[HP] Chapter 192-195

### Chapter 192: A Five-Hundred-Year Death Anniversary? Ghosts Sure Know How to Party

Louis had no concerns about the combat power of his golem. He was already planning to set it up at home once he went back for Christmas.

After dealing with the golem, Louis picked up a fist-sized egg.

> [Curious Pet Egg: Can hatch into a pet that matches its owner’s personality. The pet can understand complex commands, possesses its own independent thoughts and emotions.]

This was what you’d call a “classic high-tier trash item.”

Completely useless, just taking up inventory space—five slots, no less.

Still, it would make a decent gift. He’d just wrap it up and give it to someone later.

Next came the last miscellaneous item—Golden Fertilizer.

The name alone made Louis instantly recall the bizarre meme videos from his previous life. Golden Fertilizer… the ancestor of meme culture itself.

> [Golden Fertilizer: A universal fertilizer that promotes the growth of any plant.]

“Fertilizer, huh? Guess I can use it for the World Tree.”

Louis immediately thought of his own World Tree. Opening his Reality Marble, he leaned halfway inside, reappearing above the young tree.

“Grow big and strong, alright?” he said cheerfully, pouring a whole sack of Golden Fertilizer beside the sapling before closing the gate and walking away.

He didn’t notice that his World Tree had already grown another section taller—nor that his Black Jade Healing Paste had mysteriously disappeared.

After Louis left, a transparent figure quietly appeared once again.

“What kind of wondrous thing is this?” The translucent ghost picked up one of the golden-glowing clumps of fertilizer, surprise flashing in his eyes. “Such pure life energy… it’s perfect for growing plants!”

“But using it like this is such a waste.”

He whistled. From afar, Norbert—who had been playing around—fluttered over.

“Here, eat it all.” The ghost stuffed all the fertilizer into Norbert’s mouth. “And from now on, make sure you do your business right here, understood?”

Norbert chewed the fertilizer with an innocent look, nodding blankly.

“Good boy.” The ghost smiled and faded away again.

---

Meanwhile, Louis was sorting through the rest of his loot.

“Let’s see… Dragonheart Elixir—instantly cures all negative states and restores you to peak condition. Soul-Nurturing Pill—repairs damage to the soul. Laugh-and-Drop-Dead—poison…”

He neatly categorized each potion, pondering whether poison technically counted as an “attack method.”

“Probably not. Maybe I can try poisoning the basilisk with it.”

As he muttered, Louis pulled out a Perfect-Grade Biological Gene Fragment—for birds, apparently, though he wasn’t sure what kind of “perfect bird” it belonged to. It definitely wasn’t a phoenix; that would be Legendary-Grade.

“Guess I’ll hand it to Fafnir. Maybe next time he and Hastur fight, I won’t have to step in to keep the peace.”

The Physical Enhancement Permit and Magic Enhancement Permit were useless to Louis. Thanks to his talismanic constitution, only Legendary-Grade enhancements could affect him.

Still, he could use them to empower someone else. For now, he stored them in the system for safekeeping—they were intangible, after all. He could just tell the system when he wanted to use them.

Next came three special items:

- Spring of Drowned Maiden

- Tara’s Magical Codex

- Flame Staff

Just from the name, Spring of Drowned Maiden, Louis had lost all interest. He was already strong enough; he didn’t need it.

“If it were something like the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, I’d at least take a peek. But that thing might even outclass a Legendary-grade item.”

Chuckling, he tossed the item into his storage space. Maybe he’d remember it later—or just wrap it up as a Christmas gift for his parents.

Tara’s Magical Codex, on the other hand, was a different story—also known as the Grand Tome of Black Magic, it contained a vast collection of Dark Qi Magic. Louis needed this badly. It would significantly enhance his mastery over Dark Qi and finally make him a legitimate Dark Qi sorcerer rather than a self-taught one.

As for the Flame Staff, it was a two-meter-tall staff embedded with a fiery red gem that amplified fire spells like Incendio or Confringo. Not particularly useful for Louis, so he just stored it away.

By the time he finished organizing all the loot from his draw, dawn was already breaking.

Louis put Pettigrew back, letting him sneak off to Gryffindor on his own—no worries, the Crystal of Death kept him under control. Then Louis returned to his dorm and collapsed into bed, drifting off to the sound of his roommates’ light snores.

