Chapter 56: The Definition of mudblood and the 'Asset Restructuring' of the Snake House
There was a deathly silence in the carriage.
Draco Malfoy held the newspaper in his hand, his face pale as he looked at Morrin, who was sitting opposite him with his eyes closed, resting.
Sitting around them were Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and several upper-year students.
"So..."
Theodore Nott, a thin, gloomy boy, was the first to break the silence. His father was an old-school Death Eater and a die-hard believer in pure-blood theory.
"Is what the newspaper says true? White." Nott's voice carried a hint of a tremor—it was anger, but also a kind of hysteria after his beliefs had collapsed. "You... your parents, they're all Muggles?"
Morrin slowly opened his eyes. Those black eyes were as calm as water, showing not a single ripple.
"The layout of this edition isn't very good," Morrincommented indifferently. "I told Rita that financial news should be on the second page."
"Answer me!" Nott suddenly stood up, his wand pointed at Morrin. "You're a... mudblood?!"
As soon as those two words were uttered, the temperature in the carriage seemed to drop to the freezing point instantly.
Pansy covered her mouth, and Zabini shrank back. Malfoy's face was a mess of conflict; he both admired Morrin's power and found it impossible to accept this fact—the "Boss" he had followed for an entire year was actually the "mudblood" he looked down upon most?
"mudblood."
Morrin wasn't angry; he didn't even draw his wand. He just chewed on the word as if he were tasting a glass of spoiled red wine.
"Is that how you define others? Theodore."
"Don't call my name!" Nott roared. "You're not worthy! How can Slytherin let a mudblood lead? It's a disgrace! You deceived us! You've tainted Salazar's glory with that filthy bloodline!"
Several upper-year students also stood up. Although they feared Morrin's martial prowess, "bloodline" was their last shred of dignity. Now that it had been stripped away, their sense of shame made them want to resist.
"Filthy?"
Morrin suddenly laughed.
He stood up and tapped his black ironwood wand lightly on the floor.
Thud.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)]—Full-coverage release.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)]—Aura suppression.
A terrifying, almost tangible pressure instantly filled the entire carriage. It was the absolute superiority of an apex predator looking down on a lower being.
Nott felt his knees go weak, nearly kneeling. But he gritted his teeth and held on: "Do you want to use violence to shut us up? Even if you kill us, you can't change your lowly birth!"
"Sit down," Morrin said softly.
He used no spell, yet everyone felt an irresistible will. They were forced back into their seats, except for Nott, who remained standing.
Morrin walked up to Nott, reached out, and caught Nott's wand between two fingers. With a light flick, the wand fell to the floor.
"If it were yesterday, I would have knocked your teeth out one by one." Morrin straightened Nott's tie for him, his tone so gentle it was hair-raising. "But today, I want to talk business with you all."
Morrin turned, his gaze sweeping over all the Slytherinelites present.
"What do you mean by your so-called 'nobility'?"
Morrin pointed at Nott's refined but somewhat worn robes:
"Does it mean guarding a pile of moldy gold coins left by your ancestors, living in a dark, drafty manor, worrying all day about the Ministry of Magic's tax audits, and relying on selling off Dark Arts items to maintain appearances?"
He then pointed at Malfoy:
"Or does it mean being like Uncle Lucius, who clearly has decent political resources but, because of that outdated bloodline theory, makes himself look like a rat crossing the street, unable to even take down a Principal?"
"This is what you call nobility?"
Morrin sneered, a disdain that came from his very core:
"In my eyes, this is called—distressed assets."
"What do you know!" Nott's eyes were red. "Bloodline is the root of magic!"
"Wrong."
Morrin interrupted him, his voice turning cold:
"The root of magic is power. And the root of society is capital."
Morrin pulled a Galleon from his pocket. It was one he had created in Knockturn Alley using the [Gate of Truth] for alchemy; its purity was extremely high, dazzling in the sunlight.
"I, Morrin White. I have no wizarding bloodline. But I possess the wealth to buy half the wizarding world. I have the power to solo a Basilisk. I can even decide whether The Daily Prophet praises you or destroys you tomorrow."
Morrin flipped the gold coin into the air; it spun, making a pleasant sound.
"And you, the so-called 'pure-bloods'."
