Chapter 71: Delayed Justice
There, hundreds of Dementors were gathering.
They sensed the intense emotional fluctuations here.
"The Dementors are here." Black transformed back into his human form, clutching his injured ribs, and looked at the sky in despair.
The temperature plummeted.
The swarming mass of Dementors descended like dark clouds.
Their targets were Sirius and Harry.
Harry tried to raise his wand: "Expecto Patronum..."
Only a thin wisp of silver mist appeared. He was too afraid.
A Dementor dove down and seized Harry by the throat. Harry felt his happiness fading and his consciousness blurring.
"Is this the end?" Harry thought.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A dazzling, solid-looking silver light suddenly erupted.
It did not come from Harry.
Nor did it come from Morrin, who was preparing something else.
It was from the opposite bank.
On the opposite bank of the Black Lake, a figure had cast a powerful Patronus Charm.
A giant silver stag charged over, scattering the Dementors in all directions.
Before losing consciousness, Harry hazily caught a glimpse of that figure.
"Dad..." he murmured.
But Morrin saw it more clearly.
He activated [True Sight].
The person casting the spell on the opposite bank was not James Potter.
It was the future Harry Potter.
It was Harry who had returned using a time-turner.
"A time loop." Morrin's lips curled slightly.
Since the future Harry had saved the present Harry, it meant the present Harry could not die.
In that case, Morrin could free up his hands to do something else.
He looked in the direction Peter was fleeing.
That rat was frantically trying to avoid the Dementors.
Morrin's figure vanished instantly.
[Half-Giant Speed]
The next second, he appeared by the bushes and stepped on the rat's tail.
"Squeak—!"
Morrin bent down and grabbed Scabbers.
At this moment, the Dementors had been driven away by the Patronus Charm, and the scene was extremely chaotic. No one noticed Morrin's actions.
"Game over, Peter."
Morrin looked at the desperate rat in his hand.
"Although I wanted to hand you over to the Ministry of Magic to clear Sirius's name immediately, I suddenly realized that if I 'turned you in,' I wouldn't be able to extract any surplus value from you."
Morrin pulled an alchemical metal box covered in seal runes from his pocket.
"Compared to Azkaban, my laboratory is more suitable for you."
He stuffed Peter into the box and sealed it shut.
Then, Morrin took out his wand, sliced his arm, squeezed out a few drops of blood onto the grass, and used [Gate of Truth] to forge some minced meat and bloodstains to make it look like "the rat had been torn apart by Dementors."
"Done."
Morrin stood up, looking at the perfectly forged crime scene.
"Tomorrow's news will be: Peter Pettigrew has faked his death again, or was eaten as a snack by the Dementors, leaving no evidence."
"As for Sirius... although there are no living witnesses, I can use my 'influence' and this rat's 'recorded confession' (which I'll slowly record in the lab) to gradually clear his name."
"Most importantly..."
Morrin patted the metal box containing Peter.
"...I have the living Peter in my hands. This is equivalent to holding the lifeline of Dumbledore, Sirius, and even Lord Voldemort."
At this moment, Dumbledore arrived in a hurry with Fudge.
What they saw was a mess: the unconscious trio of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the fallen Werewolf Lupin, the injured Black, and...
Moen White, who stood in the moonlight looking "exhausted" and "sad."
"Professor." Morrin leaned "weakly" against a tree, pointing at the blood on the ground.
"The Dementors lost control... they ate that rat. I couldn't stop them."
Morrin's acting was impeccable.
That night, although chaotic, the biggest winner was still the Slytherin standing in the shadows.
June, Hospital Wing.
The morning sun shone on the white sheets.
Harry and Hermione were lying in the hospital beds; although physically weak, their spirits were unusually high.
Ron had one leg in a cast and was animatedly describing to Madam Pomfrey how he had "heroically fought the Werewolf" last night, when in reality, he had just been bitten and then passed out.
The door to the ward was pushed open.
There was no waiting for Fudge to arrive to announce Sirius's death sentence.
In walked Moen White.
He had changed into a clean silver-gray suit, carrying the alchemical metal box covered in runes, followed by a somber-looking Dumbledore and a sweating, terrified Cornelius Fudge.
"Good morning, everyone."
Morrin walked to the center of the ward and placed the metal box heavily on the bedside table, making a dull thud.