---

The next morning was a weekend. As soon as Louis got up, he ran into an unexpected visitor—

or rather, an unexpected ghost.

The Bloody Baron.

Under the astonished gazes of the other Slytherins, the ghost—his spectral body still stained with the blood of Helena Ravenclaw—spoke politely to Louis.

“Sir Nicholas asked me to deliver a message,” said the Bloody Baron. “He wants to know if you’d attend his Five-Hundred-Year Death Anniversary Banquet on Halloween.”

“A five-hundred-year death anniversary? And a banquet?” Louis blinked in surprise. “You ghosts really know how to have fun, huh?”

“Well, we don’t have much else to do,” the Baron replied. “You’ve got to find some joy in five centuries of death. Sir Nicholas especially wanted you there—he said he wanted to thank you in person for helping him join the Headless Hunt.”

At that, the Baron’s expression turned oddly complicated. He truly couldn’t fathom how Louis had managed to detach Nick’s head.

After all, ghosts’ appearances were supposed to be permanently fixed at the moment of their death. Sure, Nearly Headless Nick liked to treat his head like a hat, sometimes lifting it to show people—but that tiny flap of skin still kept it attached, a barrier no magic could ever truly sever.

And yet, Louis had done it. He had actually finished the job—turning Nearly Headless Nick into Headless Nick.

“It was just a little help, nothing much,” Louis replied with a calm smile. “Do you need any help yourself?”

“No, thank you. I quite like keeping my head securely attached to my neck,” the Bloody Baron said dryly.

“Well, that’s a shame then. Oh, and please tell Nick I’ll be there on time for the banquet.”

“Consider it done.”

The Bloody Baron nodded and drifted away, leaving the Slytherin dorm once more.

---

### Chapter 193: The Proper Way to Use a Boggart

As Halloween approached, Hogwarts once again began its annual wave of festive decorations.

Taking advantage of the weekend, Louis met up with the Weasley twins in the Room of Requirement to show each other what they’d been working on.

“What’s wrong with your owl?” Fred asked curiously, holding a squirming burlap sack while staring at the creature perched on Louis’s shoulder.

Fafnir looked as if he’d been struck by lightning—his feathers stood on end, his whole body twitching uncontrollably. His sharp claws dug into Louis’s shoulder, occasionally tearing small holes into his robes. The twins’ faces twisted in sympathetic pain.

It looked agonizing… yet Louis didn’t have a single scratch on him.

“Oh, him? Ate something he shouldn’t have,” Louis replied casually, smoothing down Fafnir’s feathers. “Didn’t want him causing trouble in the dorms, so I brought him along.”

He still had no idea what that Perfect-grade bird gene fragment really was. Ever since injecting it into Fafnir, the poor bird had been in this state—and Louis didn’t know how long it would last.

“I see… well, never mind that then,” Fred said, shaking the sack in his hand. “We found the Boggart.”

“It was in Filch’s office cabinet,” George added. “Peeves told us about it. We thought he was messing with us, but turns out he was actually right.”

“You’ve seen it already? What did it turn into?” Louis asked, intrigued.

“It turned into us,” the twins said in perfect unison.

“To be precise, it turned into Fred in front of me,” George explained.

“And into George in front of me,” Fred followed up.

The twins shrugged. “We have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

Well, they were probably the only two people who could instantly recognize each other anyway.

“Whatever. Maybe it means you two don’t have any real weaknesses,” Louis said offhandedly. “Go on, let it out. I want to take a look.”

George nodded, untying the rope around the sack. As the knot loosened, a swirling mass of shadow and mist burst out before them, spinning and distorting like a miniature whirlwind.

“Oh, looks like it’s set its eyes on you,” George said with a grin.

“What do you think it’ll turn into?” Fred asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“I’m curious myself,” Louis said calmly, steadying his thoughts as he drew his wand, ready for anything.

If it turned into something too private or dangerous to show others, he’d immediately end it with a spell.

A Boggart’s transformation was easy to disrupt—either by someone else’s emotion of fear or by a simple charm like Riddikulus.

The latter could even force it into whatever shape the caster desired. In the original, people usually defeated Boggarts by making them look ridiculous.

