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[HP] Chapter 186-187
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 14:49:33 +0000 UTCChapter 186: Peter Pettigrew, Time for the Experiment
A farcical duel came to an end.
The result? Malfoy was left having nightmares for an entire month.
But compared to the loser, it was the victor who left a deeper impression. Cassandra’s formidable strength, along with the grace and decorum she displayed while fighting for the honor of her “friend” (though it was still unclear if that friendship was mutual), earned her the nickname Valkyrie.
However, the victor herself didn’t seem pleased. Cassandra hurried off right after the duel, and some gossipers claimed her expression had been quite strange—certainly not that of someone happy about winning.
As for Hermione, who had been at the center of the duel, she shared her thoughts with Louis.
“Cassandra’s not a bad person,” Hermione said earnestly, brushing away Louis’s hand as he tried to rest it on her head, “but she doesn’t seem to know how to communicate normally with people. She always makes herself seem… too proud.”
“Don’t mess around,” Hermione huffed, glaring up at him. “She’s really strong, and I think I could be friends with her. But you—you’d better stay away from her.”
After saying that, she raised her little fist in front of Louis in a mock-threatening pose, trying to intimidate him.
Though truth be told, with that pouty face of hers, she looked more like she was pouting than threatening.
“Alright, alright, I’ll keep my distance,” Louis said with a grin.
Ignoring Hermione’s protests, he reached out again and ruffled her hair.
That night, the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was half-asleep when someone pushed open the portrait.
“Who’s there? It’s so late—why aren’t you in bed?” she mumbled sleepily, not really paying attention.
After all, Gryffindor students were notorious for their nightly adventures. If a few of them didn’t sneak out, the Fat Lady herself would probably have trouble sleeping.
From the hole behind the portrait, the Weasley twins climbed out.
They exchanged a glance, then cast Lumos to light their wands.
“Filch should be on the third floor right now.”
“Unless, of course, he catches someone else out on a stroll.”
“So which route are we taking?”
“I’d say the one without the headless knight looks good.”
“Alright, let’s go that way.”
The twins quickly settled on their route.
As masters of nighttime excursions—the kind who could give Filch high blood pressure after a single night—they didn’t even need the Marauder’s Map anymore.
They knew every secret passage in the castle by heart, and that knowledge alone was enough to make them nearly untouchable within Hogwarts.
Except, of course, for the occasional misfortune of opening a door and finding Filch standing right there.
Casting Disillusionment Charms on themselves, they extinguished their lights and slipped into a hidden passage behind a nearby painting.
Once they were gone, the Fat Lady yawned and closed the portrait again.
The passageway leading to the Gryffindor common room fell silent and pitch-dark—
but soon, the sharp echo of footsteps could be heard.
It was like a scene from a horror film. The footsteps entered the common room… then suddenly stopped.
“Looks like this place is a bit nicer than Slytherin’s quarters,” came a familiar voice.
Louis’s voice.
Clearly, the eerie footsteps had belonged to an invisible Louis, sneaking into Gryffindor under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak.
The night was silent and still, but some young wizards had yet to fall asleep.
Louis snapped his fingers, and the power of the bloodline spread out, sending the sleepless Gryffindor students drifting into pleasant dreams.
“Let’s go… Peter Pettigrew. Time to begin tonight’s wonderful experiment.”
Louis spoke in a strange, melodic tone — the words carried softly through the not-so-thick door and into the ears of the sleeping Peter Pettigrew.
The plump, furry rat shivered and jolted awake, leaping out of Ron’s arms.
It looked around warily, seeing no one else there, and assumed it had simply been dreaming.
Just as it was about to curl back up and sleep again, that same haunting, chant-like voice echoed once more — this time much closer, right beside its ear!
The rat’s tiny eyes flew open, and it snapped its teeth at the air, but bit nothing — there was no one there.
Panic set in.