"Aside from that surname, what else do you have? Without my'sponsorship' this year, Slytherin would still be losing to Gryffindor on broken broomsticks. Without my 'protection', you would have been so scared by the panic of the Chamber of Secrets that you'd have wet your pants."
Morrin caught the coin and slammed it onto the table.
Bang!
The gold coin was deeply embedded into the oak tabletop.
"Listen, from today on, the rules in Slytherin have changed."
Morrin looked around at everyone, his gaze like a blade:
"I don't care if your bloodline is pure or mixed. Even if you were born of a Troll, as long as you have value, I will use you."
"From now on in Slytherin, we don't rank by seniority or look at family trees."
"We will implement a 'Performance Appraisal System'."
"Whoever can bring me profit, whoever can show excellent magical talent, whoever can contribute strength to this group... they are the 'nobility'."
"Conversely, those useless wastes who only know how to cling to their ancestors' tablets while waiting to die, with 'mudblood' constantly in their mouths..."
Morrin looked at the deathly pale Nott:
"...I will personally 'liquidate' them out of the game."
The carriage was dead silent.
These words completely overturned the education they had received since childhood.
But looking at the young man standing in the light and shadow, as powerful as a monarch, and looking at the gold coin embedded in the table, a new, more fanatical desire sprouted in their hearts.
Compared to an ethereal bloodline, this tangible, visible'strength' Morrin displayed seemed... more attractive?
"I..." Malfoy swallowed hard, the first to break the silence.
He looked at Morrin, his gaze shifting from conflict to determination. He remembered his father's wariness of Morrin, the broomsticks Morrin had given him, and the victories of this year.
"I think Morrin is right." Malfoy stood up and positioned himself behind Morrin. "Bloodline... really can't put food on the table. I want to win, and I want to follow a winner."
With Malfoy taking the lead, Zabini also shrugged: "My mother often says that beauty and wealth are eternal. I'm in too."
Pansy followed immediately after.
Finally, only Nott was left. He stood there alone, his expression shifting uncertainly.
Morrin didn't pressure him; he just took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands.
"It's okay if you can't figure it out, Theodore. You can go home and ask your father whether he'd rather starve to death guarding pure-blood glory, or follow me and increase the Nott family's assets tenfold."
The train began to slow down.
The announcement for the arrival at King's Cross Stationcame over the broadcast.
"Let's get off." Morrin picked up his wand and led the way to the door. "No matter what you choose, as long as I am here, I have the final say in Slytherin."
The platform.
Steam drifted everywhere. Students rushed into their parents' arms.
Nott got off the train and saw his gloomy father standing by a pillar. He opened his mouth, wanting to complain, wanting to say that White was a mudblood.
But before he could speak, he saw a shocking scene.
At the exit of the platform.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom, even grander than the Minister for Magic's car, was parked there.
The old butler, Alfred, wearing white gloves, respectfully pulled open the car door.
Beside the car stood two rows of bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses.
Though they were Muggles, their well-trained murderous intent made the surrounding Wizards afraid to approach.
Morrin White walked over.
The bodyguards bowed in unison: "Young Master."
That kind of display, that kind of aura, instantly outshone all the pure-blood families present.
Chapter 57: The White Industrial Revolution and the Escapee from Azkaban
Lucius Malfoy was waiting for Draco with his wife, Narcissa.
Seeing this scene, the corner of Lucius's eye twitched, but he still gave a slight nod to Morrin—a greeting between equals.
Nott shut his mouth.
He suddenly felt that his previous persistence was simply a joke.
In the face of a true capital tycoon, so-called "pure-blood glory" was like a beggar in tattered clothes bragging about how his ancestors were once wealthy.
Morrin stood in front of the car door and looked back at the Slytherin students behind him.
He saw the shock, envy, and... submission in their eyes.
"Retrofitting complete."
Morrin's lips curled slightly, and he climbed into the car.
"Home, Alfred. Also, notify the finance department to prepare for the acquisition of those herb plantations under the Nott family name. I think they will need cash flow very soon."
The car window rolled up, shutting out the hustle and bustle of the Wizarding World.
Morrin closed his eyes and began to plan his "hunting list" for the third academic year.