But Louis had no such intention. He wanted to see just how far a Boggart could go.

The swirling form finally stabilized—and the Boggart turned into Louis himself.

“It turned into Louis too?” George was astonished. “Why’s that?”

“Guess that means Louis doesn’t fear anything either?” Fred suggested.

“No,” Louis said quietly, staring at his double. He had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

“Louis,” the Boggart said in his exact voice, its lips curving into a faint smirk, “the truth is… I’m actually a Muggle.”

“So that’s it,” George said, eyes wide. “Louis is afraid of being a Muggle!”

Fred snapped his fingers in sudden realization. “Makes perfect sense now!”

Louis said nothing, continuing to stare at the Boggart version of himself.

“Louis,” the doppelgänger spoke again, “the truth is, I actually took the Philos—”

Riddikulus!” Louis cast the charm immediately.

Of course, Louis’s fear wasn’t about being a Muggle. Whether it was being a Muggle, taking the Philosopher’s Stone, or anything that might have followed—everything revolved around a single core: the fear of secrets being exposed.

That was what truly terrified him—the possibility of his secrets being revealed.

“This is way more useful than some tapeworm,” Louis muttered, then flicked his wand—turning the Boggart into a 36D fox-eared beauty in white stockings.

“Ahh-woo!”

The Boggart didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with its new form. It bared its fangs and posed menacingly—but apart from being irresistibly cute, it had no real effect.

George and Fred, on the other hand, had never seen such a sight. Their faces instantly turned bright red.

“W-What… what is that?” George stammered.

“The proper way to play with a Boggart… well, okay, just a little joke.”

Louis waved his wand again, turning the Boggart into a balloon, which he caught and squeezed in his hand.

The twins exchanged a look, both feeling oddly disappointed.

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” Louis said dryly. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

He dragged over a cauldron and tossed the balloon-shaped Boggart inside.

And thus began the experiment…

After countless hours of persistence and trial, the three of them finally succeeded—just before Halloween arrived, the very first true Transfiguration Biscuit was born!

The so-called “Transfiguration Biscuit” was originally just a cookie infused with a special potion. But after numerous improvements, it now tasted surprisingly good—and could completely transform a person into any animal!

Fred volunteered as the first test subject. He transformed into a palm-sized golden canary and managed to stay that way for nearly five minutes.

Five minutes later, a puff of white smoke appeared, and Fred—still mid-flight—suddenly turned back, plummeting toward the floor. Louis caught him midair with a Levitation Charm.

“We did it!” Fred shouted excitedly, completely unfazed by his near fall.

“Yeah, we really did,” Louis nodded, acknowledging the twins’ hard work and success.

The Transfiguration Biscuit had evolved from the twins’ earlier Canary Biscuit, but now it had completely transcended the old limitations—and the awful taste.

A single biscuit could let the eater transform into any animal they wished for five minutes—a temporary version of the Animagus Transformation Spell, but without restrictions. Any form imaginable was possible.

This success, of course, owed much to Peter Pettigrew’s dedicated self-experimentation. Studying himself as the test subject—Louis had to admit, that kind of commitment deserved praise.

However, even though the Transfiguration Biscuit was now perfected, Louis reminded the twins they couldn’t relax just yet.

“The special effect of the biscuit comes from this particular transformation potion,” Louis warned. “You must not leak the recipe—understand?”

“Relax,” George and Fred said, winking. “We’ve already handled secrecy measures. Just a drop of Locking Solution, and the potion’s ingredients become impossible to reverse-engineer.”

“I’m not talking about the potion,” Louis said with a sigh. “I mean your mouths. Don’t go blabbing about it. If anyone asks, say these biscuits are alchemical products, directly synthesized—no additional ingredients involved. That’s the lie you’ll stick to.”

“That’s a great excuse!” The twins grinned. “They could go mad trying and still never figure out the actual recipe.”

“Oh, right—Louis,” George added suddenly, “how about a magic performance at the Halloween feast? Fred and I can be your assistants!”

“Not a bad idea,” Louis said with a smile, then shook his head regretfully. “But I’ll have to pass. I already promised Nick I’d attend his five-hundred-year death anniversary banquet.”