"I believe we have an ad-hoc hearing regarding 'judicial justice' to hold here."
"Mr. White..." Fudge wiped the sweat from his forehead, "Are you sure... are you sure what's inside is..."
"Open it and see for yourself, Minister."
Morrin reached out and pressed the box.
The runes flickered, and the lid popped open.
A missing-fingered, trembling rat was trapped in the box by invisible magic. Beside it was a [Confession] that Morrin had made it sign overnight, which carried the force of a magical contract.
"Revealed." Morrin waved his wand.
In that confined space, the rat twisted and deformed, turning into that wretched, terrified, short, fat man—Peter Pettigrew.
"He... he is really alive!" Fudge stepped back in fright, nearly knocking over a medicine tray, "Merlin's beard! If this is true, then Black..."
"Black is innocent." Harry sat up abruptly and shouted, "Minister! You saw it too! Peter is the real traitor!"
Fudge's face turned pale. This was a huge political scandal.
The Ministry of Magic had imprisoned an innocent man for twelve years right under the noses of the Dementors, while awarding the Order of Merlin to the real culprit.
"Mr. Minister."
Morrin walked over to Fudge, helped him straighten his crooked tie, his tone as gentle as a devil's:
"This is a crisis, but it is also an opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Fudge was stunned.
"If you announce now that you 'wisely' discovered the doubts from back then and personally supervised the capture of the real culprit..." Morrin smiled and hinted, "Then you will be the hero who corrected the previous Minister's mistake, a defender of judicial justice."
"As for The Daily Prophet..." Morrin patted Fudge on the shoulder, "I have already had Rita Skeeter write the manuscript, filled with praise for your decisiveness and wisdom."
Fudge's eyes lit up.
He was a politician; he weighed the pros and cons in an instant.
"Ahem! That's right!" Fudge straightened his back and pointed at Peter, "Arrest him! Notify the Dementors! We are going to clear Mr. Black's name!"
Chapter 72: Time Characteristics and the Triwizard Tournament
Peter Pettigrew had been taken away by the Aurors; Morrin had already squeezed him dry of all value.
Sirius Black was declared innocent and released.
A few hours later, outside the Hospital Wing.
Sirius, now washed clean and wearing new robes, was hugging Harry tightly.
"Do you want to live with me, Harry?" Sirius asked excitedly. "I am your godfather, I have the right..."
"Of course!" Harry agreed without hesitation.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the corridor.
Morrin was leaning against the window, watching this touching reunion.
"The deal is done, Mr. Black." Morrin held a freshly signed 'Asset Entrustment Management Agreement' in his hand.
Sirius let go of Harry, walked over, and looked at Morrinwith a complex expression.
"You saved me, White. Although your methods... are very Slytherin."
"The result is good, isn't it?" Morrin flicked the parchment. "From today on, the House of Black's vaults 711 through 715 at Gringotts, as well as the property management rights to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, belong to the White Investment Company."
"Of course, we will pay you dividends regularly, enough for you to buy Harry ten thousand Firebolts."
Sirius didn't care about the money. He only cared about freedom and Harry.
"As long as you can help me handle those annoying family affairs, you can take whatever money you want."
Morrin nodded with satisfaction. This was what he wanted.
The House of Black's millennium of Dark Arts collections and vaults were now his.
"Right, one more thing."
Morrin turned around and looked at Hermione, who had just come out of the Hospital Wing.
She was preparing to take off the golden hourglass hanging around her neck to return it to Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Granger." Morrin called out to her.
"Morrin?" Hermione stopped in her tracks.
"You've worked hard this year." Morrin walked up to her, his gaze falling on the gold chain. "About this time-turner... before you hand it in, do you mind letting me 'admire' it one last time?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, but still took it off and handed it to him: "Be careful, Morrin. This thing is very dangerous. Professor McGonagall said I have to return it to the Ministry of Magic to be destroyed."
"Of course."
Morrin took the tiny hourglass. This was his ultimate goal for this semester.
[Contact Successful!]
[Detected Law-level Item: time-turner]
[Current Extraction Count: 25]
"I don't need the entire law." Morrin silently recited in his heart. "I only need the core logic of 'reversion'."
[Consumed Extraction Count x 20]
[Probability Stacking Judgment... Success!]