Its beady eyes darted wildly as it scurried in circles like a headless fly, confirming that there was no one nearby. It was just about to dive beneath Ron’s blanket when it noticed…
A shadow — one that didn’t belong — stretched unnaturally across the fabric.
Before it could even lift its head, a human face dropped down before it — pale, expression twisted somewhere between a smile and a grimace.
“Peter Pettigrew,” the face said softly, lips curling faintly, “come on… time to go.”
Squeak!!!”
The rat let out a sharp shriek — and went limp instantly.
Louis hung upside down above Ron’s bed, his body weightless as he spun lazily in midair, holding Pettigrew by the tail.
The rat twirled in the air, completely stiff, unmoving.
“Heh. Playing dead, are we? Then let’s see how you like the feeling of death creeping closer.”
Louis turned his hand, and from his storage space drew out a crystal-like object.
He pried open the rat’s mouth and pushed the crystal in. With a light squeeze at its throat, he forced it down into the rat’s stomach.
[Death Crystal] — a special crystal that allows the host to repeatedly witness their own death, revealing their most desired way to die, while giving the wielder control over them.
Louis had modified it with black energy, so that it not only replayed death, but also transmitted the pain of dying straight into the host’s mind — over and over again.
A perfect instrument of torture and control.
As expected, the moment the crystal settled inside, the rat’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
It tried to cry out but couldn’t — the agony was so overwhelming it stripped away all thought and movement.
Moments later, Peter Pettigrew lost consciousness, yet even in that state, his body continued to convulse from waves of torment.
Gripping the rat by the tail, Louis’s body suddenly shrank and folded in on itself — in the blink of an eye, he transformed into a common owl.
With a flap of his wings, he soared out through the window of Gryffindor Tower.
Louis had no shortage of methods for sneaking around Hogwarts.
Transformation, using the Room of Requirement to create doors, shadow doppelgangers that could pass through walls — countless techniques.
But for Louis, the question wasn’t which was most efficient or practical.
It was simply: which one is the most fun?
Tonight, he’d used the twins’ nocturnal antics as cover to get in, then transformed to get out — enjoying multiple thrills in one go.
Even his late-night experiments felt more entertaining that way.
“Tonight’s research,” he murmured to himself, “will be on the difference and connection between Transfiguration and the Animagus Transformation.”
The owl clutched its test subject tightly and glided through the darkness.
The night did not hinder his vision — everything around him was perfectly clear.
Circling halfway around the castle, he swooped up to the eighth floor, summoned the Room of Requirement, transformed back into human form, and stepped inside.
Everything was ready.
The experiment would now begin.
---
Chapter 187: Peter Pettigrew, Controlled by the Death Crystal
The experiment on Transfiguration was not going to be easy — especially for the test subject, Peter Pettigrew.
Inside the Room of Requirement, golden chains pierced out from swirling golden vortexes, binding Peter—now back in his human form—tightly in place.
Illusions were cast to stimulate his transformation, forcing him to shift endlessly between human and rat form.
Louis stood nearby, calmly recording every detail of the process — the way Pettigrew’s clothes melded into his flesh, the movement of magic within his body during transformation, every small fluctuation.
“Animagus transformation,” Louis muttered while scribbling down notes, “is a miracle of magic that disassembles the body and clothing into pure magical particles before reassembling them into a fixed alternate form. Both ends of the transformation are constant — that’s key…”
His quill scratched rapidly across the parchment as the pace of the experiment increased.
“This is something to watch out for,” he continued. “If it were a random transformation like a Boggart’s, the human form must be locked in, or it might never revert.”
With a snap of his fingers, Louis ended the illusion, leaving Pettigrew stuck in his rat form.
“Next, we’ll test how an Animagus reacts to potions. If we can use potion reactions to reverse the transformation, then we’re on the right track.”
He tapped his chin. “The only question is… which potion to use?”
While the experiment went on, Peter Pettigrew — still conscious — was consumed by terror.