---

### Chapter 194: The Underworld Banquet

Sir Nicholas’s death anniversary banquet was held in a spot perfectly suited for the mood—the castle’s underground chamber, not far from the Slytherin common room.

Louis timed his departure precisely, and it wasn’t long before he ran into two familiar faces—Harry and Ron, both looking constipated with regret.

“Good evening, Harry. Ron,” Louis greeted as he walked up. “You two heading to Nick’s deathday banquet as well?”

“Louis? Evening,” Harry replied with a weak smile. “Yeah, we are… though honestly, I’m starting to regret it.”

“Yeah,” Ron sighed. “Heard Headmaster Dumbledore invited a skeleton dance troupe for tonight. Guess we’re missing that.”

“A skeleton dance? Watching bones can’t be half as interesting as watching ghosts,” Louis said, snapping his pocket watch shut. “Come on, I don’t know what ghostly etiquette looks like, but being late is never polite.”

The three arrived at a long corridor. Before they even stepped in, both Harry and Ron shivered.

The pitch-black passage was lit by flickering blue candles, their ghostly light making the air even colder and more sinister. Just one glance sent goosebumps crawling down their arms.

Thankfully, Louis’s calm presence steadied them. He looked so utterly unfazed, as though nothing about this place was unusual, that Harry and Ron forced themselves to be brave and followed.

At the end of the corridor stood Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—formerly Nearly Headless Nick, now properly headless. He was stationed at the door to greet his guests, wearing an expression that couldn’t decide whether it was mournful or cheerful—something complex in between.

“Good evening, my friends. I’m delighted you could come,” Nick said, tipping his feathered hat in a bow. “Please, go right in.”

As the doors opened, a shrill screech—like ten fingernails dragging across a blackboard—pierced the air. Even the first note felt like it could rip one’s soul straight out of their body.

Harry and Ron immediately clamped their hands over their ears, grimacing in pain. Louis, however, remained perfectly calm.

“Louis, don’t you think that’s unbearably loud?” Harry yelled, but seeing no response, he tapped Louis on the arm.

Louis turned, and Harry repeated himself.

“That’s because I ruptured my eardrums,” Louis said flatly.

Before entering, he had faintly heard the “music” leaking from the hall and had a bad feeling. So he had simply burst his own eardrums—and even suppressed his regeneration to keep them from healing too soon.

Simple and brutal.

“Your… your eardrums??” Harry and Ron gawked at him, glancing at Louis’s ears—sure enough, there was a trace of blood.

“But… how can you hear us, then?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Lip reading,” Louis replied, already striding into the hall to look around.

The ghostly banquet hall resembled a typical feast in layout—though certainly not in atmosphere. This wasn’t like a Hogwarts student dinner, which was all about eating. This was something else entirely—eerily ceremonial.

In the center, the dance floor was packed with both familiar and unfamiliar ghosts, spinning wildly to the screeching, hellish music, their movements exaggerated like a frenzy of demons.

Louis even spotted a few ghosts juggling their own detached body parts. He couldn’t help but wonder just how they’d died—some clearly in pieces.

He also saw Peeves and Moaning Myrtle; even they’d been invited. It seemed this whole affair was more of an excuse for ghosts to have fun than a solemn remembrance.

It was… suitably underworld-like.

Around the hall, tables were lined with all manner of dishes—varied and extravagant, though with one fatal flaw: none were edible.

Indeed, the spread was filled with raw, decaying food emitting an overwhelming stench. Anyone foolish enough to take a bite would probably need Louis’s healing magic afterward—he’d even offer it for free as a “heroic reward.”

At the center of the tables stood a tombstone-shaped cake, surrounded by all the other offerings like stars around the moon. Carved across it was Sir Nicholas’s date of death.

“1492… so it really has been five hundred years,” Louis murmured, pinching his nose shut and holding his breath.

The stench was absolutely inhuman—enough to knock a man out.

Ghosts, having lost most of their senses, seemed to crave stronger stimuli; only the most piercing sounds and foulest odors could thrill them. That explained the awful music and the nauseating food.

The party would likely last until dawn—after all, ghosts didn’t need sleep. But Harry and Ron did.

Before long, both had grown restless and decided to leave.

“That’s a shame,” Nick said regretfully. “Won’t you stay for the cake-cutting?”

