[HP] Chapter 113-115

### [HP] 113: But He’s a Descendant of Merlin

Christmas holidays were never something a pure-blood family would overlook.

Draco Malfoy stepped off the train and inhaled the biting cold air, feeling as though he had been gone for ages. In truth, it had only been a few months since he left home for Hogwarts, but the experience felt like he had endured years of torment in some hellish place. The thought made his eyes sting with unshed tears.

“Draco.” A cool, detached voice cut through the air.

An elegant man with shoulder-length platinum blond hair walked toward him, carrying with him a natural aura of authority that instantly drew Draco’s reverence and awe.

“Father.” Draco pressed down his joy and greeted him with proper decorum.

His father had always reminded himbe elegant.

“Hm.” Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and current head of the Malfoy family, gave a reserved nod. “Give your luggage to Dobby. We’re going home.”

“Yes, Father.” Draco tossed his trunk to a house-elf barely a meter tall.

The elf staggered under the enormous weight, nearly collapsing. But nobody cared about the plight of a house-elf. Clenching his teeth, Dobby lifted the trunk as best he could and vanished with a snap of his fingers.

Father and son used the station fireplace to travel back to the Malfoy Manor’s Floo connection point outside the estate. The manor itself was deliberately unlinked from the Floo Network to prevent intruders from entering directly.

Unlike Hogwarts, the manor lacked anti-Apparition enchantments—those required the combined skill of more than ten accomplished wizards, something the Malfoy family could not afford.

As for why they did not simply travel by car, the reason was obvious: noble wizards would never demean themselves by mingling with Muggles. For Lucius, even brushing shoulders with Muggles at the station was an insult.

Sharing the station with Muggle-born parents waiting for their children was, in his eyes, a humiliation.

They also did not Apparate because Draco had never been trained in the art; subjecting him to the disorienting experience risked vomiting—and that was hardly elegant.

The grand gates of Malfoy Manor slowly swung open. Dobby, who had just finished putting away the luggage, rushed out to welcome them. Once inside the opulent, castle-like estate, the elf hurried off again to prepare lunch.

“Draco!” A delighted voice rang out as Narcissa Malfoy swept forward to greet her precious son.

“Mother.” Draco visibly relaxed. Compared to his stern father, his gentle mother was far more comforting.

“Don’t just stand there—come inside for lunch.” Narcissa took Draco by one hand and Lucius by the other, leading them into the dining hall.

The long table was laden with the lavish meal Dobby had prepared. The room remained quiet, the only sound the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain.

The silence lingered all the way until the meal ended. Once Dobby had cleared the plates and tidied the table, Lucius finally spoke.

“Did anything interesting happen at school?”

Though phrased like casual conversation, his measured tone made it sound more like an interrogation.

Draco, long accustomed to his father’s manner of speaking, was about to share some anecdotes from school when shame forced him to lower his head.

“Why are you looking down? Raise your head!” Lucius’s voice was sharp.

Reluctantly, Draco lifted his gaze, looking between his stern father and his gentle mother. “I… there wasn’t anything interesting at school.”

“Nothing?” Lucius arched an eyebrow. “I heard Harry Potter started at Hogwarts this year?”

“Y-Yes.”

“And you didn’t make his acquaintance?” Lucius pressed.

“No. He spends his time with the youngest Weasley boy, and he spoke to me rudely.” At this, Draco’s expression twisted with resentment.

“Heh… Weasley.” At the mention of that name, Lucius’s eyes darkened with disdain and disgust. “A family that tarnishes the honor of pure-bloods. Anyone who associates with them chooses degradation willingly.”

Lucius’s words carried more than the usual scorn—there was bitterness, too. Normally he would have settled for mocking and despising the Weasleys, but this time, his disdain was steeped in genuine loathing.

Recently, troubling rumors had begun to spread within the Ministry of Magic—talk of a decree to ban Dark artifacts, with whispers that even pure-blood families would be searched.

And Arthur Weasley—the father of that brood of redheads—was the one most zealously pushing it forward.

They’ll have to be taught a lesson sooner or later, Lucius Malfoy thought grimly.

After all, what old pure-blood family didn’t have one or two Dark objects tucked away? More than that, Lucius had once been a Death Eater—one of Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenants.

