle parents. It’s not a good word—full of prejudice.”

“Prejudice… how awful.” Hermione finally understood the hidden malice in Draco Malfoy’s words.

“Just remember—if anyone dares call you that, pick up your wand and beat them. Even the head of Slytherin won’t defend them.”

Louis adjusted his robe, rumpled from the brief burst of the Rooster Talisman’s power. “So—how was your holiday?”

“Not bad. Oh, and thank you for the gift. But… weren’t those books a bit too expensive?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“It’s fine. As long as you liked them.” Louis smiled. “But remember—use them for the knowledge inside. Don’t let yourself be swayed by the author’s other words.”

“Other words?” Hermione blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean the knowledge is real. The adventures… maybe not. Next term you’ll understand why I said that.” Louis winked.

Hermione’s eyes widened with realization.

“This is another prophecy?”

“That’s right.”

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### [HP] 123: The Farce at the Christmas Feast

The Christmas feast went as expected—grand but not surprising. For many students, the food tasted like chewing wax.

Why? Because they still hadn’t finished their holiday homework…

Louis, of course, wasn’t the least bit worried. Homework was child’s play for him; just scramble some knowledge together, reorganize it, and put it on parchment. Couldn’t be easier.

As he enjoyed the sumptuous meal, his eyes occasionally drifted toward Quirrell at the staff table.

Quirrell didn’t look as bad as Louis had expected. Though he had drunk unicorn blood, the effect of the Little Red Bottle potions had managed to counter some of the unicorn’s curse. That gave Quirrell a sliver of relief.

It meant there was still hope for him.

He had already begun disguising himself when meeting with Hagrid. Given some time, he’d probably pry out the method to bypass the three-headed dog from that big oaf.

Once he got the Philosopher’s Stone, not only would the Dark Lord be resurrected—he himself could finally be free of his cursed state.

But before that, there was still one more task to complete.

Quirrell’s cold gaze fell on the empty chair beside him—Snape’s seat. The professor hadn’t shown up to the feast. The reason was simple: he was tailing “Quirinus Quirrell” at that very moment, planning to catch him red-handed.

The thought made Quirrell wince.

That “Quirrell” decoy had cost him nearly half of his life savings to hire.

Yes—the decoy wasn’t real, but a professional examiner sent from that strange alliance of villains around the world.

That would lure Snape’s attention and create a commotion, pushing all suspicion of stealing the Stone onto Snape.

And really—was there a better scapegoat than Snape?

Unpopular with most students, already prejudged as unfriendly, and always hovering around Quirrell, preventing him from probing the other professors’ protective enchantments—who else deserved to be accused?

By reason and circumstance, it was only right to make Snape take the fall.

But what method would that examiner use to frame him?

The hiding place of the Philosopher’s Stone was far from the Great Hall. What kind of chaos would need to erupt there for it to be noticed all the way here?

Excited and curious, Quirrell raised his head and accidentally locked eyes with Louis at the Slytherin table.

He immediately jerked his gaze away, emptying his mind in panic.

Snape wasn’t here, there was no Dark Mark, and even Dumbledore couldn’t sense Voldemort’s presence. The Dark Lord’s consciousness was active now—if Quirrell let slip a single stray thought, it could draw Voldemort’s attention. And then he was finished.

He’d already revealed Voldemort’s existence to that so-called Heir of Merlin—if his mind wandered now, he might expose his betrayal.

Don’t look. Don’t think.

Taking a deep breath, Quirrell fixed his eyes on the dishes before him, intending to fill his stomach first.

And then—

From outside the Great Hall came a terrible crash. The castle shook, the tall Christmas trees inside swaying violently.

The students froze mid-bite, the entire hall falling silent at once.

At the high table, Dumbledore slowly rose, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He glanced at Snape’s still-empty seat, his brow furrowed tightly.

Suddenly—the great doors of the hall were blasted apart.

A black figure came hurtling in, slamming hard into the floor.

Black, messy hair, a pale face, and that familiar billowing cloak—the man who had been flung into the hall was none other than the Head of Slytherin, Severus Snape!

And his condition could only be described as miserable. His arms and legs were covered in deep gashes and bite marks, his dark robes were stained with blood and dust, and he looked utterly disheveled.

Gone was his usual grace and composure. Struggling to his feet, Snape shouted to the students:

“Students, fall back! There’s a three-headed dog!”

