The moment Louis removed the diadem, that peculiar sense of clarity vanished. He could distinctly feel a veil of fog settling over his mind.
It was an unpleasant sensation—so much so that he instinctively wanted to put the Diadem of Ravenclaw back on, to once again experience that sharp, crystalline lucidity.
But Louis restrained himself.
"So this thing is addictive… no wonder Helena Ravenclaw stole her mother's diadem. She must've worn it once, felt that intoxicating clarity, and couldn't bear to part with it afterward."
He stared at the diadem for a few moments, then decisively tossed it into his storage space.
Even someone like him—who didn't particularly crave wisdom—found that feeling nearly irresistible. If he put it on again, he feared he'd never be able to take it off.
And he definitely didn't want to spend the rest of his life bound to a crown that could fall off at any moment.
"Still, the potion couldn't wash away the diadem's power… interesting. As expected of Ravenclaw's treasure." Louis sighed in admiration.
Then, he made his way alone to the library.
The castle was eerily empty—so quiet that, aside from the occasional ghost flitting past, it felt like even the rats had fled.
Honestly, he had no idea what was so fascinating about Quidditch that it could captivate so many wizards.
Fortunately, the library was still open. Madam Pince hadn't left her post; she watched him register his name before allowing him into the Restricted Section.
At the same spot as before, Louis once again pulled out Hermes and the Homunculus.
This time, he read it carefully, no longer skipping over the deranged or bloody parts.
Before long, he had finished the entire book and was already outlining in his mind a plan to modify the ritual for fabricating a soul.
"Looks like I'll need to gather some materials… but these things, even Snape probably doesn't have them. Diagon Alley won't sell them either, and even Garrick would have a hard time procuring such items."
The book might be evil and practically useless, but the ritual ingredients it listed were anything but harmless. Trying to purchase them through legal channels would almost certainly get him hunted by the Ministry of Magic.
"I'll have to find… other channels."
Louis placed the book back on the shelf and quietly left the library.
---
Once again, Harry Potter was carried back to the castle—injured, of course.
As expected, Dobby hadn't left him alone. The rogue Bludger had shattered his arm.
Draco Malfoy had made a fool of himself again, slacking off through the entire Quidditch match while watching Harry get pummeled—only to see him catch the Golden Snitch in the end.
Naturally, the result was the same as always: with Gilderoy Lockhart's enthusiastic assistance, all the bones in Harry's arm were vanished.
"I told him I didn't need help, but he just went ahead and did it anyway," Harry complained as Louis came to visit him.
"No one's really figured out what kind of person Gilderoy Lockhart is yet," Louis said, sitting beside the bed. "But they will soon. People like him—flashy, talentless, always eager to show off—eventually dig their own graves."
"How long will that take? I wish he'd just leave the school already," Harry sighed. "Oh, right—Louis, can you fix my arm?"
"I can," Louis nodded. Then, before Harry could cheer, he added, "But it's going to hurt. A lot."
"How painful are we talking?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Imagine the feeling of a bamboo skewer being driven quickly through your flesh," Louis replied calmly. The vivid description sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "In truth, not every wound heals better when it heals faster, don't you think?"
"Sounds like it…" Harry nodded weakly, his resentment toward Lockhart deepening yet again.
He glanced nervously at Madam Pomfrey, who was preparing the potion, dreading that the treatment might feel exactly as Louis had just described.
"What about the rest of your team? And Ron? Why haven't they come to see you?" Louis asked.
"They went to complain to the school, I think. Said your team must've cursed the Bludger," Harry said.
"The Bludgers are under constant supervision," Louis reminded him. "No ordinary wizard could sneakily enchant them inside Hogwarts. The only person capable of that would be Dumbledore—and I highly doubt he'd bother."
"Then who could it be?" Harry frowned, completely baffled.
Seeing that blank look, Louis sighed inwardly.
After spending so much time chatting with people like Hermione and Cassandra—both frighteningly intelligent—it was exhausting talking to someone this… ordinary.
"House-elves," Louis said directly. "They're the only beings who can move freely around Hogwarts despite the anti-Apparition wards. Their magic is different from a wizard's—"
"House-elves? You mean Dobby?"
Harry finally remembered—the strange little creature with a head like a sack and a very questionable sense of reason.
"But why would he do that?"
"That's something you should ask him, not me," Louis replied just as Madam Pomfrey arrived, carrying a steaming potion in her hands. He stood up. "I'll be going now. Rest well."
Skele-Gro—a potion invented by one of the Potter ancestors. Yet, despite existing for centuries, it had never been improved, refined, or modernized.
Just as Mr. Wilson often said, the wizarding world was like stagnant water.
"That's why people like me have a duty to stir things up," Louis chuckled to himself. "If no one causes a little chaos, how will the world ever progress?"
With a grin, he unfolded the Marauder's Map and began locating the twins.
Those two troublemakers loved experimenting with joke products—many of which required banned ingredients. If anyone knew the right black-market channels, it would be them.
Coincidentally, George and Fred had just returned to the castle. Louis intercepted them in the corridor on their way to the hospital wing.
"You're looking for dangerous materials, you say?"
After hearing Louis's request, George and Fred exchanged knowing grins.
"Then you've come to the right people," Fred said.
"We do have a supplier," George added, "but his prices aren't cheap—quite a bit higher than what you'd find on the open market."
"Money's not a problem," Louis said, exuding the confidence of someone with deep pockets.
He still had Fafnir venture into the Forbidden Forest from time to time to collect venom from the Acromantulas. Unlike before, he didn't kill them anymore—just extracted a little and tossed them back, calling it "sustainable development."
Of course, that "sustainability" wouldn't last long. In a while, the forest would probably be razed to the ground. Forget Acromantulas—by then, even a cockroach would be lucky to survive.
"In that case," George said, "write up a list of what you need. Tomorrow's Sunday—we're heading to Hogsmeade anyway."
Hogsmeade—the only all-wizard village in Britain, open on weekends to students with parental permission. A true haven of wizarding delights—food, drinks, and entertainment, all in one place.
----
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