HP: Trickster System

"This world seems magical on the surface, but it's more like a fish that slipped through the net of time. Like stagnant water," Mr. Wilson said, shaking his head. "Just one glance, and you can imagine what wizards used to be like in the past. Look at their expressions, their robes—I feel like I'm staring at an old oil painting."

"Arrogant eyes, paired with the same old robes and pointy hats. They look down on ordinary people, yet have long since been left behind by them. This kind of complacency is bound to cause problems eventually."

Louis hadn't expected his father to come out with something so profound, and it threw him off for a moment. "So, Dad, do you think it's a bad idea for me to go to school here?"

"I didn't say that. You should go—more skills never hurt anyone. Just don't let yourself be assimilated into this stagnant pool. Keep your passion alive, understand?"

Mr. Wilson ruffled Louis's hair.

"I got it," Louis nodded.

Understood. Always keep the Trickster's passion burning. If there's a chance to deceive, take it. If there's no chance, make one. Never become a slacker wizard drifting through life.

Louis instantly activated his "elemental awareness" and didn't bother comparing whether his epiphany actually matched what Mr. Wilson meant.

The father and son were chatting happily when the towering Hagrid emerged from Gringotts with Harry in tow.

Harry looked dazed, still seemingly recovering from the mountain of gold and silver he'd just seen.

"Come on, Louis. First, we'll get your robes made, then pick up cauldrons and textbooks, and finally—choose a wand!" Hagrid called out, gesturing for Louis to follow. "We'll start at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions."

Louis and Mr. Wilson rejoined Harry and Hagrid. While Mr. Wilson took the opportunity to probe Hagrid about wizarding customs, Louis listened to Harry spill over with excitement.

"I never knew my parents had done so much for me," Harry said, his eyes a little red as he rubbed at them. "Hagrid told me about Voldemort. He said he was a terrible guy—killed loads of wizards. But he died at my hands… and I was just a baby."

"That sounds unbelievable," Louis replied, feigning surprise. "How could a baby possibly defeat an adult wizard?"

"I don't know either," Harry admitted, clearly baffled.

On the way to the robe shop, Harry began chattering endlessly to Louis about everything he'd seen in Gringotts—the long railway, the strange waterfall, and eerie noises echoing through the caverns from unknown creatures.

"Hagrid said it was a dragon," Harry said. "He's always wanted to raise one."

Louis paid attention at first and even threw in a comment now and then. But he soon realized there was no need—Harry's attention had already been stolen by the shop windows lining the street.

Odd-looking silver instruments, bat spleens, eel eyeballs, toad hides, parchment, potion bottles, star charts… All things normal people would never imagine seeing, let alone buying—and none of them were cheap.

Soon enough, guided by Hagrid, Louis and Harry had their measurements taken and their uniforms ordered. After picking up their cauldrons, textbooks, and other school supplies, it was time for one of Louis's "Three Admission Challenges":

Choosing a wand.

Ollivanders—the oldest wand shop in Diagon Alley. The faded golden sign still barely displayed the words: Ollivanders – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

As the muted chime of a bell rang, the four of them stepped into the small, cramped shop.

There was only one piece of furniture: a single long bench. The rest of the space was stacked floor-to-ceiling with narrow wand boxes, dust dancing through the air in the faint light.

As if sensing the disturbance at the door, a creaking pulley echoed. A ladder emerged smoothly from between the wand stacks, twisting and turning expertly without knocking over a single box. It came to a stop directly in front of them.

An elderly man with snow-white hair descended the ladder. He looked at Harry, then at Louis, and then turned his gaze back to Harry, as if magnetized.

"Hahaha! I thought it was about that time. Harry Potter—finally ready to choose your wand? Yes, yes, the best wands in all of Britain are right here in my shop."

The old man sparkled with energy, a complete contrast to his aged appearance.

"Good morning, children. I'm Garrick Ollivander, as you can see—I own this place," he said, introducing himself.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"I'm Louis Wilson," the two boys replied.

"Yes, yes, no need to say more about you, Harry Potter," he said, then turned to Louis. "And you… Hmm, no records for you. Looks like you're one of those lucky ones from a Muggle family."

Ollivander snapped his fingers.

Two measuring tools leapt out from between the wand boxes. As if alive, they bounced over to Harry and Louis and began taking measurements in the most bewildering ways.

Arm length and height made sense, but why the hell were they measuring nostril spacing?

Louis silently grumbled but kept a straight face, instead focusing on Harry.

He needed to observe what kind of special effect appeared when the right wand was chosen—so he could replicate it with an illusion when his own turn came.

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