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[HP] Chapter 107-109
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 06:30:02 +0000 UTC### [HP] 107: Summoning the Dark Assassin
After Louis left, Dumbledore sat in silence, staring at the book spread out on his desk.
The illustration of Merlin upon the page showed him surrounded by birds in a scene of harmony.
Only after a long while did Dumbledore lift his head to look at the portraits of the other headmasters.
“Arrogant! Outrageously arrogant!”
It wasn’t just one headmaster who spoke, but all of them, their opinions unanimous.
They all clamored at once about Louis’ terrifying words, many even convinced that this boy was more audacious than Voldemort himself had ever been.
Phineas Nigellus Black, being a pure-blood supremacist, was the most furious of them all.
“What is he thinking? Does he mean to set himself against every pure-blood family? Not even Merlin himself would dare such madness!”
Phineas was livid, almost bursting from his frame in his desire to duel Louis then and there.
“And what has that got to do with you? Do you even have a family left? How many Blacks are still around?”
Dilys Derwent, who had never gotten along with Phineas, shot him a cold glance. Her words hit like a blow, leaving Phineas stunned and speechless on the spot.
“What do you think, Dumbledore?” asked Armando Dippet, the youngest among the group of portraits and well aware of his place.
He knew full well that he was just a portrait, and that their opinions carried little weight. Only those who had gone mad in their frames truly believed their endless shouting would make a difference.
Dumbledore gave a wry smile and shook his head. “It seems this Mr. Wilson has given us quite the fright.”
“You see him as a threat?” Dilys pressed.
“No… not a threat. He is honest, and he lacks ambition. He is fundamentally different from Tom back in the day,” Dumbledore replied. “Let us hope the right guidance will help him keep that heart unchanged.”
---
Two days later, during curfew.
When his roommates had all fallen asleep, Louis raised a hand and opened a hidden doorway in the wall, stepping through with Hastur into one of the Room of Requirement’s secret chambers.
He approached the cauldron bubbling and gurgling away, then casually took up a carbon rod to lift a piece of magical cloth from the brew.
The cloth, once dyed a purplish-black, shed its coating of liquid as it rose, revealing a bright crimson hue beneath.
That was proof enough—the liquid had successfully transformed the material. This magical cloth could now serve as a vessel for enchantments.
After two days of brewing, the preliminary preparations were essentially complete. What remained was the addition of auxiliary ingredients and the infusion of magic.
Once simmered for another half a month, the cloth would be fully finished.
As for what magic to imbue it with, Louis had long since made his decision: the power of the Rat Talisman.
Nothing could be more wondrous than a cloth capable of giving life to statues. Still, Louis intended to place some restrictions upon it, ensuring it would not be able to awaken anything too powerful.
After adding the auxiliary ingredients, Louis’ expression grew solemn. His eyes gleamed, and the phantom image of the Rat Talisman surfaced within them.
The talisman’s image, however, was already marked with countless cracks—yet it still had a little more refinement left before it was truly complete.
The power of motion and stillness flowed into the cauldron. Guided by dark magic, it did not disperse, but instead fused entirely into the viscous liquid before slowly seeping into the fabric.
It was a long process. Over the course of half a month, the power of motion and stillness would constantly reshape the structure of the magical cloth, until it was fully infused with the talisman’s essence.
When he was done with this round of brewing, Louis led Hastur back out, phasing through the wall into another illusory chamber.
This is the main body of the Room of Requirement—its most primitive form.
Everything here seemed formless, shifting and changing at any given moment.
“I need a room for potion-brewing.”
Louis’ calm voice echoed in the illusory space, and in the blink of an eye, the dreamlike surroundings solidified, gradually forming into a potion chamber he knew well.
This wasn’t the first time Louis had witnessed the transformations of the Room of Requirement, but each time still managed to amuse him.
“All right… let’s continue the ritual.” Louis rubbed his hands together, then pulled from his storage space a cauldron filled with thick, purplish-black liquid.
This was one of the bases he had brewed over the past two days. To make his later research on Dark Qi magic more convenient, Louis had spent his free time brewing dozens of such bases and storing them away for later use.
After all, his storage space existed outside the concept of time—nothing inside would ever spoil.