[Congratulations on obtaining the Trait]: Sand of Time(Gold · Law Fragment)
[Description]: You cannot travel through time for hours at will like the time-turner, but you have mastered "Micro-Time Reversion".
[Skill]: Time 0.5 Seconds. You can make the time around you revert by 0.5 seconds. In a duel, this means—absolute evasion and counter-kill.
Morrin's fingers gently brushed over the hourglass, feeling the power of the law that had been stripped away by the system merging into his body.
That feeling was wonderful, as if the world now had a "replay" button in his eyes.
"A very exquisite toy."
Morrin returned the time-turner to Hermione, a sincere smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Hermione. This has been very... enlightening to me."
The end of the semester, the day of departure. The Hogwarts Express started up again.
This time, Professor Lupin was also sitting on the train.
He had resigned because his identity as a Werewolf had been "accidentally" leaked by Snape.
But he was not dejected, because he had already received an offer from "White Alchemy Industries" to serve as Chief Security Consultant.
In the Slytherin compartment. Morrin sat by the window, watching the distant Hogwarts Castle.
This year, he had gained a great deal. He had controlled the Werewolf market, cleared Sirius's name, annexed the House of Black's assets, analyzed the Dementors, and obtained the law of time.
"Next semester..."
Malfoy was excitedly reading the newspaper nearby: "Morrin! Look! The Ministry of Magic has announced that the Quidditch World Cup will be held next year! And... the Triwizard Tournament is restarting!"
"The Triwizard Tournament." A glint flashed in Morrin's eyes.
That meant other magic schools, and it meant a broader international market. It also meant the resurrection of Lord Voldemort.
"That noseless guy is coming back." Morrin touched his chest.
He needed to make some preparations for that "resurrection night." Since Lord Voldemort wanted to reshape his body, Morrin wouldn't mind adding some special ingredients to his "resurrection Potion."
"Alfred." Morrin said to the air, though he was actually speaking to the two-way mirror.
"Yes, young master."
"Notify the factory and start researching 'Anti-Dark ArtsArmor'."
Morrin looked at the fields flying past the window, a wild, arrogant smile curling the corners of his lips.
Mid-June, Hogwarts Hospital Wing. The day after Peter Pettigrew was taken away by the Aurors.
Although the truth had come to light, the atmosphere in the Castle did not immediately become relaxed and cheerful. On the contrary, a more subtle atmosphere, filled with political calculations, hung over the place.
Inside the isolation ward of the Hospital Wing. Sirius Blackhad changed into a clean striped hospital gown.
After a night of rest and Madam Pomfrey's Potiontreatment, he didn't look quite as much like a skeleton, but those deep-set eyes still revealed a wildness that was hard to tame.
Harry sat by the bed, gripping his godfather's hand tightly, as if he would disappear the moment he let go.
"We are going to leave this place, Harry." Sirius's voice was hoarse but full of hope. "I have a house. Although it hasn't been lived in for a long time, as long as we clean it up a bit... you won't ever have to go back to the Dursley house again."
Harry's eyes lit up: "Really? Can I move in with you?"
"Of course! I am your guardian!"
"Ahem."
An untimely cough interrupted this heartwarming moment. In the shadows of the corner of the ward, Moen White was sitting on a high-backed chair, flipping through the newly released The Daily Prophet.
"Sorry to interrupt you two, but regarding this 'moving' matter, I think we need to look at a document first."
"It's you again, White." Sirius frowned. Although Morrinhad saved him, he instinctively disliked this youth who was full of Slytherin aura and spoke like a Gringotts Goblin.
"That is for your own good, Mr. Black." Morrin stood up and handed a thick piece of parchment to Sirius.
"What is this?"
"The housing renovation and asset freeze assessment report for Number 12, Grimmauld Place." Morrin said calmly.
Sirius glanced at it, and his expression changed.
"Simply put," Morrin explained, "that house has been abandoned for twelve years, and it is filled with out-of-control Dark Arts creatures like Doxies, Boggarts, and powerful curses left by your mother. According to the Ministry of Magic's 'Dangerous Housing Management Regulations,' it is currently in an 'uninhabitable' state."
"I can clean it up!" Sirius retorted.
Chapter 73: Sirius Black's Cooperation
"You don't have a wand," Morrin pointed out the harsh reality. "Your wand was broken twelve years ago. And as someone just released from prison, buying a new wandfrom Ollivander's at this sensitive time would require extremely tedious approval processes."