[Target]: Prisoner of Azkaban (Sirius)
[Target]: Dementor (Soul Attribute)
[Target]: time-turner (Law Attribute)
...
July, midsummer.
For the British Wizarding World, this summer was hotter than ever before.
This heat did not just stem from the weather, but more from a "golden storm" that was quietly sweeping through Diagon Alley, Gringotts, and even the Ministry of Magic.
If you walked into Diagon Alley now, you would find that the biggest change was not which shop had released a new product, but that everyone was discussing the same name—"White Alchemy Industries."
...
On the outskirts of London,
inside an abandoned factory protected by powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms.
This place used to be a Muggle textile mill; now it had been bought by Moen White and transformed into the Wizarding World's first true "modern Potion factory."
Inside the massive factory floor, dozens of giant alchemical cauldrons over two meters in diameter were stirring automatically.
There were no Wizards waving wands nearby; instead, there were automated mechanical arms covered in runes that precisely controlled the number of rotations for stirring.
The air was filled with a refreshing scent of mint.
"Is this... the future?"
Lucius Malfoy stood on the high observation deck, clutching his snake-head cane, looking at the shocking assembly line below, his voice dry.
Beside him stood Professor Snape, equally dumbfounded.
"This is not the future, Lucius."
Moen White was wearing a white Alchemy lab coat, holding a pocket watch, and calculating the output rate.
"This is efficiency."
Morrin pointed to the rows of Potions being automatically bottled below:
"These are 'Cold Potions.' Previously, a skilled Potionmaster could brew at most 20 bottles a day. And the quality was uneven. But here..."
Morrin pressed the pocket watch:
"...we produce 50 bottles every minute. The purity standard deviation is controlled within 0.1%."
"The cost has been reduced by 80%, and I have only lowered the selling price by 20%." Morrin turned his head and looked at the two.
On Snape's perpetually gloomy face, an extremely complex expression appeared at this moment.
As a Potion master, he instinctively rejected this kind of mass production without a "soul," but looking at the flawless quality of the Potions, he had to admit—in the field of basic Potions, manual labor had already been rendered obsolete.
"You have broken the monopoly of the Potion Association, White," Snape said in a low voice. "Those old guys like Slughorn will go crazy."
"Let them go crazy," Morrin said indifferently. "When they find out they don't even have the money to buy raw materials, they will obediently sell me their patents."
Morrin walked over to Lucius.
"Mr. Malfoy, how is the acquisition of the 'Nimbus Racing Broom Company' going?"
Lucius took a deep breath, forcing himself to snap out of the shocking profit figures.
"They are still resisting," Lucius regained his shrewdness. "They say the 'Black Swan' is just an isolated case and cannot be mass-produced. They still hold the market share."
"Then launch a 'price war.'"
Morrin's gaze was cold:
"Announce that 'White Heavy Industries' is about to launch the 'Black Swan - Civilian Version.' Performance is 15% higher than the Nimbus 2001, and the price is only half of it."
"At the same time, have The Daily Prophet publish an article questioning whether the Nimbus company's timber supply chain is contaminated with Dark Arts."
"I want to make their stock price hit rock bottom within a month. Then..." Morrin made a grabbing gesture, "acquire them at a low price."
Lucius looked at the twelve-year-old boy in front of him, a chill running down his spine.
These methods... were even more terrifying than the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord killed people, while Moen White destroyed hearts and stole your money as well.
"Understood." Lucius lowered his head; this time, he was truly submitting from the heart.
Not because of fear of violence, but because by following Morrin, the Malfoy family's vault had already doubled this summer.
"There is one more thing."
Morrin suddenly looked at Snape.
"Severus, how is the progress on the improved version of the 'wolfsbane potion'?"
Snape frowned: "That is an extremely advanced Potion. Although I have the Alchemy insights provided by your [Gate of Truth], I still need time. You want to mass-produce that? Werewolves are a marginalized group in the Wizarding World; they don't have money to buy medicine."
"Not having money now does not mean they won't have money in the future."
Morrin walked to the window, looking at the outline of London in the distance.
"I want to monopolize the Werewolf market. Not to make money off them, but to... control them."
"When all the werewolves rely on my Potion to maintain their sanity, I will possess the most dangerous and loyal army in this world."