He sprinkled in a prepared powder-like ingredient, then placed both hands on the cauldron’s rim, shut his eyes, and began to chant.
With his murmured incantations, his hands became wreathed in black miasma. The liquid inside the cauldron began to bubble and release purple-black vapors, quickly filling the entire chamber.
Suddenly, Louis opened his eyes. Dark mist roiled within them, but in an instant, it was suppressed by the starlight gleaming in his gaze.
It did not hinder the ritual. Louis parted his lips and spat out three sharp syllables:
“Gan! Wen! Chui!”
The cauldron erupted. Black gas burst forth like a volcanic explosion, surging to the ceiling and condensing into a spiraling cloud of violet and shadow.
From the heart of that cloud, three figures gradually emerged, before descending to kneel before Louis.
Gan, Wen, and Chui—dark assassins from Jackie Chan Adventures, powerful yet disposable pawns bound to the will of Dark Qi sorcerers.
According to the original tale, their base forms belonged to the third tier of expendables. Each one could give the protagonist serious trouble, though in the grand scheme of things, they weren’t too exceptional.
Now, standing before Louis, the three dark assassins dropped to one knee, saluting him with reverence.
“Cannon fodder or not, they don’t look half bad,” Louis mused, rubbing his chin as he examined them. Judging by the aura of Dark Qi, their strength was impressive.
Taking down two Death Eaters apiece would be an easy task—and a satisfying one at that.
More importantly, they were immortal. Even if destroyed, they could regenerate from the Dark Qi itself. Perfectly qualified as expendable shock troops—were it not for their limited numbers, the trio could easily rival the Shadowkhan as the top-tier cannon fodder.
But Louis hadn’t gone through the trouble of performing this Dark Qi ritual merely to summon three disposable killers.
After leaving summoning marks upon them—allowing him to call them forth at will—he waved a hand to dismiss the assassins, then turned back to the cauldron still bubbling with violet-black fumes.
This time, however, he added a special material midway into the ritual.
The pulpy flesh of a pumpkin infused with the demonic miasma of the Water Demon!
The instant the pulp sank into the mixture, the power of Dark Qi spiked violently, nearly bursting the cauldron apart.
Louis’ eyes flashed. Prepared for this, he immediately unleashed all of his internal Dark Qi to suppress it. At the same time, the Rooster Talisman’s glow flared in his pupils—double suppression pinning the boiling demonic energy in place.
Within the liquid, the pumpkin flesh began to corrode, the trapped magic inside awakening and struggling to escape. Yet under Louis’ dual restraint, it had no way out—forced instead to merge with the bubbling concoction.
Even so, the Water Demon’s aura stubbornly clung to its independence, only slowly being dyed black during the fusion.
At last, the miasma of the Water Demon completely transformed!
---
### [HP] 108: Dark Assassin — Chuan
With the Water Demon’s miasma fully transformed, a sudden mist of water spread throughout the Room of Requirement.
The chilling fog soaked straight through Louis’ robes, leaving Hastur’s fur damp and bedraggled as well.
“Meow!” Hastur yowled in protest, pitifully licking at its wet fur.
The air seemed thick with moisture, yet paradoxically carried a strange dryness.
Sensing carefully, Louis realized that the water vapor had been stripped apart into a special elemental state. It carried every property of water, yet had somehow shed the very essence of water itself.
This water had gained life of its own, deliberately repelling all other living things. That was why it left him drenched, yet at the same time made him feel parched.
Above Louis’ head, a vortex of Dark Qi formed once again. This time, however, it was laced with a strange watery mist, staining the violet-black cloud into a pale lilac hue.
From the cauldron, the Water Demon’s miasma rose slowly, intertwining with the Dark Qi above. Water vapor, black energy, and demonic power converged into a single towering humanoid form.
A woman. And unlike Gan, Wen, and Chui, she was nothing like the other dark assassins.
Her skin gleamed with a seductive shade of lavender. Her face was sharp and alluring like a serpent spirit’s, her voluptuous curves wrapped in a leather corset that emphasized her full chest and narrow waist, with taut abdominal lines clear as steel.