“Uh, well, Nick, we…” Harry hesitated, wanting to say he was starving for real food, but afraid of hurting Nick’s feelings.

“No, Nick,” Louis interjected. “We need to go eat something actually edible. If we tried eating any of this, I’d have to take them straight to Madam Pomfrey afterward.”

He continued bluntly, “Next time you host one of these events and invite the living, you might want to prepare something digestible—for us, I mean.”

“Oh dear, I completely forgot,” Nick said apologetically. “This feast only happens once every fifty years—I didn’t even think of that. My apologies.”

“It’s fine. Just remember for next time,” Louis said, reading Nick’s lips easily. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Nick said, waving after them as they departed.

Once they escaped the eerie hall, Harry and Ron both sighed in relief.

“Merlin, I think my nose just came back to life,” Ron said, inhaling deeply. “I’m starving—if we hurry, we might still catch pudding in the Great Hall!”

Harry’s stomach growled too, but he turned to Louis instead. “Louis, do you need to see Madam Pomfrey about your ears?”

“No need—they’re already healed,” Louis said, tapping his ear. “Just needed a simple bit of healing magic.”

“Lucky you,” Ron muttered bitterly. “If only I could do that with my wand.”

Since breaking his wand, Ron’s classwork had been disastrous, earning him several detentions.

“That’s not possible,” Louis replied. “If you want it fixed, ask Dumbledore—or go to Ollivander’s in Diagon Alley.”

The three chatted as they climbed the stairs, heading for dessert in the Great Hall.

But just then, a sharp, piercing meow echoed from the corridor above.

“What was that?” Harry and Ron exclaimed.

Louis frowned. He recognized that sound instantly.

That was Hastur’s cryhis own cat’s. And it was coming from the third floor.

What the hell?

Was the basilisk skipping Filch’s cat this time—and going after his instead?!

---

### Chapter 195: Ah Yes, Yes, Only I Could Pull That Off

The moment Louis heard Hastur’s cry, he bolted.

The burst of speed left a string of afterimages trailing behind him.

Before Harry and Ron could even react, a violent gust swept past them—and when they turned their heads, Louis was already gone.

“Where did Louis go?” Ron blurted, completely lost.

Harry, quicker on the uptake, grabbed him by the arm. “Up ahead—come on, hurry!”

By the time they finally caught up, gasping for breath, they found Louis standing there with a strange expression, staring down at the scene before him.

On the floor were two cats—an orange one and a Maine Coon that looked painfully familiar.

That Maine Coon was unmistakably Mrs. Norris, Filch’s beloved pet.

Only, Mrs. Norris didn’t look good at all. She was hanging upside down by her tail, tied to a rope—

and from the looks of it, Hastur had bitten through the rope to set her free.

Mrs. Norris was completely petrified, which didn’t surprise Louis in the least.

What puzzled him was why Hastur was even here.

And perhaps it was just his imagination, but Hastur looked a little… drained.

Weak. Almost wounded—but Louis couldn’t see any visible injuries.

“Look! The wall—there’s writing!” Ron shouted, pointing upward in shock.

Harry looked up—

and saw the blood-red letters smeared across the stone.

> The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.

> Enemies of the Heir, beware.

“The Chamber of Secrets? The Heir? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered glances.

Louis didn’t even bother to look.

He already knew what was written there.

Instead, he lowered his gaze to the puddle on the floor, and sure enough, a girl’s reflection drifted across the water’s surface.

In a horror movie, it would’ve been a textbook death omen.

But to Louis, it only meant one thingperfect, a live commentary feed.

Just as Ron gasped in alarm, coincidence struck again.

The Great Hall feast had just ended, and the well-fed students began pouring out into the corridors.

When they reached the moving staircase, they spotted the commotion and immediately crowded around.

“The Chamber… The Heir?” drawled a pale-faced Draco Malfoy, who clearly knew something.

He glanced at the writing on the wall—and then his eyes fell on Louis crouching near the cats.

Merlin’s beard… could the Heir of Slytherin be… him?!

The thought hit him like a thunderclap, repeating endlessly in his head.

Malfoy swallowed hard, wisely deciding to keep his mouth shut.

Bloody hell—if he’s the Heir, then forget about “purging Muggle-borns.”

His girlfriend is a Muggle-born!