Snape and Lucius exchanged a look, both seeing the horror in the other's eyes.
This boy's plans already stretched far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
...
One week later.
The front page of The Daily Prophet exploded with news.
But this time it wasn't about Morrin's business, but a terrifying piece of news.
"Escape!" — Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban!
On the newspaper, that man with matted hair and a haggard face was roaring madly.
He was a recognized madman in the Wizarding World, a die-hard loyalist of Lord Voldemort, and the sinner who betrayed the Potters.
At the breakfast table, Morrin put down the newspaper and took a gentle sip of coffee.
"It has finally arrived."
"Young Master, this Black is very dangerous." Alfred stood to the side, cutting ham for Morrin. "The Ministry of Magicis already in a state of chaos. Minister Fudge has even proposed letting Dementors station themselves at Hogwarts."
"Dementors..."
Morrin's fingers tapped gently on the table.
Creatures that fed on happiness and could consume souls.
On his system hunting list, Dementors had a very high priority.
If he could extract the [Aura of Fear], his strength would take another leap.
"This is an opportunity, Alfred."
Morrin picked up a quill and quickly wrote a few lines of instructions on a piece of parchment.
"Notify Rita Skeeter and have her start writing a series of reports."
"The first one:'Security Loopholes in the Ministry of Magic—Is Azkaban Really Impregnable?'"
"The second one: 'Dementors Stationed at School? Is it driving away a tiger to welcome a wolf, or inviting a wolf into the house?'"
"I want to create panic," Morrin's eyes flashed with brilliance. "But at the same time, I want to guide this panic toward distrust of the Ministry of Magic."
"When people no longer believe in official institutions, they will seek new protectors."
Morrin stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, and adjusted his appearance.
The boy in the mirror was wearing a Black high-end suit, holding the cane that symbolized power, looking like a young godfather controlling everything.
"Prepare the car. I am going to Diagon Alley."
"Is the Young Master going to buy books for the new semester?"
"No."
Morrin picked up the newspaper with the photo of Siriusroaring, his lips curling slightly:
"I'm going to buy a 'cat'."
"And... I think I should also go meet that soon-to-be-appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin."
"After all, as the sole manufacturer of the 'wolfsbane potion,' it is necessary for me to go pay a visit to my 'potential client.'"
Chapter 58: The Cracks in the Leaky Cauldron and a Marked Rat
August 30th.
London, Charing Cross Road, Leaky Cauldron.
Harry Potter sat in a dim corner of the pub, a plate of barely touched breakfast sitting before him. He had been staying here ever since he accidentally inflated Aunt Margeand fled the Dursleys'.
Although Cornelius Fudge hadn't punished him, he hadn't felt at ease these past few days. He always felt that the people around him were looking at him with a strange, pitying gaze.
"Harry!"
A familiar voice rang out. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley walked in. Hermione was a bit more tanned, while Ron's face had gained quite a few more freckles.
"Thank goodness you're alright!" Hermione rushed over and gave Harry a hug.
"We heard about Aunt Marge," Ron grinned, though he looked a bit nervous. "Dad said the Ministry of Magic was in a total frenzy over it, but it's a miracle they didn't expel you."
The three sat down and began sharing stories of their summer break.
However, this warm atmosphere didn't last long.
The pub door was pushed open.
The originally noisy pub instantly fell silent, as if a mute button had been pressed.
Moen White walked in.
He wore a black, extremely sharp-cut high-collared trench coat, still holding that black ironwood wand in his hand.
But the entourage behind him was larger than ever before.
Four personnel from 'White Security' in uniform, looking like former Aurors, guarded him as if facing a great enemy.
Even the pub owner, Old Tom, immediately dropped what he was doing and ran out, bowing low.
"Mr. White! I'll arrange the best private room for you right away!"
Morrin ignored Old Tom. His gaze swept across the hall and landed on the trio in the corner. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; he waved for his bodyguards to step back and then walked straight over.
"It seems our 'Mr. Fugitive' is doing quite well." Morrinreached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, his movements as elegant as if he were in his own living room.
"Morrin," Hermione greeted him somewhat stiffly.
Over the summer, she had received a dividend from Morrinfor 'Knockturn Alley Bookstore Management.' It was a huge sum of money, making her always feel like she was facing a boss when she was with him.