Across her body ran faint blue markings, like tattoos etched into her flesh, while every strand of her hair writhed like a thick snake slithering behind her. She looked eerily similar to a creature of legend—
A Naga.
The moment she appeared, the unique Dark Assassin dropped to her knees before Louis, bowing deeply.
“Greetings, Master.”
“You can talk?”
Louis was genuinely startled—this was nothing like the mindless Gan, Wen, and Chui.
“Yes, Master. The demonic miasma granted me higher intelligence. With it, I can better understand and carry out your will.”
Unlike the others, she was not only capable of speech, but spoke with thought and awareness of her own.
“Not bad.” Louis gave the beauty before him a thorough look. “What can you do?”
“Like my kin, I wield weapons forged from Dark Qi.”
The female assassin raised her hand, and a whip of black energy materialized from thin air.
The whip slithered around her like a living creature, its tip flashing with a short blade that gleamed like the venomous fangs of a snake.
With precise control, she made it coil and strike, obediently dancing around her body.
Then she lifted her other hand, conjuring a sphere of water. “And I command the powers of the Water Demon’s miasma.”
The water orb shifted and reformed into spears, blades, and staves—cycling through a full arsenal of weapons. Then, with a ripple, her body itself dissolved into water, reshaping into countless different faces and forms.
Space was too limited here, so she refrained from demonstrating greater feats—like summoning tidal waves or spinning whirlpools.
“Interesting.”
Louis was thoroughly pleased. Even if he had absorbed the Water Demon’s power for himself, he doubted he could wield it with such mastery.
The assassin ended her display, standing quietly before him, head lowered as she awaited her master’s command.
“Do you have a name?” Louis asked.
“No. I am a Dark Assassin created by you, Master. I have yet to be given one of my own.”
Louis thought for a moment. “In that case, you’ll be called Chuan.”
“Thank you for bestowing me a name, Master.”
Chuan dropped to one knee again, bowing deeply in reverence.
“Rise. I have a task for you. From now on, you’ll be in charge of having Gan, Wen, and Chui keep a close watch on Quirrell.”
Finally, Louis had a subordinate with a brain. He wasn’t about to let her go to waste.
While assigning the mission, Louis also took the chance to give Chuan a crash course on Voldemort and Quirrell.
Chuan listened attentively. When Louis finished, she raised a question.
“Master, this Voldemort seems very sharp. Gan, Wen, and Chui may be battle-hardened warriors, but their stealth is lacking. They’ll be discovered easily.”
“Exactly. I want them to be discovered.” Louis was very pleased with his new subordinate’s insight. “It doesn’t matter if they’re caught. If Voldemort takes further action, that’s when you step in—present yourself as an examiner from the ‘United Villains of the World, One Big Family.’”
“What… what… one big family?” Chuan blinked in confusion, her alluring face suddenly wearing an adorably dazed expression.
“Yes—‘the United Villains of the World, One Big Family.’” Louis patiently explained again. “If you can’t remember it, just say you’re an examiner. Whatever they ask, keep a cold face and tell them: ‘That’s not something you need to know.’”
“That’s not something you need to know,” Chuan repeated, trying it out with a frosty expression.
“Perfect! That’s it.” Louis clapped his hands. “Your acting’s pretty good. Also, remember to collect the prepared items from that guy and stash them in the adjoining room.”
“Yes, Master.”
Louis was essentially patching a hole in his own story. The great organization he had invented—United Villains of the World, One Big Family—had been established in name as a mighty force, yet until now, not a single rank-and-file minion had appeared. That was far too suspicious.
A leader could stand alone, sure—but if every petty errand had to be done by the boss himself, where was the gravitas in that? Even Voldemort had at least a few squads of Death Eaters.
That was why Louis had decided to summon Dark Assassins.
In truth, his first choice had been the Shadowkhan, the legion born from the power of the Tarakudo mask. But alas, his mastery of Dark Qi was nowhere near enough to control the mask’s power.
And he wasn’t about to wear the mask himself and risk becoming Tarakudo. A stand-in would be too risky as well—if the mask backfired, the consequences would be dire.
With his top choice off the table, he had to settle for the backup plan. Thankfully, with Chuan as commander, he felt far more at ease than leaving everything to Gan, Wen, and Chui.