He had no idea how this demon had discovered his Animagus identity, nor did Louis offer any explanation.
He simply experimented on him. Tortured him. Researched him.
Earlier, Louis had forced something unknown down his throat — that crystal — which continuously fabricated visions of his own death. Again and again, the scenes played before him, each one more horrific than the last, and each filled with unbearable pain that was fed directly into his nerves.
In one vision, he tried to bite at the demon’s throat — only to be slapped dead instantly, feeling his bones pulverized and flesh crushed to paste.
In another, he tried to flee — but a talon-like claw crushed his skull like a melon, filling his mind with shattering agony.
And in yet another, he cursed the demon — only to be fed to a monstrous “cat.”
Except it wasn’t a cat at all — it was something wearing a cat’s skin, a hideous creature with a maw full of tentacles that dragged him screaming into the abyss.
Death. Death.
Endless deaths, endless pain — they ravaged his mind.
He wanted to die, but at the same time… he couldn’t accept it.
Then, amidst the torment, a new vision appeared before his eyes —
an image of himself lying peacefully in bed, surrounded by children and grandchildren, hair white, face calm, dying of old age.
That… that’s the death I want.
Peter’s panic turned into fascination. In that vision, he saw hope.
If he cooperated — if he played along — maybe he could reach that future.
“Experiment… hehehe… I’ll cooperate with the experiment…”
In his rat form, Peter tilted his head, drooling, eyes unfocused — like a fool.
But he stopped struggling entirely.
“So, the control phase has begun.”
Louis glanced down at him and smiled faintly. He grabbed the rat by the tail and tossed him into a cauldron of potion with an unknown composition.
From there, the experiment would continue smoothly.
Under the modified Death Crystal’s influence, Pettigrew would willingly conduct the experiments himself.
Louis left him paper and quill to record his findings, then withdrew the chains and walked to another corner of the room.
“All materials are ready,” he murmured. “Let’s begin analyzing the mask’s power…”
———
“Ah… what a good sleep.”
Early in the morning, Ron woke up feeling unusually refreshed.
The dawn light streamed into the dormitory, scattering the shadows — and bathing Scabbers, lying on his blanket, in warm sunlight.
He hadn’t slept that well in ages.
Despite spending all yesterday polishing trophies until his arms ached, he woke up today without the slightest soreness.
“Morning, Scabbers,” Ron greeted cheerfully, glancing at the rat on his bed.
But instead of its usual clever squeak or twitch, Scabbers just sat there blankly for a long moment before awkwardly wobbling his body in greeting.
“That’s odd… you seem kinda weird today, Scabbers.”
Ron scratched the rat’s head, found nothing wrong, and shrugged it off — rushing off to compete with his roommates for the washroom instead.
Back on the messy bed, within the folds of the blanket, a faint shadow stirred —
and from within that shadow, a pair of crimson eyes glowed faintly, watching the dazed, sluggish rat.
Tendrils slithered out of the darkness like a predator licking its prey…
But Scabbers didn’t react at all.
In Peter Pettigrew’s eyes, countless visions of death still flickered, but he ignored them completely now.
The only image left before him was that of his peaceful, natural death — lying on a bed surrounded by loving family.
As long as I follow the crystal’s guidance, he thought feverishly, I’ll reach that peaceful end someday!
A faint blue shimmer flickered in the rat’s bloodshot eyes.
“And with this treasure,” he hissed softly to himself, “I can avoid every death that comes for me. Hehe… hehahaha!”
The rat squeaked in twisted glee, believing he had mastered the Death Crystal — unaware that it was he who was being mastered.
Louis had no need to alter his memory or take further action.
Under the Death Crystal’s control, Peter Pettigrew would sneak out every night to continue the experiments — on himself — believing it was the only path to his “peaceful death.”
He would never know that the crystal he thought he controlled…
had long been under Louis’s control instead.
———
“Next up… the Polyjuice Potion.”