"And..." Morrin pointed to the end of the document, "You have no money."
"I have vaults at Gringotts!"
"Those vaults are currently under the trusteeship of White Investment Company." Morrin displayed a standard business smile. "According to the agreement we signed, to prevent you from engaging in retaliatory spending due to your long imprisonment, your assets are currently in a 'lock-up period.' You can only receive a fixed monthly living allowance."
"How much?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
"50 Galleons."
"What?!" Sirius Black jumped up. "That's my money! You robber!"
"This is financial management, sir," Morrin said without changing his expression. "This money is enough for you and Harry to eat and dress warmly. As for repairing the house, buying a new wand, and bribing Ministry of Magicofficials to completely clear your record... these all require additional expenses and need my approval."
Sirius Black's chest heaved with anger, but he looked at Harry's eyes, longing for a home, and finally slumped back like a deflated ball.
He understood.
Although he was free, he wasn't truly free.
His life, his money, and even his and Harry's future were all in the hands of this twelve-year-old Slytherin.
"What do you want, White?" Sirius Black gritted his teeth.
"It's simple."
Morrin snapped his fingers.
Outside the door, Alfred walked in, carrying a brand new leather suitcase full of daily necessities, and an unregistered Black market wand.
"You can borrow this wand; it has no Trace," Morrin threw the wand onto the bed. "Also, a professional cleaning team from the White Family has moved into Number 12, Grimmauld Place. As long as you cooperate with my 'publicity work,' you can move in with Harry in a week."
"Publicity work?"
Morrin unfolded The Daily Prophet.
The front page headline was a huge moving photo: "Justice Delayed, Justice Served: Minister Fudge Personally Uncovers the Truth, Vindicating a Hero!"
In the photo, Fudge was solemnly shaking "air," which was actually digitally composited, pretending to shake hands, accompanied by a handsome photo of a young Sirius Black.
"Fudge needs face, you need freedom, and I need stability."
Morrin looked at Sirius Black:
"Reporters will be here for an interview later. You just need to say to the camera: 'I thank the Ministry of Magic for not giving up on finding the truth, and I thank Minister Fudgefor his wise leadership.' That's enough."
"You want me to thank that idiot who locked me up for twelve years?" Sirius Black felt insulted. "I'd rather kiss a Dementor!"
"If you don't cooperate," Morrin said coldly, "Fudge, to keep his position, might drag out your case for three to five years. By then, Harry will probably be an adult."
Harry looked at his godfather, his eyes full of worry. He didn't want to go back to the Dursleys'.
Sirius Black looked at Harry and remained silent for a long time.
The Gryffindor pride finally bent under the gravity of reality.
"Alright," Sirius Black's voice was hoarse. "I'll do it."
"A wise choice."
Morrin nodded with satisfaction.
He not only controlled Black's money but was also gradually taming this unruly "mad dog"... In the afternoon, at the Hogwarts Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, holding a letter from the Ministry of Magic.
Morrin White sat opposite him, sipping a Fizzing Whizbee.
"Fudge is very pleased," Dumbledore put down the letter, his sky-blue eyes looking at Morrin through his half-moon spectacles. "He kept his job, and his approval ratings even went up. You turned a political disaster into a public relations victory, Mr. White."
"Win-win, Professor," Morrin put down his teacup. "A stable Ministry of Magic is good for everyone. If Fudge fell, and someone as radical as Crouch took over, Hogwarts' days wouldn't be easy either."
"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed. "But, regarding Peter Pettigrew..."
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened:
"The Ministry of Magic says he 'accidentally' died during transport? Killed by a Dementor's misfire?"
Morrin met Dumbledore's gaze without any guilt.
"Yes, unfortunately," Morrin calmly lied. "That rat was too cunning and tried to escape, crashing into a Dementor's mouth. Not even a body was left."
Dumbledore fell silent.
Of course, he didn't believe it.
But he had no evidence.
Moreover, a "dead" criminal seemed to stabilize the situation more than a living rat.
"Alright," Dumbledore stopped pressing. "So, about Professor Lupin..."
"He resigned," Morrin said. "Parents couldn't accept a Werewolf teaching their children. It's a shame because he was a good teacher."
"But he won't be jobless."
Morrin pulled out a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table: [White Security Company · Special Operations Consultant].
