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."
---
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