“Make way—what’s going on here?” came Filch’s voice from the back of the crowd.

Moments later, the caretaker shoved his way through—

and froze.

There lay Mrs. Norris, stiff as stone.

As the saying goes: a soft cat is safe, a hard cat’s done for.

And Mrs. Norris… was very, very hard.

Filch clearly realized the same thing.

He let out a wailing cry and lunged toward her, collapsing beside his petrified companion like a beast mourning its cub.

“My cat! My cat!” he howled in agony.

Hastur gave an irritated meow and kicked Louis’s leg.

Louis kicked him right back. “Quiet.”

“It was you! You killed my cat!” Filch’s eyes were bloodshot with rage.

Harry and Ron instinctively backed behind Louis, while Louis merely gave Filch a single look—

—and that alone was enough to make the enraged caretaker shiver and stumble back, fear seizing him by the throat.

The Herald of Fear was as terrifying as ever.

“Argus.”

At that moment, Dumbledore appeared on the scene, accompanied by several professors.

“Calm yourself, Argus,” the Headmaster said gently.

“Headmaster!” Filch’s face was twisted with grief and indignation. “They killed my cat! And this one—this one threatened me!”

“We didn’t kill Filch’s cat, and Louis didn’t threaten him either! We didn’t do anything!” Harry protested loudly.

Dumbledore raised a hand, instantly quieting the room. “Bring the cat. We’ll discuss this somewhere more private.”

Filch scooped up his stiff feline, and with the professors surrounding them, they all left the corridor.

That was when Lockhart spoke up.

“Why don’t we all go to my office?” he suggested brightly. “I daresay the office of an intelligent man will help us solve this mystery more efficiently. And it’s just next door!”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore said politely with a nod. “Mr. Wilson, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley—come along as well.”

“Come here, Hastur.” Louis patted his shoulder, beckoning his cat over.

Hastur obediently leapt up—though not without first planting a paw squarely across Louis’s face.

A small procession formed as they made their way through the gathered crowd. Louis lifted his gaze and quickly spotted Ginny Weasley.

Her eyes were vacant, her face pale as chalk, as if she’d just seen a ghost.

Her brothers hovered around her, assuming she was simply frightened, taking turns trying to comfort her.

But Louis noticed something odd—her unfocused eyes weren’t looking at the wall or the writing.

They kept drifting toward him.

Or rather… toward Hastur.

Louis nodded to himself, thoughtful.

When they arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Louis almost laughed aloud.

The room, once meant for serious study, now looked like Lockhart’s personal exhibition hall—filled wall to wall with framed photos of his own smiling face.

How the man managed to work surrounded by himself was a mystery for the ages.

Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris’s petrified body on the desk and began to examine her carefully.

Professor McGonagall stood at his side, her lips pressed thin.

Snape, meanwhile, kept sneaking glances at Louis and the others—probably calculating how to deduct as many Gryffindor points as possible without directly implicating Louis.

Yes, Professor Snape remained the same sly operator as ever.

Lockhart, naturally, couldn’t resist inserting himself into the discussion.

“I suspect a Transfiguration Torture Curse!” he declared. “If I had been here, a single counter-spell would have restored her instantly! Such a shame!”

Filch blinked, dumbstruck by the flood of nonsense, while everyone else stared at Lockhart with open disdain.

Everyone except his portraits, that is—they all nodded and clapped in perfect synchronization.

“It was him! He did it! Harry Potter!” Filch suddenly shouted. “It must be him! And that writing on the wall—he knew! He knows what I am—he knows I’m a Squib!”

Harry swallowed hard, utterly confused.

He knew Filch was a Squib, sure—but what, that meant he’d decided to… petrify his cat?

It was absurd even by Hogwarts standards.

“Argus,” Dumbledore said calmly, “this type of magic is far beyond what a second-year student could perform.”

As he spoke, the Headmaster’s eyes lingered—just briefly—on Louis.

Ah, yes, yes. Look at me all you want—go ahead, we all know what you’re implying. I’m the only one here who could actually do it, right?

Louis rolled his eyes silently and, with a small sigh, pulled out a long-unused prop:

Sherlock Holmes’s pipe.

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T/N: Please like the post or leave a comment so that I know how many people are reading this story.