Summer vacation did not turn out to be the leisurely holiday Louis had hoped for. Mrs. Wilson had already used up her annual leave on making their romantic trip to France even more romantic.
So this year, there was nowhere to go—they could only stay home.
In Louis's room, Fafnir and Hastur were wrestling over a piece of cat food.
The Wilsons had quickly accepted Louis's new "pets," thoughtfully preparing a soft cat bed and a rather useless litter tray for Hastur.
Most importantly, they bought several big bags of freeze-dried cat food. Hastur loved it, which naturally made Fafnir sulk. With nothing better to do, he often tried to steal Hastur's share.
So the two "cats" would start brawling, flying and tumbling around Louis's room.
Fortunately, both of them obeyed Louis. At most it was just play-fighting: Fafnir would retract his claws and keep his beak shut, while Hastur refrained from swallowing Fafnir whole.
Louis let them fight it out—it was a way to blow off steam.
At his desk, he tuned out their noise while studying the object in his hand.
A mask, shaped like a tiger's face.
The Tala Mask—the mask of the Shadow Legion's ruler, a powerful artifact capable of commanding the nine tribes' Shadow Army.
But it came with a fatal flaw: whoever wore it would gradually become enslaved to the mask, transformed into another Tala.
Because of this, it was almost unusable, so Louis had kept it tucked away in a corner until now.
Things were different these days. Louis had fully mastered the Twelve Talismans and even inherited the Demon Sorcerer's authority—half a Fire Demon himself. The black qi in his body might very well be able to wrestle with the mask's power.
After all, even when the Demon Sorcerer had been sealed into stone, he had been able to use black qi to indirectly control the mask. Now that Louis was entirely free, there was no reason he couldn't do the same.
"…Still missing a few materials, though." Louis stroked the mask, feeling the immense black aura within it. A glint of excitement flashed through his eyes.
Once he mastered the mask and summoned the Shadow Army, the fictitious organization he had fabricated as a scam would become unassailable. No one would be able to expose it—
Because it would be real.
"Sigh… why think so much?" Louis casually tossed the mask back into his storage space and leaned back in his chair, rocking lazily.
He had six more years to waste—plenty of time to slack off. The Shadow Army… those elusive soldiers were probably more useful for errands than for fighting anyway.
"Maybe someday I'll start a courier company and put the owl post office out of business." Louis chuckled at his own joke, eyes drifting across the street.
Harry Potter, after returning from Hogwarts, had enjoyed a brief period of peace.
The Dursleys, unsure of the extent of his magical ability, held back from bullying him at first, afraid of being punished by magic.
But Harry was still a child. He didn't know how to bluff convincingly, and since he wasn't allowed to use magic, his own guilty conscience betrayed him. Before long, he was back to being ordered around.
It wasn't hard to understand. Children don't scheme deeply. Harry naïvely thought he could finally relax—until one order after another slowly dragged him back into his old chains.
His wand was locked away, as were his broomstick and Hedwig. All of his magical belongings, even his homework, were shut back inside the cupboard under the stairs.
The only "privilege" was that he now lived in Dudley Dursley's old bedroom. And Harry was already content with just that.
Too easily satisfied? No—this was simply habit.
He was used to being ignored, used to being mistreated. A little kindness was enough to make him overjoyed.
He had lived less than a year at Hogwarts, but eleven at the Dursleys'. Habits like that weren't easy to break.
To put it bluntly, Harry was currently more skilled at laundry, mopping floors, helping in the kitchen, serving others, and hiding himself carefully than he was at using magic or soaring across the Quidditch pitch.
And this summer might well be the hardest of his life.
Louis opened the window to admit an owl carrying letters.
The moment an "outsider" appeared, Hastur and Fafnir stopped their scuffle and turned in unison, glaring viciously at the intruder.
The poor owl nearly tumbled from the sky in fright, wobbling before crash-landing onto Louis's desk.
"Quiet." Louis flicked out a Magic Hand to rap both Hastur and Fafnir on the head, then pulled out some of Fafnir's dried mice to reward the miserable messenger.
That only made his two beasts more displeased—their eyes practically shot malice.
Those dried mice were their favorite treats.
The owl was delighted at first, but under the burning stares of two monsters, it didn't dare eat. Clutching the snack, it fled in a panic.
"You two, be generous. There's plenty of treats to go around."
Rolling his eyes, Louis picked up the letters the owl had dropped.
There were two.
One was from Hermione. She wrote that she would be vacationing in France, so she might not be able to reply promptly during the summer.
Vacationing in France, huh. How come everyone loved France so much?
Louis felt nothing at all—if anything, he almost wanted to burn something.
He stuffed her letter into a drawer with the rest of Hermione's letters, including the card she'd sent.
The second was from Cedric, the upper-year Hufflepuff.
It wasn't unusual; the two had stayed in touch and could be considered good friends, though their conversations were usually casual and nothing worth mentioning.
This letter congratulated Louis on taking first place in the year-end exams and included some thoughts on Transfiguration.
Discussing magic was something they often did. Louis's imaginative "Muggle-born" perspective often gave Cedric unexpected insights.
But now things were different. Back then Louis had no choice—unable to use magic, he could only talk philosophy. Now, after extracting Quirrell's Basic Magic Mastery Lv10, he could debate on equal footing.
Louis quickly wrote a polite reply, adding his own thoughts to the discussion. Then he grabbed Fafnir—yawning after its scuffle—and handed it the letter.
"Go on, deliver this," Louis patted its wing. "Every so often, you should actually do your job."
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