If he hadn’t claimed at the time that he’d acted under the Imperius Curse, and then “donated” a generous sum to smooth things over, he’d likely still be rotting in Azkaban, keeping company with Dementors.

So of course his manor housed more Dark objects than could be counted. And beyond those, he still possessed something far more dangerous.

Every time that particular relic crossed his mind, Lucius felt a chill run down his spine.

“Harry Potter,” Lucius said firmly, “that Boy Who Lived must already be making a spectacle of himself at Hogwarts, just like his insufferable father.”

“Not… not really.” Draco hesitated. “The one who gets the most attention at school right now is Louis Wilson.”

“Louis Wilson?” Lucius frowned. “Never heard of the name. Clearly not pure-blood. Gryffindor, then? Or perhaps Ravenclaw?”

Naturally, he didn’t even consider Hufflepuff. A true Slytherin held nothing but contempt for that House.

“N-No, he’s in Slytherin,” Draco admitted, though uneasily. He wanted to tattle, to use his father’s power against Louis—but some part of him was afraid.

“Slytherin? Then he’s a half-blood?” Lucius pressed.

“N-Not exactly. At first we all thought he was a Muggle-born…” Draco began, only to be cut off by his father’s furious roar.

“What? A Muggle-born? How dare Dumbledore! He’s defiling Hogwarts—defiling Slytherin itself!”

Draco flinched so hard his body shook. He had never seen his father so enraged, and the sight nearly scared the life out of him.

“N-No, Father, that’s not it!” Draco rushed to explain. “Later we found out he wasn’t Muggle-born… he’s descended from a Squib.”

“A Squib? And how is that any better?” Lucius sneered coldly. “Degeneracy! I’ll rally the other governors to impeach Dumbledore!”

“But… that Squib is said to have come from Merlin’s bloodline…” Draco muttered in a small voice.

“What bloodline doesn’t matter—what did you just say?” Lucius’s eyes widened, certain he’d misheard.

“Merlin’s bloodline.” Draco repeated it, more clearly this time. “Louis Wilson is a wizard descended from Merlin.”

The lavish dining hall fell into dead silence.

“Merlin… bloodline?” Narcissa Malfoy’s voice was incredulous. “That’s… utterly absurd…”

“Are you certain, Draco?” Lucius asked after a long pause.

Draco scratched his head. “That’s what everyone says. And besides…”

“Besides what?” Lucius demanded.

“Besides… he can control dreams. I was cursed by him and suffered nightmares for ages,” Draco said, his voice thick with grievance.

“Control dreams…” Lucius’s eyes went wide again, but this time with conviction. That ability was proof enough of the Merlin bloodline’s authenticity.

And it wasn’t just the Malfoys—many pure-blood families soon heard the same from their own children. Even Crabbe and Goyle, dull as they were, repeated the tale at home.

In no time at all, nearly every pure-blood household was shaken by the revelation.

It was as though a massive stone had been dropped into a still pond, sending ripples spreading far and wide.

Only one question remained—how would they all choose to respond to Louis’s existence?

***

### [HP] 114: Stir Things Up! Stir Things Up!

At night, Louis wandered through the halls of Hogwarts Castle, moving like some ghost haunting an ancient fortress.

It wasn’t even past eight o’clock, yet Hogwarts was already terrifyingly eerie. With its gloomy atmosphere and the occasional ghost drifting through, anyone without nerves of steel would find life here unbearable.

Earlier, he had been relaxing at home, and he was still enjoying that comfort. Sitting by the fireplace, chatting idly with his parents about amusing school stories, he had only sent a portion of his focus to control the Faceless Phantom as it roamed the castle.

As expected of a Stand with Range A, the Faceless Phantom didn’t disappoint. Even with Louis far away from Hogwarts, it could still move freely here.

What Louis was pondering now was whether Harry would sneak out for a midnight adventure on Christmas night.

He didn’t know whether Hagrid, whose mouth was as leaky as a bucket with holes, had accidentally mentioned Nicolas Flamel’s name.

Nor did he know if Hermione—who was no longer constantly glued to Harry—had told him anything about Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone.

So he couldn’t be sure whether Harry would wander into the Restricted Section under his Invisibility Cloak and then stumble upon the Mirror of Erised in panic.