The base ingredients for Polyjuice Potion weren’t too troublesome — most of them were easy to acquire.
If necessary, Louis could even ask a few upper-year students to make a trip to Hogsmeade and buy what he needed.
However, some ingredients were far rarer and much harder to come by — like powdered bicorn horn and dried African tree snake skin.
But Louis wasn’t worried in the slightest. He already had a plan.
After Potions class ended, when students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin rushed out of the gloomy dungeon classroom, eager to escape the lingering stench of fumes, Louis walked straight up to Professor Snape.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Wilson?” Snape’s silky voice rose and fell with its usual calculated rhythm. “You did quite well today. Your Shrinking Solution was nearly perfect.”
“Thank you for the praise, Professor.” Louis gave a polite bow. “Actually, I came to ask for your help.”
“Oh?” Snape’s lips twitched into something between amusement and scorn. “Even a genius like you needs help?”
His words always carried a hint of provocation, but as Snape’s most talented student, Louis was long used to his tone.
“Professor, I’d like to request some powdered bicorn horn… and a little dried African tree snake skin,” Louis said calmly.
A flash of surprise crossed Snape’s face.
“Mr. Wilson,” Snape said slowly, fixing his black eyes on Louis’s, “I assume you do know what kind of potion requires both of those ingredients?”
Snape, a skilled Legilimens, could often read a person’s mind through eye contact.
But ever since Louis had fused his power with talisman-based magic, no external force could invade his thoughts — Snape would find only silence.
“Of course, Professor. They’re the primary ingredients for Polyjuice Potion,” Louis replied frankly.
Snape drew his cloak tightly around himself, looking for all the world like an enormous bat.
“Then tell me, Mr. Wilson — what exactly do you intend to brew that for?”
“I want to test my skill,” Louis replied. “I believe I’m ready to attempt a high-level potion like that.”
“Oh… fond of challenges, are we?” Snape mused. After a pause, he said, “Very well. I can give them to you, Mr. Wilson. But you should understand — these materials are costly and not to be wasted for amusement.”
“I understand, Professor. What would you require in return?” Louis asked, his tone mature and composed.
Snape nodded approvingly. “My conditions are simple. I’ll give you three sets of ingredients. You must provide me with at least one finished sample in return.”
He added, “I’ll be testing only the potion’s efficacy. If it meets my standards, then in the future, you may request ingredients from me whenever you wish.”
Snape was being unexpectedly generous — it wasn’t really a demand, more like a test.
With that, he led Louis to his office and handed him three sets of ingredients — along with three small jars that were still warm to the touch.
“These lacewing flies have been stewing for twenty days,” Snape said. “It’ll save you considerable time in the brewing process — but it will also make it more difficult.”
“You’ll need to judge the heat and timing yourself. I won’t tell you how long these have been simmered. You’ll have to observe.”
Snape was genuinely instructing him, and from his tone, it was clear he expected Louis to succeed.
It was a stark contrast to what happened in the original timeline — Hermione and her friends had to steal ingredients and brew everything from scratch.
Louis, on the other hand, was being handed half-finished materials and direct guidance.
Perhaps this was Snape’s way of showing a little mercy — easing the difficulty of the test so that his star student wouldn’t fail.
With the lacewing flies already stewed for twenty days, the potion’s total brewing time had been reduced drastically.
Finally, Snape’s gaze turned sharp and threatening.
“I hope,” he said coldly, “you don’t bring me something so foul it could poison a dragon. If you do, don’t even dream of getting a drop of dittany from me again.”
Louis almost burst out laughing at that.
As expected of Professor Snape — even his words of encouragement sounded like death threats.
No wonder you’re destined to die alone, Professor.
You clearly want me to succeed, yet you say it like that. You tsundere bat.
Louis smiled faintly, hiding his amusement behind perfect manners.
“Of course not, Professor,” he said smoothly. “You can look forward to my finished potion.”
---
