Dragging the unconscious Peter Pettigrew, Louis stepped into the Room of Requirement.
The surroundings shifted quickly, reshaping into a fully stocked potions lab. Louis, practiced as ever, pulled out a cauldron already filled with base liquid and began brewing.
This time, it was a memory-erasing potion—Forgetfulness Draught.
It was listed in Advanced Potion-Making, though Louis had tweaked the recipe to make it easier to control.
He needed to erase Peter's abnormal memory—specifically, the part where he nearly got stomped to death by Louis.
Such a near-death memory would be burned deeply into him. To make sure it vanished completely, Louis increased the dosage.
The reason he kept Peter alive and went so far as to erase his memory was simple: Peter was the key to triggering Sirius Black's storyline.
Sirius Black—an important character, and the Fate Points tied to him would easily be in the hundreds.
Losing such a fat "experience monster" just because Peter died too soon and Sirius wasted away in Azkaban? That would be a colossal loss for Louis.
And Louis had no idea where Azkaban even was. That place was harder to find than the lighthouse Vernon Dursley used to hide Harry's letters.
If Sirius died in Azkaban without direct interference, Louis would get no reward at all—no Fate Points for such indirect meddling. That would be the worst outcome.
"Just stay quiet and behave. When the time comes, lure Sirius Black out for me… then I'll decide what to do with you."
Muttering to himself, Louis used the power of the Rooster Talisman to control a ball of steaming potion and pour it straight into Peter's mouth.
Louis's plan for him could be summed up in one phrase: wild development.
A twist so outrageous that not even a cracked skull could've imagined it.
"Mm. By next year, I should be able to get the diary. That'll give me two Voldemort fragments. When third year comes, I'll let Peter hold one of them."
It tied in nicely—Louis still had a mission involving Voldemort's soul fragments: distribute them among a handful of people and set them against each other.
Such a distortion of fate might just break destiny entirely.
Once the potion was administered and the memories erased, Louis dragged Peter into a secluded corner of the castle where neither people, portraits, nor ghosts were likely to find him.
He paused, then said softly, "Chuan."
The word had barely left his lips when water seeped up from the floor, gathering into the form of a beautiful young woman.
"Master," Chuan greeted.
"Watch this man. Don't let anyone find him. When he's about to wake up, then you may leave."
"Yes, Master," Chuan nodded.
"Oh, and—did Voldemort discover you?" Louis asked casually.
Chuan shook her head. "Not yet, Master."
"Probably hasn't been long enough," Louis mused. "After this, resume monitoring him."
"Yes."
The young woman melted back into a pool of water, sinking into the floor as if she had left. But Louis knew better—this was her unique surveillance method. If anyone approached, she could instantly drag Peter into the depths of darkness.
Louis double-checked his belongings, and once everything was in order, he opened a door to an auxiliary chamber of the Room of Requirement, and from there stepped back into the dormitory.
Having authority was so convenient—he could do whatever he wanted.
---
At last, a stretch of normal daily life returned.
Louis yawned, propping his head against his arm, half-dozing as a professor lectured.
It was History of Magic, taught by the ghost Professor Cuthbert Binns—who was nearly as old as Hogwarts itself.
That is, counting both his years alive and his years dead.
The only one in the school who could rival his age was probably Peeves.
Yes, that very poltergeist who did nothing but cause mischief. Peeves had been around since the school first admitted students. Every year, someone tried to drive him out, and every year they failed.
As for Professor Binns—he was erudite, his lectures thorough… and yet they came with a built-in hypnotic effect. By the end of class, half the students were usually asleep.
Even Louis's nightmare bloodline struggled to resist.
Sure enough, Harry Potter, sitting beside him, and Ron—with his pet rat Scabbers—were both sound asleep.
Fortunately, Professor Binns never cared. He knew his lectures put people to sleep; as long as you didn't disturb others, it was fine to nap.
At some point, Harry had developed the habit of sitting next to Louis. If he had questions, he'd ask. If not, he'd still try to pull Louis into discussions.
Louis couldn't exactly refuse—Harry wasn't being hostile, after all. But Harry seemed to take his tolerance as proof of friendship. It really showed just how desperate the boy, so starved of companionship, was for friends.
When class finally ended, Louis packed up his books to leave. Beside him, Harry and Ron stretched and yawned, still bleary-eyed.
Scabbers almost slipped off Ron's robes, scrambling to hook his claws into the fabric to avoid hitting the floor.
"Oh, Scabbers, you've gotten clumsy lately." Ron shook his head, exasperated. "You used to grab my hand with your tail."
Louis glanced at the rat. Understandable—after all, a strong Forgetfulness Draught brewed with Black Qi magic would make the drinker lose even basic reflexes.
"Finally, it's over. History of Magic is exhausting." Ron rubbed his numb arm. "So, what should we do now?"
"Wizard's chess!" Harry said eagerly. Ever since he'd learned the game, he'd been obsessed with the animated pieces.
"Louis, want to play?" Harry asked.
"No, I promised Hermione I'd go to the library with her." Louis refused.
This so-called Savior… always pestering him to play chess instead of studying.
"You've turned Harry down five times already. Why do you keep going to the library with that bookworm? Don't tell me someone actually reads for fun." Ron grumbled.
Louis's expression grew odd. He patted Ron's shoulder. "Just… bear with it. Three… two…"
Ron stared blankly as Louis counted down. On "one," a book thwacked the back of his head.
"This bookworm does read for fun—sorry if that bothers you!" Hermione huffed, glaring with wide eyes.
Harry snickered, greeting her cheerfully. "Afternoon, Hermione."
"Afternoon, Harry," she nodded, then turned back to glare daggers at Ron.
Caught red-handed badmouthing her, Ron wilted immediately. "Uh… sorry."
But when he said it, he shot Louis a resentful look.
Louis spread his hands innocently. "Don't blame me for the late warning. It's just bad luck—she walked in right as you said it."
---
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