But it didn’t matter. Whether Harry found it or not, the Mirror would appear when it was destined to, and only then would it be removed.

Louis wasn’t curious about Harry—he was curious about the Mirror itself. He wanted to see what the Mirror of Erised would show him when it reflected his own image.

It was said that truly happy people saw only themselves in the mirror.

Louis wondered if he could count himself as “happy enough.”

Finding the Mirror wasn’t hard—perhaps because Dumbledore never truly intended to hide it at all.

Louis located it in a certain room.

The Mirror stood at least three meters tall. Its glass was cloudy, faintly yellow, so much so that it couldn’t reflect an image from even two meters away.

The Faceless Phantom stood before it, but as a spiritual projection it naturally cast no reflection—nothing appeared in the mirror.

Louis tried manifesting the Stand into a solid body, but still, no image appeared.

“Does it need the real body?” he wondered.

He decided he would return later that night.

After all, it wouldn’t do to suddenly vanish mid-conversation at home.

…

Deep into the night, once his parents were asleep, Louis swapped places with his Stand from his bedroom.

On his bed, the Faceless Phantom slowly shifted into Louis’s form, lying there and pretending to be asleep.

The real Louis, meanwhile, replaced his Stand’s position and reappeared at Hogwarts.

He didn’t run into Harry cloaked in invisibility—according to the timeline, Harry wouldn’t receive the Invisibility Cloak until Christmas Day itself.

Once more standing before the Mirror of Erised, Louis dropped his invisibility and looked at his reflection.

To be honest, the idea of seeing his heart’s desire made him both excited and uneasy. After all, one’s truest wish was sometimes hidden even from oneself—and might even be something one couldn’t accept.

The mirror first reflected Louis’s own face. Then, slowly, the image began to shift.

Louis’s eyes widened as the scene grew more and more absurd.

A salted fish—rotting, stinking—flopped weakly on the sand of a beach…

“The hell is this…” Louis’s face darkened. Isn’t this just bullying an honest man?

Whose dream was it to become a salted fish flapping about on a beach?

And wait—wasn’t the Mirror of Erised supposed to show the person plus their deepest desire?

What the hell—where was everyone? Just a salted fish flopping on the sand?

“Even if my ultimate dream is to lie flat and rot, it shouldn’t insult me like this.” Louis glared at the mirror, itching to smash it to pieces on the spot.

But picking a fight with a mirror was pointless, and that only made him more irritated.

And when Louis was in a bad mood, he wanted to stir up trouble. Doing so under his own identity, however, was out of the question—technically speaking, he wasn’t even supposed to be at Hogwarts right now.

“Voldemort’s been way too quiet lately. Isn’t he the villain? What’s he being so peaceful for? Get out there and cause some chaos already!”

So, annoyed, Louis decided to arrange something for Voldemort.

But how?

At first, Louis considered letting Dio Brando make another appearance—but the idea suddenly felt dull.

Maybe this time he should let Chuan handle it. It’d be a good chance to test her ability to stir up trouble.

With that thought, Louis called her name directly.

“Chuan.”

The ever-reliable young woman appeared before him instantly.

“Master,” Chuan bowed respectfully.

“Voldemort’s been far too quiet,” Louis said. “Find him something to do.”

“Any specific requirements?” Chuan asked.

“No, just make him move, make Dumbledore nervous. That’s all.” Louis waved it off casually.

Keep it simple—no need to blow things out of proportion.

“Understood.” Chuan immediately grasped her master’s intent. He was bored but couldn’t act himself, so he wanted someone else to stir the pot in his place. “Then I’ll give Voldemort a reason that will draw everyone’s attention away.”

“Sounds good.” Louis’s eyes lit up. “But how are you going to make him do that?”

“Very simple. Master, you just need to watch.” With that, Chuan dissolved into a puddle of water and slipped away, but not before leaving behind a marker to guide Louis.

The marker, however, pointed outside the castle—toward the Forbidden Forest.

“Hm? Voldemort isn’t in the castle?” Louis pulled out the Marauder’s Map, which he had reclaimed from Peter Pettigrew. Sure enough, neither Voldemort nor Quirrell’s name appeared within Hogwarts.

The Map only displayed names inside the castle. Chuan had realized this and marked the path deliberately.