"Hey, Morrin." Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably.
He saw the shiny new watch on Morrin's wrist and subconsciously hid the frayed edges of his own cuffs.
Harry looked at Morrin, but he didn't immediately break into a smile as he had in the past.
For some reason,
"You seem to really enjoy this feeling of being a big shot," Harry said suddenly, his tone a bit sharp.
Morrin raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry.
The Mind Palace told him that the savior had entered his rebellious teenage years, and that sensitive self-esteem was acting up.
"Enjoy?" Morrin picked up the teapot on the table and poured himself a cup. "No, Harry. This is a necessary 'deterrent.' The wizarding world isn't peaceful right now; displaying power saves a lot of unnecessary trouble."
"You mean Sirius Black?" Ron lowered his voice. "I saw it in Dad's newspaper. He's coming to kill Harry, right?"
"Kill Harry?"
Morrin chuckled, his eyes becoming meaningful.
"Perhaps. That's what public opinion always says. But the truth is often hidden beneath a seemingly mad facade."
Morrin's gaze suddenly dropped, fixing on Ron's jacket pocket.
There was a ball of gray fur trembling slightly inside.
Scabbers. The rat that had lived for twelve years.
"Is this that rat?" Morrin reached out. "I remember suggesting last year that you throw it away."
"Scabbers has been sick lately." Ron shielded his pocket. "He's lost a lot of fur, and he's been shaking constantly."
"Let me see. Maybe I can prescribe some medicine for it." Morrin didn't withdraw his hand; that aura of refusing to be denied forced Ron to pull the rat out.
Scabbers struggled violently in Morrin's palm, his tiny bead-like eyes filled with human-like terror. He recognized this boy; at Hogwarts, he was the only creature who could sense the mixed aura of Pure Blood (Curse) and Dragon Might on Morrin.
He wanted to bite Morrin, but Morrin's fingers tightened slightly, pinching the scruff of his neck.
[Contact Successful!]
[Scanning Target]: Peter Pettigrew (Animagus Form)
[Current Status]: Extreme Terror / Attempting to Escape
Morrin didn't crush it immediately.
In front of everyone, he pulled an exquisite silver collar engraved with alchemical runes from his pocket, something that might have originally been used to decorate a pet.
"Since it's sick, it needs monitoring."
Morrin moved with extreme speed to snap the miniature collar onto the rat's neck.
"Click."
The collar locked shut.
"What is this?" Ron cried out. "What did you put on him?"
"An alchemical tracker with'some' solidification runesattached," Morrin lied calmly. It was actually a powerful tracking and binding device. "This will prevent him from getting lost and can monitor his vital signs. Consider it an early school gift, Ron."
Scabbers clawed frantically at the collar around his neck, but it didn't budge.
He was in despair.
He felt his magic being locked away; he couldn't transform back into human form!
"You can't just put things on my pet!" Ron was getting a bit angry; he felt Morrin was humiliating him by implying he couldn't even afford a collar.
"It's for your own good." Morrin tossed the rat back into Ron's arms and took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. "Some things, if not watched closely, can bite their masters to death."
"You're always like this." Harry stood up suddenly, his green eyes burning with anger.
"Like what?" Morrin looked at him.
"Always acting superior, always thinking you know everything, always making decisions for us." Harry's voice trembled slightly. "You give Ron money, you buy him things, and now you put a collar on his rat... What do you take us for? Your... employees?"
The atmosphere at the table instantly froze. Hermionelooked at the two of them anxiously, not knowing who to help.
Morrin looked at the angry Harry and didn't get angry himself.
He even found it a bit amusing.
The little lion had finally grown claws and was starting to want to break free from the keeper's control.
"Harry."
Morrin stood up. Although he was only half a head taller than Harry, his aura was completely overwhelming.
"You think this is charity?"
Morrin walked up to Harry and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"If it weren't for my 'charity,' Mr. Weasley would currently be under investigation by the Ministry of Magic. If it weren't for my 'charity,' Ginny Weasley might have already died in the Chamber of Secrets."
"In this world, only the weak talk about dignity; the strong only care about results."
Morrin patted Harry on the shoulder, feeling the other boy's tense muscles.