He feared those brainless assassins might accidentally butcher Quirrell. And in Voldemort’s current weakened state, the Dark Assassins could squash him flat without effort.
“Oh, by the way—do you have any special needs for your weapon?” Louis suddenly asked.
Chuan hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Master, our weapons are born with us. They obey like our own limbs—we require no others.”
“I know you have your innate weapons. But that alone isn’t enough.”
Louis snapped his fingers. A golden ripple shimmered into existence before Chuan, from which emerged a long, gleaming whip.
The system had named this weapon Gleipnir—the legendary chain forged from things that did not exist in the world.
It came from the Treasury of the King, which meant it was an “original.” Originals, however, weren’t necessarily stronger than their mythical counterparts; myths carried divine blessings, while an original merely held the raw materials and a touch of myth’s essence.
“Take it. This is my gift to you. It should be able to bind any existence in this world.” Louis said.
“Thank you, Master.” A rare flicker of delight appeared in Chuan’s eyes. She accepted the divine whip, letting it coil around her arm.
Gold against lavender skin—it lent her an even more dazzling aura.
“Good. You may go. I authorize you to command Gan, Wen, and Chui. Carry out the mission I’ve given you.”
“Yes, Master.”
Chuan bowed, then turned and melted into a pool of water, vanishing into the Room of Requirement.
The Room, impervious to the outside world, could not block the Dark Assassin’s innate darkness. Even here, she could slip in and out of shadow at will.
And though Gan, Wen, and Chui were already out in theory, tailing Quirrell and Voldemort, Louis could summon his loyal pawns back at any moment with ease.
Truly, the most convenient kind of cannon fodder.
---
### [HP] 109: Who Ordered Takeout?
Hogwarts at night was steeped in gloom.
Because of the castle’s architecture, the bright moonlight only lit up small patches of ground. Most of the vast stone walls and courtyards were swallowed by darkness—let alone the windowless corridors inside, where shadows pooled like ink.
In the latter half of the night, when the candles burned out, those corridors became so dark one couldn’t even see their own fingers.
For students sneaking around after curfew, it was a serious challenge. For those harboring darker intentions, however, it was the perfect cover.
From the shadow of a wall corner, a huge black rat, its tail as long as a child’s forearm, scurried along with a map clenched in its teeth. It looked exactly like a rat caught stealing oil.
Well—because it was a rat.
This rat clutching the Marauder’s Map was none other than Peter Pettigrew.
Ever since that Slytherin boy had called out the truth of his shortened lifespan—and cowed him with a single glance—Peter had been unable to eat or sleep properly.
Yes, once again he was living in fear. This time, not even Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans tempted him—he had lost his appetite entirely.
What could he do? He was a coward by nature. If not for that cowardice, he never would have become Voldemort’s informant, never would have betrayed James and Lily Potter—his closest friends—by revealing their Fidelius-protected location while he was their Secret-Keeper.
Fear was ingrained in him, but beneath it lay venom as poisonous as any bold man’s.
“That brat… unforgivable!” Peter’s thoughts burned with rage and humiliation as he recalled that Slytherin student.
To think that he, Peter Pettigrew, would be frightened by an underage wizard… it was a disgrace.
Of course, he only dared mutter in anger now, in the dead of night. He didn’t even dare picture that boy’s piercing stare. Instead, he pushed away the memory by drowning himself in vicious thoughts.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
Cruel light gleamed in the rat’s beady eyes as he scoured the Marauder’s Map. His gaze swept back and forth restlessly, but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find the Slytherin boy’s name.
Where had he gone? Where was Louis Wilson hiding?
Peter ground his teeth. He longed to rip the boy to shreds, piece by piece.
Then, suddenly, at the spot marking the Slytherin dormitory, a name flickered into existence—Louis Wilson.
Finally!
Peter had no idea why the boy’s name had vanished before, nor did he care. At this moment, his only thought was to silence the one person who could expose him.
This was true, festering hatred. The Weasley twins had also come close to exposing him, yet all he did was steal the map from them. But Louis? For Louis, he wanted blood.
It wasn’t affection for the Weasleys after five years in their home. No, it was because Louis had made him feel something the twins never did—fear.