"I hired him. High salary, room and board included, and..." Morrin smiled meaningfully, "unlimited wolfsbane potionprovided."
Dumbledore looked at the business card, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
He found that he understood this student less and less.
Morrin seemed to be weaving everyone around him, whether members of the Order of the Phoenix or descendants of Death Eaters, into a vast network of interests in a way he couldn't comprehend.
"What exactly do you want, Morrin?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Is it just wealth?"
Morrin stood up and walked to the window, looking at the setting sun outside.
"Professor, do you believe in 'order'?"
Morrin stood with his back to Dumbledore:
"Lord Voldemort wants an order based on terror and bloodline. You want an order based on love and inclusion."
"And I..."
Morrin turned around, standing against the light, his face blurred in shadow:
"...I want an order based on rules and contracts."
"In this order, there is no baseless hatred, only deals that haven't been struck. Werewolves can work, fugitives can be vindicated, as long as they can pay the price."
"That sounds very ruthless," Dumbledore said.
"But it's effective."
Morrin picked up his cane and bowed slightly.
"Have a good summer, Principal. I hope next semester's Triwizard Tournament brings enough... profit to the school."
Morrin walked out of the Headmaster's office.
The spiral staircase slowly descended.
Morrin touched the metal box in his pocket containing Peter Pettigrew, then touched the bottle on the other side containing Dementor slices.
A cold smile played on his lips.
"Next, it's time to prepare to welcome our international friends and that... resurrected Dark Lord."
Chapter 74: Paid Monsters and the Temptation of the Silver Collar
July, London suburbs, White Industrial Park.
This place was once an abandoned Muggle heavy industrial zone, now shrouded by towering walls and powerful Muggle-repelling charms.
The massive chimneys no longer belched black smoke; instead, they emitted colorful steam from alchemical laboratories.
Zone C, underground warehouse.
The air was filled with a damp, musty smell, the scent of cheap tobacco, and the distinct sweat odor of dozens of adult males who hadn't bathed in a long time.
Remus Lupin stood in the center of the warehouse on an iron platform, wearing a brand-new gray suit that was well-tailored but still felt somewhat restrictive to him.
His expression was complex as he looked at the ragged, fierce-eyed crowd below.
These people were all Werewolves.
They were not like Lupin, the 'civilized Werewolves' trying to integrate into society; they were wanderers who hung around Knockturn Alley or even worked under Fenrir Greyback.
They were the trash discarded by wizarding society—hungry, angry, and dangerous.
"Are they all here?"
A cold voice came from the iron railing on the second floor.
The Werewolves looked up, letting out a restless low growl.
Morrin White stood high above, looking down at the beasts.
He wore a white alchemical lab coat, dragon-hide gloves on his hands, and was fiddling with an injection gun filled with blue liquid.
"Forty-three in total, Boss." Lupin looked back, his tone tinged with worry, "They... are not easy to manage. They only believe in teeth and flesh."
"That was the past, Remus."
Morrin walked slowly down the iron staircase.
As he approached, an invisible pressure enveloped the entire warehouse.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)].
To these Werewolves with keen senses, what walked down was not a human teenager, but a dragon restraining its claws.
The commotion subsided instantly, and the Werewolves instinctively tucked their tails.
"Let me introduce myself."
Morrin walked to the center of the venue, and Alfredimmediately brought over a chair. Morrin sat down, crossed his legs, his black ironwood wand standing in front of him.
"I am Morrin White. Your future keeper, or rather, employer."
"We are not pets!" roared a burly Werewolf with three scratch marks on his face, "We are Werewolves! We are loyal to Greyback! If you just want to humiliate us—"
"What can Greyback give you?"
Morrin interrupted him, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.
"Raw meat? Living in a cave? Or the pain of tearing your own skin apart every full moon?"
Morrin snapped his fingers.
Several security guards in black uniforms pushed a dining cart inside.
On the cart were not raw meat, but rows of exquisite blue potion bottles exuding a cold aura, as well as a small mountain of Galleons.
The Werewolves' eyes widened.
More than the gold, the scent emitted by the potion made them even crazier; it was the instinctual craving for peace from the depths of their souls.
"This is [White No. 2 · Improved wolfsbane potion]."
Morrin picked up a bottle of potion and shook it gently:
"Drink it, and you will no longer feel bone-chilling pain on the night of the full moon. You will retain your sanity, and you can choose to sleep, or... follow orders to fight."