"You want to get away from me? Fine."
"Then get stronger, Harry. Strong enough that the day comes when you don't need me to wipe your ass for you."
Having said that, Morrin picked up his wand and turned to head upstairs.
Chapter 59: Dementors on the Train
"By the way."
Morrin stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back at Ron, who was still in shock, but his gaze was fixed on the rat:
"Keep an eye on your rat, Ron. If it gets lost... you might miss a wonderful 'family drama'."
Morrin's figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs.
Harry sat back heavily in his chair, his chest heaving.
"He's changed," Harry whispered, "or rather... he's always been like this. A cold-blooded Slytherin."
"But he did save Ginny," Hermione defended in a low voice.
"I know," Harry clenched his fists, "that's why I feel sick. I owe him, but I hate this feeling."
Ron looked down at Scabbers in his arms; the silver collar glinted with an eerie light in the dim lamp.
For some reason, he felt that the look Morrin just gave Scabbers was like looking at a death row inmate... Second floor, luxury suite.
Morrin entered the room; Alfred had already brewed the Black tea.
"Young Master, that tracker..."
"That's a 'dog leash' for Peter Pettigrew."
Morrin took off his trench coat and walked to the window, looking out at the bustling Diagon Alley.
"Peter can't die for now. He's the 'key' to the House of Black's vast inheritance. Only with this rat alive can I legally help Sirius clear his name, and then through that connection, swallow up those ancient Dark Arts vaults of the House of Black."
Morrin picked up his teacup, looking at the red liquid inside with a cold expression.
"As for Harry... he's starting to hate me. That's good."
"Young Master?" Alfred was somewhat worried. "If the savior stands against you..."
"Then let him stand there."
Morrin sneered, a trace of disdain flashing in his eyes:
"He's too conspicuous. Dumbledore is watching him, the Ministry of Magic is watching him, even Lord Voldemort is watching him."
"Since he loves playing the hero so much, let him attract all the attention. Let him fight the Dementors, let him deal with Lord Voldemort."
Morrin turned around and walked to a huge safe in the corner of the room.
He reached out, golden alchemical radiance flowing from his fingertips as he broke the complex seals.
The safe opened.
There were no gold coins inside.
Instead, there were several pre-prepared alchemical containers engraved with forbidden runes.
"When everyone is watching the savior, no one will notice what I'm doing."
Morrin's fingers gently brushed over those containers.
"The 'soul-devouring' mechanism of the Dementors—I need a live specimen for dissection and research."
"The 'law circuit' of the time-turner—I've already submitted a 'sponsorship application' to the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, and I'll have the physical object soon."
"As for the Patronus Charm..."
Morrin raised his black ironwood wand and gave it a light tap.
A silver, partially formed mist swirled around him. It wasn't happy emotions; it was a product of pure magic forcibly condensed.
"...That kind of thing relying on something as cheap as 'happiness'—"
Morrin closed the safe, the ambition in his eyes no longer concealed.
Afternoon.
The Hogwarts Express sped north through a torrential downpour.
The sky was as Black as ink, the sound of rain drumming against the windows like war drums.
Inside the luxurious Slytherin compartment, it was as warm as spring.
Moen White sat on a velvet sofa, holding a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.
Opposite him, Draco Malfoy was showing off his new broomstick to Pansy, though compared to Morrin's "Black Swan," it looked like a toy.
"I heard Sirius Black is still at large," Zabini looked at the curtain of rain outside, his tone somewhat worried. "The Ministry says he might come to Hogwarts to kill Potter."
"Let him kill him then," Malfoy said maliciously. "It would save us the trouble."
"If Potter dies, you'll lose a lot of fun, Draco," Morrininterjected calmly. "Besides, whether Black's target is Potter remains to be seen."
Just then, the train suddenly decelerated without warning, making a piercing screeching sound before coming to a halt.
All the lights went out instantly.
The temperature in the once-warm compartment plummeted.
A thick layer of frost formed on the windows, and even a thin layer of ice condensed on the surface of the tea in Morrin's cup.
"What's going on?" Malfoy pulled out his wand in a panic. "A power outage? Or did those Gryffindor idiots break the train again?"
"Quiet."
Morrin set down his teacup.