The small, weak, cruel ones are always the first to bare their fangs when cornered.
But when Peter reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he froze.
He didn’t know the password. He couldn’t get in.
Even if he had known it, it wouldn’t have helped. He couldn’t risk transforming back into a man in front of the portrait. That would reveal the truth—that he was alive.
And he knew these portraits. They were all Dumbledore’s eyes and ears. To expose himself to them was no different from exposing himself to Dumbledore.
Just as Peter was squeaking in frustration, fate lent him a hand.
A Slytherin student, returning from a secret nighttime excursion, came hurrying back to the common room.
“Lion’s Mane,” the boy muttered the correct password.
The stone door slid open, and Peter darted in after him without hesitation.
Opportunity at last!
Peter trembled with excitement. Tonight, he would finally kill that detestable Louis Wilson.
Inside the dormitory, Louis had just finished washing up. He yawned, changed into his pajamas, and flopped onto his bed.
The imitation Elder Wand was tossed casually onto his bedside table. Stretching lazily, Louis was ready to drift off.
After performing two Dark Qi rituals, he was worn out. It was already deep into the night, and if not for the Horse and Dog Talismans sustaining him, Louis would have worried about collapsing from exhaustion.
“Goodnight, Hastur. Goodnight, Fafnir.”
He murmured a farewell to his two pets, then buried his face into the soft pillow and quickly fell asleep.
In his dreams, thanks to his Nightmare powers, Louis remained unusually lucid. With nothing better to do, he conjured up a few random dream-figures and sat down to play mahjong with them.
Dream-mahjong was truly absurd—like meeting King Yama in broad daylight. As a nightmare demon himself, whenever Louis let his subconscious run wild, his dreams inevitably spun into the bizarre.
With a perfectly serious face, he pushed his tiles forward: Pure honor hand, waiting on a single wild card—Hu!
Wild card? Since when did mahjong even have a “wild card”? Yet everyone at the table accepted it as perfectly normal.
Four or five rounds later, Louis still couldn’t make sense of the rules. But whatever—dreams weren’t bound by rules. If someone played three bamboos and you slammed down four two-dots to bomb them, that was just part of the fun.
While Louis was playing muddled dream-mahjong, the dormitory door creaked open without a sound.
A red-eyed rat slunk in, furtive and trembling.
At once, the two tyrants of the dormitory noticed.
The owl Fafnir and the Flerken Hastur turned their heads in unison to eye the intruder.
Well, well—midnight snack delivered right to the door! Who ordered takeout?
Peter Pettigrew, slipping inside, had no idea of the danger. Hearing the steady breathing of the sleeping boys, he thought he had snuck in unnoticed.
“All I need to do is take that Slytherin boy’s wand, kill him, and toss his corpse into the Black Lake. Then everything will be fine.”
He crept toward the bed labeled “Louis Wilson” on the Marauder’s Map, his beady eyes falling instantly on the wand lying on the bedside table.
A thrill of triumph ran through him. He was just about to dart forward when he felt a sudden chill, as though two pairs of vicious eyes were fixed on him.
Who—?
The rat spun in frantic little circles on the floor, never realizing that directly above, a cat and an owl were watching him with keen interest.
“Meow.” Hastur gave a soft sound to Fafnir—you or me?
“Coo.” Fafnir answered just as quietly—wait. That rat looks odd. Could be sick—parasites, heatstroke, who knows. Let’s watch.
“Meow?”
Hastur shot the owl a look, wondering if Fafnir had lost his mind.
What’s so strange about a rat? Just grab it—
But before Hastur could act, the rat suddenly began to swell—visibly, grotesquely expanding in size!
“Meow!” Hastur yowled in shock. He couldn’t make sense of it, but his instincts screamed—look at that thing, it’s big enough for several meals now!
Food was meant to be eaten directly—not swallowed whole and dumped into a pocket universe.
“Coo!” Fafnir flapped his wings, pointing toward the rat—no, the rat-man—reaching for the wand. His meaning was clear: Don’t hesitate—get him!
“Meow-oww!”
“Guh-graa!”
With twin cries, the cat and the owl lunged together at Peter Pettigrew.
---