“Not bad—this Chuan really knows what she’s doing.” Louis was very pleased with his subordinate’s performance. Following the guide, he headed straight for the Forbidden Forest.

Quirrell and Voldemort were there for a simple reason: the thrice-a-day Little Red Potion was no longer enough to sustain Quirrell’s rapidly deteriorating body. In the end, he had no choice but to take the path of drinking unicorn blood.

Before long, Louis arrived at Voldemort’s hunting ground. The first thing that caught his eye was the magnificent creature itself.

A unicorn. Its coat was a pure, crystalline white, its frame sleek and strong, its horn thrust skyward.

It strolled lazily, unafraid—here in the Forbidden Forest it had almost no natural predators. Even Acromantulas would not dare to prey on a unicorn.

But today, a merciless hunter had entered the woods.

In the shadows of the dense trees, a pair of scarlet eyes glared greedily at the pure creature.

Suddenly, a gust of wind rustled the leaves, catching the unicorn’s attention. At that very instant, a strange, spider-like figure lunged down from the branches.

It was Quirrell, controlled by Voldemort. Quirrell’s body was already half-decayed; only Voldemort’s will could force it to move, to hunt!

Just as Louis thought he’d get to witness the rare sight of Voldemort striking down a unicorn, the startled creature reared up.

And with one mighty kick, it sent Voldemort flying.

…Ah.

Louis covered his face. The secondhand embarrassment was almost too much to bear.

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### [HP] 115: Guess What I Drew?

The unicorn truly lived up to its name as a mighty magical creature—one kick of its hooves had sent Voldemort flying.

But Voldemort was not so easily dealt with. Judging by his movements, he must have taken plenty of kicks while hunting unicorns these past few days; he’d even built up some “experience” from it.

The moment he hit the ground, he bounced back up and launched himself at the unicorn a second time. This time, the creature didn’t react quickly enough—Voldemort managed to latch onto its neck, pressing a wand beneath its jaw.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of sickly green light flared beneath the unicorn’s chin. It screamed in agony, rearing on its front legs as silvery blood spilled from its nostrils and mouth.

Unicorns possessed incredibly high resistance to magic; ordinary spells could barely harm them, and even the Killing Curse often failed to strike them down in one blow.

That was why Voldemort had resorted to this brutal, close-range casting—pressing the curse right against its head.

Even stripped of most of his power, his hunting expertise more than compensated for the lack of raw strength.

One more beautiful unicorn collapsed lifeless to the forest floor. Voldemort crouched over its body, tearing into its veins, gulping the blood down in great mouthfuls before it had the chance to clot.

Unicorn blood could grant life to the dying, but at the terrible price of a curse—an existence of endless suffering, neither living nor dying.

But Voldemort didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping Quirrell alive. As for the torment Quirrell would suffer? That wasn’t his problem.

Suddenly, Voldemort stiffened, sensing a presence. He turned his head sharply—just in time to see a mass of water rising from the earth and coalescing into a breathtaking human form.

In her hand was a long golden whip, gleaming like an ornament that seemed to have been born with her, too striking to ignore.

It was Chuan.

“Voldemort? You really are as crude as a beast,” Chuan said icily. Her tone toward him carried none of the gentleness she showed Louis—only haughty disdain.

“You again.” Voldemort wiped the silvery blood from his lips. “Why are you here? To watch me make a fool of myself?”

“I’ve no time to watch a stray dog hunt,” Chuan shot back coldly. “I’m only here to ensure the student I’m overseeing doesn’t get killed by one of the exam questions.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

Her words stoked Voldemort’s fury, but the message hidden within them made him pay close attention.

“Heh… I think the headmaster and several professors already suspect you and your host. Yet here you are, acting as if nothing matters. Are you waiting for them to finish their discussion before they come to seize you?”

Her laugh was razor-sharp.

Louis, observing, realized this was the perfect role for Chuan—the cold, aloof, domineering beauty. Around him she was far too gentle, softening her aura.

A bead of cold sweat slid down Voldemort’s face. He forced a snort. “So what if they suspect me? Without evidence they can do nothing. And until I obtain what I want, I won’t leave this place!”