His Half-Giant Bloodline's perception allowed him to sense a nauseating aura approaching.
It was a cold, damp, rotting sensation that seemed to suck away all happy emotions.
"Some uninvited guests have boarded," Morrin stood up, his black ironwood wand emitting a faint alchemical glow in the darkness.
Chaotic screams and the sound of people falling came from the corridor.
Then, the compartment door was slowly pushed open by a greyish-white, scabbed hand that looked like it had been rotting in water for a long time.
A tall figure draped in a tattered cloak floated in.
It had no face; under the cloak was only a dark, hollow void.
It took a breath, making a wheezing sound like a pair of bellows.
Dementor.
Malfoy let out a girl-like scream and scrambled under the seat.
Pansy and Zabini were also pale with fright, feeling all their happiness being drained away, leaving only endless despair.
The Dementor seemed to be attracted by the unique aura emanating from Morrin.
The scent of [Pure Blood (Cursed)].
To a creature that feeds on despair and souls, Morrin was like a dark delicacy emitting a strange fragrance.
It floated toward Morrin, its invisible mouth seemingly preparing to give the boy a "kiss."
"Entering a private compartment without permission."
Morrin didn't go limp with fear like an ordinary Wizard.
On the contrary, a fanaticism like that of an anatomist seeing a rare specimen flickered in his eyes.
"So this is the guardian of Azkaban? The devourer of souls?"
Morrin didn't draw his wand to chant "Expecto Patronum."
He reached out his left hand, which wore a specialized dragon-hide glove engraved with isolation runes.
Under Malfoy's terrified gaze, Morrin actually reached out and grabbed the Dementor by the throat—if it had one.
Sizzle—!
The moment they touched, the Dementor let out an angry hiss. It tried to suck out Morrin's soul.
But it failed.
Morrin's brain had long been partitioned and managed by a [Multiple Mind Core].
Happiness, sadness, logic, and ambition were strictly isolated in different mind palaces.
All the Dementor managed to suck out was a tiny bit of "dissatisfaction over the tea getting cold" that Morrin had intentionally released.
Chapter 60: The "Amputated" Grim Reaper
"Is that all you've got?"
Morrin sneered.
The magic within his body roared to life; golden Alchemyradiance surged along his arm, locking onto the Dementor's form with a death grip.
"Since you've come, you might as well leave a toll."
Morrin swung his cane sharply with his right hand, and a sharp Alchemy surgical blade made of mithril sprang from the tip.
[Gate of Truth] — — Concept Stripping.
"Cut."
Swish! A silver light flashed.
The Dementor let out an extremely shrill shriek.
A corner of its fluttering black cloak, along with a lump of gray, smoke-like "solid matter" wrapped inside, was forcibly sliced off by Morrin!
It was injured!
This monster, which fed on fear, tasted the fear of being preyed upon for the first time.
It struggled frantically, wanting to escape from this terrifying human.
"Get lost."
Morrin released his left hand and took the opportunity to kick the Dementor in the chest.
[Half-Giant Strength] erupted.
Bang!
The Dementor was kicked out of the compartment like a torn sack, slammed against the wall across the corridor, and then terror-stricken, it turned into a wisp of black smoke and fled through the gap in the train window.
The compartment returned to a deathly silence.
The temperature began to rise, and the lights came back on.
Malfoy crawled out from under his seat, his teeth still chattering: "That... that was a Dementor? You... you drove it away?"
"Not just drove it away."
Morrin bent down and picked up the wriggling, gray-black substance on the floor.
He took out a pre-prepared crystal bottle, stuffed the substance inside, and quickly sealed the bottle mouth with Alchemy sealing wax.
Morrin looked at the crystal bottle in his hand, which sealed the gray mist, and the system interface in his mind actually flickered with a momentary greed.
[Target detected: Dementor]
[Extractable Traits]: Soul Siphon (Purple), Fear Aura (Purple), Physical Immunity (Blue)
[Remaining extraction attempts]: 2
[Base success rate]: 0.8%
[System Prompt]: Your attempts are insufficient to activate "Probability Stacking". Proceed with gambling-style extraction?
"No."
Morrin decisively refused in his heart.
A probability of less than 1% is something gamblers do, not something a capitalist does.