"And this..." Morrin pointed to the gold coins, "is your salary."
"I am hiring you."
Morrin stood up, his gaze sweeping across every greedy and fearful face:
"I am not asking you to bite children, nor am I asking you to be cannon fodder. I want to build the most efficient security force in the entire wizarding world."
"Job description: Protect my assets, strike at my competitors, and when necessary, dispose of some 'trash'."
"Benefits: Room and board included, living in heated dormitories, 50 Galleons per month, and—unlimited potion supply."
The whole place was deathly silent.
For these Werewolves struggling at the bottom of society and spurned by Wizards, these conditions were so good it was like a dream.
"What's the cost?" the leader of the Werewolves asked vigilantly, "There is no such thing as a free lunch."
"Smart."
Morrin nodded appreciatively.
"The cost is the collar."
Morrin flipped his palm and produced a silver metal neck ring.
It was very similar to the one Peter Pettigrew wore, but rougher, engraved with complex alchemical runes.
"To prevent you from 'losing control' while working, or betraying me and running away with the potion." Morrin's voice turned cold, "All employees must wear this."
"It will monitor your location. If you try to attack me, or fail to inject the potion on time..."
Morrin tapped his finger lightly.
A blue arc of electricity flashed across the neck ring, making a crackling sound.
"...It will instantly release a high-voltage current sufficient to paralyze an elephant and inject a neutralizer into your blood vessels, making you instantly..."
"This is not just a shackle; it is also protection."
Morrin threw the neck ring at the feet of the leading Werewolf.
"Put it on, and you are a formal employee of 'White Security Company', enjoying benefits that even Ministry of Magic Aurors wouldn't dare to imagine."
"Refuse it, the door is that way. You can roll back to your cave and continue being Greyback's wild dog."
"You have three minutes to consider."
Morrin sat back down in the chair, picked up the injection gun, and began checking the scale.
Lupin stood to one side with a complex expression.
He watched those Werewolves.
As one of them, he knew how they would choose.
Dignity? In the face of hunger and pain, dignity is worthless.
What Morrin gave, although it was a collar of enslavement...
"I'll do it!"
The leading Werewolf did not hesitate, picked up the collar, and clicked it onto his neck.
"As long as I can get the potion, let alone a collar, I'd even bite Greyback to death!"
With the first one, there was a second.
Soon, all forty-three Werewolves had put on the silver collars.
"Very good."
Morrin stood up with satisfaction.
"Director Lupin." He looked at Lupin.
"Yes, Boss." Lupin sighed, accepting his new identity.
"Take them to bathe and change into uniforms. I don't want my private army looking like a bunch of beggars."
Morrin handed the injection gun to Lupin:
"Then, give each of them a shot of 'enhancer'. The Quidditch World Cup is next month."
Morrin walked to the window, looking at the busy Londonin the distance.
"That idiot Barty Crouch at the Ministry of Magic actually refused the security plan I offered. He said Dementors and Aurors were enough."
Morrin sneered:
"When the Death Eaters set fire to the camp and march, when the dark mark rises into the sky..."
"This Werewolf troop will be my 'trump card to save the day'."
"It will also be my first formal'show of force' on the international stage."
Lupin looked at Morrin's back, a chill rising in his heart.
He realized that the teenager in front of him was using the fear left by Lord Voldemort to build his own, larger, and tighter empire.
Lord Voldemort ruled with fear.
And Morrin White, he...
August.
One week until the Quidditch World Cup.
Morrin sat in the manor's study, a huge map laid out in front of him.
It was the security layout of the World Cup camp, obtained through money.
"Harry Potter will go."
"The Weasley Family will go."
"Sirius will also go as a guardian."
"Of course, those lurking Death Eaters will also go."
Morrin took out a black chess piece and placed it in the center of the map.
"System, sign in."
[Ding!]
[Detected the eve of a special time node: Prelude to the World Cup]
[Reward obtained: Draw count + 1]
[Current count: 15]
The count was barely saved up during the summer vacation through factory R&D and signing in at Diagon Alley.
"This count is not enough." Morrin shook his head.
He needed more chips.
Because at the World Cup, he had his eyes on a special target.
Not the Death Eaters, nor the House-elf Winky.
But Barty Crouch Jr.
