Louis wrote a reply letter, briefly describing Harry's current situation.
"At this rate, it won't be long before those rascals from the Weasley family come drag Harry away," Louis yawned, half-asleep.
"By then, Dobby should be pulling out his big moves…"
It was his birthday. Mrs. Wilson had gone all out to prepare a perfect meal, and Louis had eaten so much he was now drowsy.
Standing by the window, he gazed across at the brightly lit Dursley residence.
It would probably be any day now. They'd invite some business partners over, everything would end in chaos, and Harry would be locked up afterward.
But… that shouldn't have anything to do with him, right?
That thought was soon overturned.
"The Dursleys invited you over, Dad?" Louis blinked at Mr. Wilson.
"Yes, a rather dull invitation." Mr. Wilson clearly didn't like the neighbors. "That family… hmph, nothing good to say about them."
"I think they're mostly after free magic tricks," Mrs. Wilson said from her seat, flipping through a fashion magazine. "I heard they invited the Masons as well."
"The Masons—ah, Mason," Mr. Wilson realized. "That stuffy old man who loves watching magic shows. He's insufferable. His favorite hobby is exposing magicians' secrets—not by figuring them out himself, but by pestering endlessly with questions. Very rude behavior."
"Then just decline. It's not like we're trying to get close to them anyway." Louis picked up Lockhart's Voyages with Vampires.
The book was exaggerated and, of course, not actually Lockhart's own work—but the story was entertaining enough to enjoy as a novel.
"Decline? No, why would we decline?" Mr. Wilson suddenly grew excited. "Louis, this is the perfect chance to start your social life as a performer."
"Huh? Me?" Louis pointed at himself.
"That's right. A magician needs reputation—and reputation doesn't come from your own mouth. You need others to spread it for you."
Mr. Wilson clapped Louis on the shoulder. "Mr. Mason may be rude, but he has wide connections. A brilliant performance will spread your name quickly. So, shall we go? If yes, I'll write back immediately."
Clearly, Mr. Wilson feared that after seven years at wizarding school, Louis might become useless in the real world. He was impatient to pave the way for his son's future career.
"Fine, do what you want," Louis shrugged indifferently.
All he was really thinking was: If Dobby causes trouble, can I avoid a warning if I don't bring my wand?
---
A few nights later, Mr. Wilson took Louis along to the Dursleys' house as promised.
The door opened. Vernon Dursley and the Masons stood there in the doorway to welcome the Wilsons.
Everyone was dressed formally, the atmosphere proper and ceremonious.
This was the norm for families of their social standing—formal enough to show respect to important guests, but not overly complicated.
"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you so close, Mr. Wilson," said Mr. Mason, a passionate magic enthusiast, clearly excited to see him.
"Good evening," Mr. Wilson said with polite reserve, then pushed Louis forward. "This is my son, Louis. Tonight he'll be performing a special magic show for you."
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." Louis removed his hat with perfect poise, his flawless smile lighting up his face.
His outfit was that of a classic stage magician, identical to Mr. Wilson's performance attire—just one size smaller.
It had been specially tailored, with hidden pockets and compartments carefully built in.
He brushed a hand across his sleeve, and under everyone's gaze, a rose appeared in his hand. He presented it to Mrs. Mason.
"For you, madam." Louis had intended to add a compliment about her appearance, but when the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back.
Louis really couldn't bring himself to say it—Mrs. Mason was simply too old. Instead, he opted for the safer route:
"Madam, your attire perfectly complements your refined elegance."
"Why, thank you, young gentleman." Mrs. Mason looked quite pleased.
"Handsome and promising—very much in your father's style, Mr. Wilson," Mr. Mason added with a broad smile.
"Let's head inside, shall we?" Vernon Dursley, having been ignored until now, hurried to speak up to remind everyone of his presence.
Mr. Mason seemed to snap out of his daze. "Yes, yes, we shouldn't just stand here. Let's go in, Mr. Wilson."
The adults entered the Dursley residence, exchanging pleasantries. Mr. Mason immediately pulled Mr. Wilson aside to discuss magic tricks, while the Dursleys chimed in from the sidelines.
Louis followed behind, about to step inside, when he suddenly looked up at the staircase.
A small, surprised face peeked from the landing—it was Harry Potter.
"Good evening, Harry." Louis tipped his hat with a polite greeting.
"Good evening, Louis." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. "You and your father were invited too?"
"That's right." Louis gave him a look. "Aren't you coming down?"
"No… my uncle won't let me. He's afraid I'll ruin this important dinner," Harry explained quietly.
"The tree wishes to be still, yet the wind will not cease," Louis said cryptically—words Harry didn't understand—before putting his hat back on and walking into the Dursleys' sitting room.
"Louis, how about a little impromptu show before dessert?" Mr. Wilson called out.
"No problem. Do any of you have taboos or restrictions for performances?" Louis asked, calm and poised, showing no arrogance or meekness before strangers.
"Please—no birds. My wife is terrified of them," said Mr. Mason.
"Afraid of birds? Understood. Tonight's performance will have no birds."
With a snap of his fingers, Louis reached into his hat and pulled out a plump rabbit.
The show had begun.
---
For Hogwarts staff, summer holidays were a rare respite. But busy people never let themselves truly rest.
Dumbledore's figure suddenly appeared in a picturesque seaside town.
It was nighttime, and no one noticed the sudden arrival of an elderly man.
This was in the south of Devon, a perfect place for a holiday retreat.
But Dumbledore was not here to vacation. He had come to apologize.
Passing through an invisible barrier, he arrived at a quiet home. He knocked on the door.
It was opened by an elderly house-elf—so aged, he might even have been older than Dumbledore himself.
"Welcome, Mr. Dumbledore. Master said you would come. Please, come in." The house-elf stepped aside to let him in.
"How is your master's health?" Dumbledore asked.
"Quite fine, nothing serious," the elf replied, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "Though… if that thing hadn't been lost, it would be better."
Dumbledore looked faintly embarrassed.
"Mind your manners," came a frail yet steady voice from within.
Out stepped a thin, delicate-looking old man, dressed in simple white linen.
Though his appearance was frail, Dumbledore treated him with the utmost respect.
For this was none other than the legendary alchemist—Nicolas Flamel.
---
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