“Then you truly are a fool. If you remain under constant scrutiny, how do you expect to get anywhere near the Philosopher’s Stone?” Chuan looked down at him from on high, her blue eyes brimming with disgust and scorn. “What you need now is to reduce suspicion on your host.”

“Easier said than done! And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Voldemort demanded. “Your so-called solution is to frame others, to redirect attention—but who in this castle is even worth suspecting?”

“That’s your problem, not mine. I’ve already given you a path to think on. Do you expect me to plan everything for you as well? Perhaps I should just take the Philosopher’s Stone myself while I’m at it.”

Chuan snorted coldly. “Figure it out yourself.”

And with that, just as she had arrived, she dissolved into a pool of water and vanished.

Voldemort’s wary gaze lingered on the spot where she had stood. Once again, he was reminded of the terrifying weight of that strange group—the so-called union of villains across the world.

Whether it was Dio Brando, suspected to be their leader, or this self-proclaimed examiner, both filled him with an undeniable sense of danger.

Their powers were bizarre and terrifying… and yet, not magic at all.

And then there were their subordinates—those three with mediocre stealth skills but combat strength surpassing Death Eaters.

Every single person connected to that organization left Voldemort sleepless, unsettled.

Though, admittedly, the organization’s name sounded laughable no matter how you thought about it.

> [Your subordinates have further convinced Voldemort to believe in and fear the fabricated organization you created.]

> [The impact runs deep.]

> [You gained Trick Points: 500. Current total: 94,000.]

> [You gained: 1 Legendary Lottery Draw.]

Louis once again earned a Legendary draw. Truly, Voldemort lived up to his reputation. Even in his weakened state, the Trick Points he yielded were meager—but the bonus Legendary draw?

Absolutely worth it.

Watching Voldemort sink into brooding silence, Louis stroked his chin and suddenly felt something was off.

All he’d wanted was to stir some trouble, but he hadn’t known in which direction to push things—so he’d called on Chuan, handed her the task, and let her handle it.

Chuan had known the direction in which to cause chaos, but apparently not the specifics. So she’d simply tossed the direction at Voldemort, leaving him to figure out the details.

“…What kind of corporate office politics nonsense is this?” Louis shook his head, clearing away the absurd thoughts.

“Forget it, time to draw. A Legendary draw like this—before Voldemort’s chaos fully erupts—is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

Louis lay back on his bed, excitement rising, and began the Legendary Lottery.

> Current draw: Legendary

> Attempt consumed

> Lottery starting…

Amid rainbow-hued brilliance, silhouettes drifted past before his eyes. Louis stared tensely at the figures, anticipation mounting for his fifth-ever prize.

… … …

A sword immortal soaring on his blade, an immortal shrouded in glowing clouds, and even a flash of a blue raccoon cat darting past.

“Holy crap—don’t scare me like that! Don’t tell me I’m about to pull Doraemon!” Louis clutched his chest.

If it were Doraemon’s gadgets, fine—though they wouldn’t work in Hogwarts, at least they could still make life at home convenient.

But if he actually pulled Doraemon’s template? His life would be ruined.

Just the cat’s crippling fear of mice would be nauseating enough—not to mention the cursed fate of being a useless sidekick doomed to suffer while helping others live happily ever after.

Finally, the prize settled on a towering silhouette. Too tall. So tall Louis was dumbstruck.

He raised his head, recognizing the familiar colors, the familiar face—and at once felt dread crawling up his spine.

“Oi! No way! Don’t you dare screw me over!”

As his scream echoed, the figure dissolved into a beam of light and landed in Louis’s hand. At the same time, the system kindly delivered its message:

> [You obtained a Legendary Enhancement Item: Spark Prism Rod infused with the power of the Giant of Light.]

Louis’s expression went blank, even a little broken, as he stared at the all-too-familiar size and shape of the object in his hand.

That’s right. A transformation wand. The Spark Prism Rod—the one that turns broth into Ultraman. The rod that turns you into light.

“This is absolute crap!” Louis’s eyes blazed as he hurled the rod furiously to the floor.

Ultraman, of all things?! He’d have accepted a four-dimensional pocket, sure. Even a cameo as a certain blue raccoon cat would’ve been fine! But turn him into Tiga Ultraman?!

“Do I look like someone with light in his heart? All my magic runs on darkness, damn it!”

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