Nighttime meant social hour in Slytherin once again.
Thoughtfully, Louis left the dormitory, giving the younger snakes a chance to mingle with each other instead of cowering like quails in his presence.
Just as on his very first day at Hogwarts, he sat on the sofa before the enormous glass window, reading under the glow of the Black Lake, the fish outside his silent companions.
"Adventures with Werewolves, and he even claims he restored one to human form… Lockhart really dares to boast," Louis muttered, nearly clapping for the man's audacity.
Only in the wizarding world, where the population was small and few had the time to fact-check, could such nonsense stand. Otherwise, it would take just one werewolf wizard to expose him for the fraud he was.
Still, though Lockhart's stories were wildly exaggerated, much of the material wasn't fabricated. There really had been wizards who lived closely with werewolves, and a spell to reverse their transformation might have existed.
It was just that, thanks to Lockhart the conman, such magic had been completely lost.
"A Restoration Charm… isn't that just like an anti-Transfiguration spell? Maybe being a werewolf is a kind of Animagus transformation?"
Ever since extracting Quirrell's foundation in magical theory, Louis's research in the Potterverse had gone much more smoothly. He could now explore such ideas with ease.
"Werewolves are, without doubt, a form of transformation. The problem is, after transforming, they lose control—and it's infectious. So the abnormalities must be in the brain, the teeth, and the claws."
Book in hand, Louis's eyes gleamed with intellectual fire.
He even felt the itch to capture a werewolf for dissection…
But where would he find one? The only werewolves he knew of were two names: Remus John Lupin—the important character—and Fenrir Greyback, the one who had bitten Lupin.
Of course, those weren't the only ones. Werewolves were a distinct social group, not a rarity. Otherwise, there'd be no need for Wolfsbane Potion.
Maybe he should consider catching one for "scientific research"?
While Louis was mulling over increasingly dangerous ideas, someone descended the staircase.
Looking up, he saw Cassandra slowly making her way down.
Her hands folded neatly in front of her, she descended with measured steps, unhurried, until she reached the sofa opposite Louis and sat down.
Louis arched a brow. "Don't you need to be making friends with the others?"
"A gathering of mediocrities," Cassandra said loftily, lifting her swan-like neck. "Most of them are wasting their years. Even the older students hardly have impressive magical ability."
"Then why come here? Do you want something from me?" Louis closed his book and locked eyes with her.
"Of course. I've heard you're a descendant of Merlin." Cassandra's gaze didn't waver. Unlike Hermione, she didn't blush and look away after a few seconds—her eyes were steady, unyielding.
"And so?" Louis leaned back on the sofa.
"I don't believe it," Cassandra said flatly.
Girl, what are you, the magical version of a talk-show host?
Louis almost burst out laughing. But Cassandra noticed the twitch at his lips and frowned in displeasure.
"I admit your grades are impressive," she said, "but that proves nothing. All it takes is for someone to defeat you in this field, and your lie will crumble."
"So what—you want to play the hero?" Louis couldn't hold it in any longer and laughed openly.
"Why not?"
"Of course you can. You're welcome to challenge me," Louis said carelessly. "But you need to understand—my identity isn't recognized because of good grades. That sort of thing is meaningless."
"What do you mean?" Cassandra's delicate brows knit together.
"That means your information isn't complete."
Louis stood up. "That's why sometimes socializing is important. At the very least, from the mouths of those 'ordinary people' you look down on, you can learn things you don't know yourself."
"Sweet dreams."
With that, Louis picked up his book and returned to the dormitory.
Ever since gaining the Merlin template, he had never once worried about his identity being exposed. Whether it was the bounded field called Avalon or his Dream Demon bloodline, both were more than enough to sustain the lie.
It wasn't something a little witch saying, "I don't believe you," could ever overturn—because it had already become reality.
"Sleep well tonight, work hard again tomorrow," Louis yawned as he walked back. He even canceled his planned nighttime stroll.
After all, once you start slacking off, it's addictive. Why work so hard when there's no need?
As soon as he returned to the dormitory, he was greeted by cheers from inside.
When Louis pushed the door open, the cheers dipped briefly but quickly returned to normal. Everyone had grown used to his presence—so long as they didn't provoke him, they were safe.
But Blaise Zabini was a little different. He eagerly came up to Louis to share the good news.
"Louis," he said, "Malfoy's father is donating a whole set of Nimbus 2001s to our House Quidditch team!"
"Oh? The latest broomsticks? Not bad. Looks like Slytherin will have the advantage this year." Louis's gaze flicked to Draco Malfoy, who was wearing a proud smile.
"So, Malfoy is going to join the team?"
"Yeah. The old Seeker graduated, so Malfoy's got a chance to take the spot," Zabini explained.
"Then he'd better be careful."
Louis's interest was piqued. He walked over to the small group celebrating Draco's impending position as Seeker.
For a moment, Draco panicked when Louis approached. But quickly he forced himself to calm down, reminding himself he hadn't done anything to offend him.
"I hear you're Slytherin's new Seeker?" Louis asked.
"N-Not yet, but soon. I'll be playing in the first match this term," Draco answered cautiously, even forced into sounding modest.
"That's still good. I've got a suggestion—want to hear it?" Louis said.
"Fine, let's hear it," Draco said, trying to sound tough.
Louis chuckled, unconcerned with Draco's fragile pride. "My suggestion is simple: stay low-key, and train hard. Don't end up flying on the brand-new broom and still lose to Harry's Nimbus 2000."
"Impossible! Our whole team is switching to Nimbus 2001s. Gryffindor, apart from Harry, are still using Cleansweeps. It's no contest!" Draco mustered the courage to argue.
"If money were really that useful, then the Dark Lord would never have ruled. Your family would have." Louis gave a cutting comparison. "So good luck. Because if you lose, you'll be a laughingstock."
He didn't know if his words would actually make Draco wiser. He was just tossing it out there, hoping to squeeze a few Fate Points.
As long as Malfoy didn't slack off—if he played properly while Harry was being chased around by Bludgers and managed to catch the Snitch—that'd be a big win.
"Just think about it. You're on a Nimbus 2001, but you lose to Harry Potter. Doesn't that sound like a joke?"
Louis's words stabbed into Draco like an awl. Yet Draco didn't dare show the slightest dissatisfaction.
Because Louis was absolutely right—and Malfoy didn't dare cross him.
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