"Besides..." Morrin looked at the twisted, negative-emotion-filled substance in the bottle, a trace of disgust flashing in his eyes, "Directly stuffing this kind of dirty soul garbage into my body carries too much risk. What if I also turn into a monster that only knows how to feed on happiness? Then wouldn't all my 'fun' be gone?"
"It's safer to bring it back and slowly dissect it using the [Gate of Truth]. Alchemy can remove impurities and only preserve the power."
This was the real reason he chose "physical slicing" instead of "system extraction."
...
The corridor in the middle of the train.
When Morrin walked over, he happened to see Harry being supported by Hermione and Ron, his face pale as paper.
A man wearing tattered robes, who looked exhausted even while sleeping, was standing beside them, holding a large piece of chocolate.
Remus Lupin.
"That was a Dementor," Lupin was explaining, "A guard of Azkaban. It has already left."
"Was it driven away?" Hermione asked with lingering fear, "What magic did you use? A silver light?"
"The Patronus Charm," Lupin said gently, "It is the only way to repel them."
"The only way?"
An untimely voice interjected.
Morrin walked over, his leather shoes making crisp sounds on the floor.
"I think physical expulsion is also an effective method, as long as your strength is sufficient."
Lupin turned around and looked at this Slytherin student with a powerful aura.
A flash of vigilance crossed his tired eyes; it was a Werewolf's intuition toward dangerous creatures.
"Who are you?"
"Morrin White," Morrin nodded slightly, "The one who provides exclusive sponsorship for the 'wolfsbane potion' you take every month."
Lupin's pupils constricted sharply.
He certainly knew that name.
The mysterious tycoon who monopolized the Potionmarket and even provided relief medicine to werewolves.
But he hadn't expected the other party to be a student at Hogwarts.
"So it is Mr. White." Lupin's attitude became complicated, containing both gratitude and caution, "Thank you for your Potion. It... helped a great deal."
"You're welcome, that's business."
Morrin's gaze crossed over Lupin and looked at the still-weak Harry.
"It seems our the savior is still so fragile," Morrin evaluated indifferently, "Actually fainted from being scared by a watchdog?"
"That's a Dementor! Morrin!" Ron shouted angrily, "It sucks away happiness!"
"I know what it is, Ron."
Morrin took out the crystal bottle containing the Dementorfragment from his pocket and tossed it in his hand.
"Just a moment ago, one broke into my compartment. I think it probably felt that a Slytherin soul was more delicious."
"And then?" Hermione stared at the bottle, feeling that it contained something terrifying.
"Then I cut off a piece of its flesh and kicked it out."
Morrin said nonchalantly, just as if he were talking about swatting a mosquito.
The entire scene fell silent.
Lupin looked at the bottle in shock.
He could feel the pure Dementor aura inside.
Barehanded? Cut off a piece? Kicked it out? What kind of monster is this child?
"Professor Lupin." Morrin put away the bottle and gave Lupin a standard business smile, "I think we will have a lot of common ground this semester. For example... regarding the physiological change data of a certain creature on the full moon night, I hope to obtain your first-hand information."
"In return, I can provide you with an 'improved version' of the Potion. The kind that, after drinking, not only allows one to maintain sanity but can even... control the transformation."
Lupin's heart began to beat violently.
This temptation was too...
"I will consider it," Lupin said in a hoarse voice.
"Very good."
Morrin nodded and turned to leave.
Harry watched Morrin's back and clenched his fists.
It was like this again.
When he was scared unconscious by the Dementor and could only rely on eating chocolate to recover, Morrin had already treated that monster as experimental material.
This gap made him feel a deep sense of powerlessness, as well as an even stronger... unwillingness.
"I want to learn that," Harry suddenly said to Lupin.
"What?"
"The Patronus Charm," Harry said firmly, "I want to learn how to drive them away. I can't always... always be protected, or be mocked."
Lupin looked at Harry's eyes, which were so like Lily's, and nodded gently.
"I will teach you, Harry."
And at the end of the corridor, Morrin did not turn back.
He had heard Harry's request.
"Very good," Morrin's lips curled up slightly, "Go learn, Harry. Go create that silver radiance."
"When you use that radiance to attract the hatred of all the Dementors..."
"... That will be the best time for me to capture the 'leader'."