Before anyone could cry out at the horrific state of their professor, three heavy breaths, accompanied by thunderous footsteps, echoed from the ruined doors of the hall.

A monstrous hound, five meters tall and bearing three heads, emerged slowly from outside.

All six of its eyes glared murderously at Snape—yet almost at once, its attention was drawn to the Christmas feast laid out on the tables… and to the “little snacks” seated all around it.

“It’s a three-headed dog! Run!”

One of the students, who had once been mauled by the beast, screamed in terror. Panic spread instantly, and the others scrambled to flee.

But the Cerberus that had come in through the main doors now blocked the exit completely, leaving only a few narrow side doors as escape routes.

The students descended into chaos, while the professors struggled desperately to maintain order.

At this point, even Dumbledore’s authority was useless. The danger was right in front of them—reason had already fled the students’ minds.

The scattering “biscuits” only stirred the beast’s hunting instincts. With all three maws roaring, it lunged toward the nearest student.

Impedimenta!”

Snape raised his wand, casting a barrier to halt the Cerberus’s attack. But this only enraged the beast further—and its attention locked back onto Snape.

In that moment, Snape cursed it bitterly. He had chased Quirrell all the way to the hidden door behind the fourth-floor corridor, ready to block him—when this maddened Cerberus had suddenly smashed through the corridor wall and charged him instead.

Before he could react, it had torn into him and dragged him, biting all the way, from the fourth floor down to the Great Hall.

Something was wrong. Even an irritable three-headed dog shouldn’t possess such overwhelming power.

Panting hard, Snape lifted his wand again with trembling hands.

Injured as he was, he couldn’t allow this monster to rampage through the castle.

Dumbledore, seeing Snape’s weakened state, drew his own wand from his robes, ready to subdue the beast before any students—or Snape himself—were further harmed.

But then, suddenly, he froze.

Because he had seen someone.

While every other student was in a frenzy of panic, one figure alone was pushing through the crowd—calmly, steadily, approaching the three-headed dog.

It was Louis Wilson. He was walking straight toward the raging beast—and he wasn’t even defending himself.

What was he planning to do?

Dumbledore held his wand ready, but didn’t act immediately. His curiosity burned—what strange ability would Louis reveal?

Snape, too, noticed Louis moving past him, still walking forward, closing the distance to the Cerberus.

“Mr. Wilson, now is not the time to show off—get back!” Snape reached out, intending to drag him to safety.

But Louis brushed his hand aside casually.

“Don’t worry, Professor,” Louis said with a wink. “The chaos will end soon.”

And with that, he kept walking, step by step, toward the monstrous hound.

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### [HP] 124: Stirring Trouble Was a Success—Uncle Really Likes It

Step by step, Louis approached the three-headed dog.

To such ferocious magical beasts, this kind of closing in was nothing short of provocation.

It was a dangerous act—any magical beast could lose control at a moment’s notice and tear away a wizard’s fragile life.

Yet as Louis drew closer, the Cerberus didn’t grow enraged. Instead, it sniffed the air, its six eyes filled with confusion.

Louis kept walking, raising a hand as he whistled softly, soothing the hound’s restless heart.

At last, Louis stood directly before it, looking up at its three massive heads. And instead of lunging at him, those heads bent down, crowding together as if trying to nuzzle against his palm.

Its savagery seemed to vanish completely in that instant. Instead, it looked almost like a huge, wronged puppy seeking comfort.

“Good boy. You’re safe now. Sleep.”

As Louis murmured the words, the phantom shadow of the Horse Talisman flashed faintly in his eyes before shattering away.

No one noticed the thin trails of blood that had been seeping from the Cerberus’s ears slowly disappear.

In that moment, the beast dropped all vigilance. With a heavy thud, it lay down at Louis’s feet and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Just like that… it fell asleep?

The Great Hall, which moments ago had been filled with panic and noise, suddenly fell silent. Everyone clapped their hands over their mouths, as though afraid to wake the beast, staring in wonder at the sight before them.

Not only the students—the professors too were dumbstruck, unable to believe that the savage giant hound was now snoring away at Louis’s feet.

“My God, he just… put a three-headed dog to sleep?”

“No wonder—he is the Heir of Merlin…”

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

On the surface, Louis wore a look of relief, but inside, he was delighted.

