Early the next morning, an impatient Mr. Wilson shook Louis awake.
"Incredible—how can you sleep so soundly in a place like this?" Mr. Wilson said. "I can hardly wait!"
"I understand, Dad. After all, a magician should be driven by intense curiosity. That's how we improve." Louis yawned, still groggy with sleep.
For an eleven-year-old, staying up late was torture. He'd gone to bed especially late the night before, so he was far from well-rested.
"Well said, my good son. I believe you're destined to become a great magician," Mr. Wilson said, clearly pleased with Louis' response. "Especially now that you're becoming a wizard."
"'Wizard' does sound a bit more official," Louis replied while getting up to wash. "But Dad, I don't think being a wizard means I can just use magic however I want."
"Why not?"
"Probably laws? Or some kind of regulations? Otherwise, the world would be flooded with wizard stories by now," Louis shrugged.
"Good point."
A short while later, there was a knock on the door—Hagrid and Harry had arrived.
"Sorry to bother you so early," Hagrid said, ducking his head politely as Mr. Wilson opened the door. "But Harry was a bit anxious. He's really looking forward to seeing the magical world."
"Oh, so are we," Mr. Wilson said with a smile. "We're very excited about everything we'll be seeing."
The group headed downstairs together, and the bustling pub hall spread out before them.
Several oddly dressed men and women were scattered across the room, some alone and others in groups. They were eating the pub's breakfast offerings while reading newspapers that moved on their own, casually stirring their coffee with levitating spoons.
This simple, everyday glimpse into the magical world struck them head-on. Both Harry and Mr. Wilson stood frozen for a moment, utterly captivated by the moving newspapers and floating cutlery.
But their curiosity paled in comparison to the wizards' enthusiasm upon seeing Harry Potter.
Someone in the bar spotted the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead and shouted, "Harry Potter!" In an instant, the whole pub gathered around him.
As unrelated bystanders, Louis and Mr. Wilson were squeezed out of the crowd. Only Hagrid remained near Harry, thanks to his massive size.
Harry looked around nervously at the surrounding faces. Each one carried goodwill and admiration—so unlike his aunt and uncle, or his bullying cousin Dudley and his gang.
Harry felt something new: a sense of belonging. It made him feel like he was born to be part of this magical world. Pride began to well up inside him as the crowd lavished him with praise and eagerly introduced themselves.
Louis watched Harry, who was clearly overwhelmed by excitement, with a thoughtful expression.
"What's wrong, Louis? Are you jealous of him?" Mr. Wilson asked, patting him on the head.
"No, not at all. That honor of his came at the price of losing both his parents," Louis said calmly.
"True… Potter really is a pitiful child. Even with all that wizarding fame, he still had to live in the non-magical world where none of it mattered," Mr. Wilson sighed. "You've got a strange look on your face—what are you thinking about?"
"I was just wondering… could Harry's miserable life with his aunt and uncle have been deliberate? Maybe to deepen his identification with being a wizard?" Louis said.
Otherwise, a few magical trinkets could've easily frightened the Dursleys into treating Harry better—maybe even spoiling him. But that would've lulled him into the comforts of Muggle life. Even if he ended up going to Hogwarts, a pampered Harry might never choose to fight Voldemort.
Dumbledore must've been playing the long game.
Mr. Wilson looked shocked. "Louis! How could you think of something so terrifying? That's… that's way too mature. You're only eleven!"
"I'm a genius," Louis said casually.
He glanced around, searching for something.
"What are you looking for?" Mr. Wilson asked.
"A person," Louis replied.
He was looking for Quirinus Quirrell, the man possessed by Voldemort.
As the antagonist of the first Harry Potter book, Quirrell appeared from the very beginning and stuck around until the very end. But in reality, he was merely a vessel—Voldemort was the true threat.
And since Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards in the entire Harry Potter universe, pulling a harmless little "prank" on him this early on would be nothing short of delicious.
Of course, it had to be done carefully—without revealing his hand. The last thing Louis wanted was for Voldemort to follow the thread back to him.
Soon enough, Louis spotted his target: a tall, thin man, face pale and trembling slightly, dressed in robes with a peculiar smell and a turban wrapped around his head. He looked like he might be from India.
It was Quirinus Quirrell.
At this point in time, he had already been possessed by Voldemort.
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