RedX43
patreon
[HP] 41: The Little Snakes Lying in the Dorm
🕑 Added 2025-07-18 03:35:45 +0000 UTCAt that moment, in the Potions classroom...
Severus Snape gave a small wave of his hand, signaling for Hermione—who had just answered a question—to sit down.
“You’re correct, but you’re far too eager to show off,” Snape said in his slow, drifting tone, which could only be described as sarcastic and cold. Though to be fair, that was just how he always spoke—it wasn’t necessarily aimed at anyone in particular. “As for the rest of you, why haven’t you written any of this down?”
He turned and walked back to the lectern, making no move to award Ravenclaw any points.
Hermione sat down reluctantly, clearly frustrated. The mood in the classroom dropped another few degrees; every student buried their heads in their parchment, scribbling away, terrified of drawing the attention of the fearsome professor.
Students from other houses had long been warned by older classmates: don’t expect to earn points in Snape’s class. In fact, the safest strategy was to not draw attention to yourself at all. Strive not for excellence, but survival.
Hermione, being Hermione, had refused to believe that. She had eagerly raised her hand to answer Snape’s question—only to be smacked in the face by his cold logic.
“Now, let us continue with the handling and applications of aconite,” Snape said, flipping open the textbook and preparing to resume the lecture—when suddenly, a knock came at the door.
Snape looked up and was surprised to see none other than Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.
“Severus, a word outside, please,” she said, rapping on the door with a grim expression.
“You all—self-study for now,” Snape said, immediately sensing something was wrong. He motioned for the class to read on their own and stepped out.
“What’s the matter, Professor McGonagall?” Snape asked.
“It’s your house,” McGonagall replied, concern etched on her face. “I’ve been checking classrooms, and not a single Slytherin boy showed up for class—except Mr. Wilson.”
“Wilson? That Muggle-born wizard?” Snape’s eyelid twitched. “Did he say anything happened?”
“No. He said when he left the dormitory, the others were still asleep,” McGonagall said, frowning. “Do you think he...?”
“He’s suspicious by nature,” Snape’s tone dropped its usual drawl. “Call in Mr. Filch. We need to check the dormitory immediately.”
“I thought the same,” McGonagall nodded.
Together, the two Heads of House called on Argus Filch, the Squib caretaker of Hogwarts, and made their way to the Slytherin common room. What awaited them in the boys’ dormitories left them stunned.
Boys from every Slytherin year lay sprawled out on the floor of their respective rooms, limbs tangled, bodies askew.
“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” McGonagall’s voice trembled with fury. For a moment, she feared they were all dead—her face went white with shock and anger.
Snape, to his credit, remained calm. He knelt down and examined a few of the students and quickly reached a conclusion.
“Don’t worry, Professor McGonagall—they’re just asleep.” He checked Draco Malfoy in particular, wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming stench of urine.
He drew his wand and pointed it at the boy. Ennervate.”
It was the counter-spell to the Stunning Charm, used to wake someone quickly.
The spell worked like a charm—Draco immediately opened his eyes. But before he could even focus on who was standing in front of him, he let out a terrified wail: “Don’t eat me!” and promptly passed out again.
Snape frowned and turned to McGonagall. “We’ll have to ask Madam Pomfrey to examine them. And I definitely need to question Mr. Wilson about what exactly happened here.”
> [You used masterful illusion and a terrifying scenario to deceive 34 underage wizards.]
> [This will leave them with deeply ingrained psychological trauma.]
> [You have gained 17,000 Trick Points.]
> [Current Points: 19,320]
The system prompt finally arrived—and Louis’s Trick Points reached an unprecedented milestone: nearly twenty thousand. Even the premium lottery could be used thirty-eight times with that haul.
It was a pity that this kind of large-scale illusion placed immense strain on the Sharingan and consumed a great deal of mental energy. More importantly, this illusion was devastating.
Even with a memory-erasing step afterward, such a tormenting illusion would inevitably leave lingering effects on its victims. Unless Louis intended to turn all the Slytherin boys from all seven years into lunatics or vegetables, it would be best not to use it a second time.
“But to think that such a large-scale horror illusion didn’t even unlock an achievement or trigger the next tier of lottery. I really wonder what the requirements are,” Louis mused to himself.
Just as he was pondering this important question, someone quietly snuck over and sat in the empty seat beside him.
It was Harry Potter.
“Louis,” Harry said in a low voice, surprised at the flawless-looking needle in front of him. “How did you do that?”
“Hm? Just believe you can do it. Don’t dwell on how unbelievable it is to turn a matchstick into a needle,” Louis replied, glancing at him. “It’s not that demanding a Transfiguration spell.”
“Is that so? Thanks for the advice,” Harry said, but his expression showed hesitation.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” Louis added. “You clearly didn’t come here just to ask about Transfiguration.”
“Er... yeah, you’re right.” Harry looked embarrassed at having been seen through. “I was just wondering—did something happen in Slytherin yesterday?”
What he really wanted to ask was: What did you do to all the Slytherin boys? But that sounded a bit accusatory, so he rephrased it more politely.
“Everyone was busy making friends and socializing,” Louis replied seriously. “They just stayed up too late and overslept. That’s all.”
“……”
Harry obviously didn’t buy it, but he couldn’t say anything—Louis was clearly not planning to explain any further.
As Harry considered how to continue questioning him, Professor McGonagall returned.
“Mr. Wilson, please step outside for a moment,” she said, scanning the classroom. Her sharp gaze settled on Harry.
“Mr. Potter, please explain why you are out of your seat during class,” she said, clearly enunciating each word.
Oh no.
Harry instantly realized that unless he had a solid excuse, he was about to lose even more house points—two deductions in one class would make him public enemy number one.
“I... my Transfiguration spell wasn’t working well, so I came to Mr. Wilson for help,” Harry quickly said, thankful that he'd used that excuse earlier during their conversation.
“Is that so? Mr. Wilson?” McGonagall turned her questioning eyes toward Louis.
“That’s basically correct,” Louis said truthfully, giving a small nod as he saw the pleading look in Harry’s eyes.
McGonagall walked over and saw the needle on Louis’s desk. Her expression showed a flicker of surprise.
“Well done, Mr. Wilson. You truly can offer Mr. Potter some advice. Your needle is flawless. Five points to Slytherin.”
More points...
Louis nodded helplessly. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”
---