Especially seeing the stunned mix of fear and awe on the faces of students and professors alike—it felt as refreshing as drinking ice-cold cola in the summer.

This little stunt had been a huge success.

Louis really liked it.

He bent at the waist, bowing deeply to all sides, like a performer taking his leave after a show.

At first, silence hung over the hall—then someone began to clap. Soon, applause filled the entire hall.

> [You concealed the secret of the Cerberus losing control, making everyone believe you possess an unimaginable affinity with magical creatures.]

> [The impact will be far-reaching.]

> [You have deceived every wizard present—including legendary ones.]

> [You gained: Trick Points +10,000, Legendary Draw ×1.]

> [Current Trick Points: 104,000.]

Louis glanced at the system prompt, then let his gaze fall on the damp stain the Cerberus had left behind as it seeped into the floor and vanished.

…

The farce at the feast had ended, but its aftershocks had only just begun.

After the students were sent back to their dormitories, the professors gathered in the infirmary.

Professor Snape, injured, was being treated by Madam Pomfrey.

Because the Cerberus’s fangs carried venom, Pomfrey had to reopen Snape’s wounds for debridement before applying antidotes.

The process was agonizing—even Snape’s pale face trembled from the pain.

After finishing the cleaning and bandaging, Madam Pomfrey left, and Dumbledore finally spoke.

“Severus, what exactly happened?”

“It was Quirrell.” Pale-faced but certain, Snape pointed at him. “I saw him enter that room, and then the three-headed dog went mad and attacked me.”

“Quirrell?” The other professors looked at one another in disbelief.

“Yes, him. I’ve suspected him for a long time. On Halloween, he released the troll just to get into that room, but I stopped him in time,” Snape said firmly.

He glared at Quirrell, but the man only looked frightened—no hint of guilt, no sign of a scheme being exposed.

“Severus,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, “Professor Quirrell was here in the Great Hall the entire time. He never left.”

“What?” Snape blurted, shocked. “Impossible. I saw him with my own eyes going into that room!”

“But we were with him the whole time,” said Professor Flitwick.

Not just him—Professor Sprout of Hufflepuff, and several other teachers, all confirmed Quirrell’s presence.

On the outside, Quirrell wore a look of gratitude, but inside he was sneering.

Right now, Snape looked like a rabid dog, biting at random. If this continued, suspicion would fall on him rather than Quirrell!

Who would have thought that examiner would use such a method? He still didn’t know how she had managed it.

It was just a pity the maddened Cerberus hadn’t finished Snape off.

Quirrell let out a sigh. To others, it sounded like the helplessness of an innocent man being framed.

Snape, meanwhile, was lost in confusion. Why was everyone covering for Quirrell? He had seen him with his own eyes…

Wait. Could it have been Polyjuice Potion? Someone disguising themselves as Quirrell to deliberately draw his attention?

But who? Who would do this? And why?

Could Quirrell have an accomplice? Was that accomplice Voldemort’s servant… or even Voldemort himself?

Snape sank deep into thought, while Dumbledore finally spoke again.

“Everyone, return for now. Let Severus rest.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm but firm.

The professors nodded and left one by one, until only Dumbledore and Snape remained.

At that moment, Snape raised his head.

“Something is wrong. That person… he may have agents inside the castle. Perhaps… even himself!” Snape declared with conviction.

“So, you are certain Quirrell is his follower,” Dumbledore said slowly.

Their conversation flowed without barriers, as if Quirrell’s entire performance to cast suspicion on Snape had no effect at all.

In truth, no matter how much dirt Quirrell tried to smear on Snape, Dumbledore would never doubt him. Snape had proven himself long ago.

“You’re right. The Dark Mark may not have reacted, but I trust my instincts,” Snape said gravely.

“Are you still able to walk, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“No problem,” Snape nodded firmly.

“Then let us inspect the fourth-floor corridor,” said Dumbledore. “With Fluffy’s strength, he should not have been able to break through a wall. There should be clues there.”

Snape nodded heavily.

And so, limping, Snape followed Dumbledore to the fourth-floor corridor.

The place was a wreck. Collapsed walls, broken stone statues—it was nearly reduced to rubble.

The Cerberus’s charge had nearly torn the whole floor apart. Thankfully, the castle’s structure was resilient.

Together, Dumbledore and Snape searched through the ruins. Then, suddenly, Dumbledore paused.

“What is this?”

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