"Mr. Wilson, we'd like to hear the full details of what happened last night," Snape said, his dark gaze fixed on Louis.
Inside Snape's office, the two Heads of House sat across from him, the atmosphere as tense as an interrogation.
Oh—and there was Filch, too. The caretaker was practically glowing with excitement, as if he couldn't wait to see Louis punished severely.
"I'm sorry, Professors," Louis said with an innocent expression. "I don't really know what happened. I just slept as usual and got up as usual. I didn't notice anything unusual with Malfoy and the others."
"Nothing unusual? He's obviously lying, Professors. We all smelled the stench of urine—there's no way he didn't notice that," Filch interrupted eagerly. But the moment he said that, Snape's face twisted with displeasure.
"Ah, so wetting the bed counts as 'unusual'?" Louis asked with a sidelong glance at Filch.
Filch immediately fell silent.
Louis smiled faintly, mentally tallying a score against Filch before turning back to the professors. "Why not just ask the victims directly? They might remember something. Maybe they just stayed up too late playing around."
"Mr. Malfoy's first words after waking up were 'Don't eat me,'" Professor McGonagall said flatly. "That doesn't sound like a simple case of playing too late."
"Maybe he had a nightmare? Kids do that. Totally normal," Louis replied, still smiling.
The professors looked at him strangely. Aren't you a kid too? they thought.
Though both professors suspected Louis was involved, they had no evidence—and nothing too serious had happened. The boys were already waking up one by one in the hospital wing. So for now, they had no grounds to press further.
"Alright, Mr. Wilson, you may go," Snape said. With no proof, they couldn't hold him any longer. Filch looked deeply disappointed—he'd been hoping to witness a punishment or, better yet, participate in one.
The manacles hanging from his office ceiling hadn't seen use in far too long.
"Oh, one more thing, Mr. Wilson. Please report to the Headmaster's Office during the lunch break. Headmaster Dumbledore would like to speak with you," Snape added as Louis turned to leave. "The password is 'Fizzing Whizzbee.'"
"Understood, Professor," Louis replied with his usual polite, professional smile, then turned and exited the office.
He returned to the Transfiguration classroom with Professor McGonagall. The morning class had ended, but she still had to assign homework.
"Next class, I'll be checking everyone's progress on the matchstick-to-needle spell. If it's not up to standard, you'll be spending time in my office for detention," she warned the young students, cautioning them not to lose themselves in games during their free time. "Also, everyone must turn in an essay on the proper use and precautions of Transfiguration. It'll be collected next class."
A chorus of groans echoed through the classroom. Writing essays was nowhere near as fun as practicing magic. In their minds, practicing spells = no homework, but essays = actual torture.
"Mr. Wilson," McGonagall looked at Louis. "You may skip the essay, but your spellwork will still be evaluated next class."
"Understood, Professor McGonagall," Louis nodded.
As soon as class officially ended and McGonagall left, Harry rushed over to Louis, eager for answers.
"If you're that curious, I suggest asking some of the older Gryffindor students," Louis said as he spun his hand and, poof, conjured his pristine top hat out of nowhere—without so much as a crease.
Harry flinched in surprise at the sudden appearance of the hat.
"See you in Potions this afternoon," Louis said coolly, placing the hat on his head and striding away. "If I were you, I'd hit the books—our Head of House does love picking on students from other houses."
Ron, standing beside Harry, curled his lip as he watched Louis walk off in dramatic flair. Jealousy twisted his features. "Ugh, he just loves showing off. Look at those girls—completely bewitched by his little tricks."
Harry turned to look—and sure enough, most of the first-year girls from both houses were gazing after Louis's retreating figure.
"That's not just 'little tricks,'" Harry said. "Did you even see how he moved?"
"No," Ron admitted sullenly. "But George says that's something called 'magic tricks' from the Muggle world. Not real magic. I'll figure out how he does it—eventually."
"Good luck with that," Harry smiled helplessly. He knew Louis came from a family of magicians—and their craft was notoriously hard to see through.
But what Harry was more curious about was: What really happened in Slytherin last night? He had a strong feeling that Louis had something to do with it.
Getting the details wasn't hard—what was harder was figuring out which version of the story came closest to the truth. Because by now, the rumors had spread like wildfire.
When Professor McGonagall had gone to summon help to carry the unconscious Slytherin boys to the hospital wing, she had instinctively called on students from her own house.
And the Gryffindors, seeing their longtime rivals laid out in disgrace, were practically giddy. They tried to contain themselves under McGonagall's stern eye, but the moment they were out of her line of sight, they went wild with jokes, gossip, and mockery. Their tongues showed no mercy.
And with Gryffindor's tradition of having no secrets whatsoever, it wasn't long before the entire school knew of Slytherin's so-called "fall."
Yes, "fall"—because to most students, it seemed like Slytherin had been conquered by a single person.
Everyone knew that Muggle-born Louis Wilson had entered Slytherin. And the next day, he had walked out of that house unharmed, attending class like nothing had happened—while the pure-blood Slytherin boys were all unconscious.
It was as if a righteous knight had walked into a dragon's lair, defeated the monsters one by one, and strolled out unscathed. The sheer romance and drama of it gave Louis an instant legendary presence at Hogwarts.
Even without evidence, even with Louis firmly denying any involvement, people wanted to believe this version of the story.
As for the second, more infamous version—it involved Malfoy wetting himself.
Of course, saying someone was "beaten until they wet themselves" sounded crude and ruined the "heroic" tone of the tale. I mean, what kind of hero fights a dragon and then bathes in… someone's urine?
So the story got adapted: the pee incident was folded into the "nightmare" version. According to that version, Louis was a wizard with Nightmare Bloodline powers. He had unleashed terrifying dreamscapes on the Slytherins, trapping them in fear and despair—and Malfoy had been so terrified that he lost control.
That might have been the closest version to the truth.
But only a few students—mostly those who disliked Malfoy—circulated that one. Everyone else preferred the first story.
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