The genius Death Eater controlled by his father with Imperio and hidden under an invisibility cloak.
"A master of disguise who could deceive the Goblet of Fire and deceive Dumbledore."
Morrin's fingers slid across the desktop.
"If I could extract the [Advanced Transfiguration] and [Mastery of Dark Arts] from him..."
"Also, that missing wand of Lord Voldemort..."
Morrin stood up and rolled up the map.
"Get the car ready, Alfred."
"We are going to the camp. Remember to bring the ticket for that 'top-tier box'."
"I think, when Minister Fudge sees me sitting next to him with a team of Werewolf bodyguards, his expression will definitely be wonderful."
Chapter 75: Golden Tent, Omniculars, and the Invisible VIP
August 22nd, Dartmoor Moors.
The morning mist had not yet dispersed, and this usually desolate highland had already transformed into a bustling magical city.
Thousands of tents covered the hillside like colorful mushrooms, the air thick with the smell of grilled sausages and excited shouts.
In the core of the campsite, Area A, which had the best view, stood a Black-and-gold building that was less a tent and more a small palace.
Golden cordons were drawn around the tent, and every ten meters stood a burly man in a Black uniform wearing a silver neck collar.
Their cold gazes and the fangs they occasionally bared revealed their identity: the Werewolf Guard of White Security Company.
Inside the tent.
Morrin White sat on a luxurious velvet sofa, holding a special edition of The Daily Prophet.
"Sales are good." Morrin put down the newspaper and looked at Lupin, who was reporting nearby. "Have the sales figures for the Omniculars been tallied?"
"They're astonishing, boss." Lupin wore a crisp tactical trench coat and looked radiant; the wolfsbane potion had freed him from his sickly state. "We added 'Instant Replay' and'Slow Motion Analysis' features to the Omniculars. Even though they're priced at 20 Galleons, they've been snatched up. We're currently running low on stock."
"Then raise the price," Morrin said indifferently. "Tell the staff that the last thousand units are to be sold as 'Limited Collector's Editions' at double the price."
"Yes." Lupin nodded, then looked outside the tent with some concern. "Minister Fudge just sent someone to ask if we could remove the Werewolf Guards outside. He says they're making the foreign guests uneasy."
"Uneasy?" Morrin sneered. "Tell the Minister that if he'd prefer Dementors on patrol, I don't mind withdrawing them. But if trouble breaks out—like a Death Eater parade or something—White Security won't be held responsible."
"Understood." Lupin withdrew.
Morrin stood up, adjusted his Black robe embroidered with silver alchemical runes, and picked up his cane.
"Let's go, Alfred. The match is about to start. It's time for us to head to the Top Box and meet those 'important people'."
...The Top Box.
This was the best vantage point in the entire stadium, carpeted in purple, accessible only to the privileged.
When Morrin walked in with Alfred, many people were already seated in the box.
Cornelius Fudge was gesturing loudly to the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, Obalonsk, though the latter didn't understand a word of English.
Lucius Malfoy, along with Narcissa and Draco, occupied the best front-row seats.
Arthur Weasley's family, along with Harry and Hermione, were squeezed into the back row, clearly having used Ludo Bagman's connections.
There was also a surprising person: Sirius Black.
The recently exonerated godfather, now wearing a brand-new leather jacket, sat next to Harry with his legs crossed, looking provocatively at Malfoy opposite him.
"It seems everyone is here."
Morrin's entrance broke the delicate balance.
Fudge immediately abandoned the uncomprehending Bulgarian and approached with a beaming smile. "Ah! Mr. White! I believe I must thank you for the'special security' you provided. A Dark Wizard trying to hawk fake wands was just... er, very 'efficiently' thrown out by your men."
"It is my honor to ease your burdens, Minister," Morrin said with a polite handshake.
He walked over to Harry and Sirius.
"Is life treating you well, Mr. Black?" Morrin glanced at Sirius's designer outfit, bought with the "allowance" Morrinprovided.
"Not bad, as long as I don't look at the monthly bills," Siriusshrugged. "Harry loves the new house."
"Morrin!" Harry saw Morrin, his feelings somewhat complicated.
Although Morrin had saved his godfather, Harry was still somewhat repelled by Morrin's "everything is business" attitude.
Still, he held up the high-end Omniculars hanging around his neck. "Thanks for the tickets, and for this."
"That's an advertising sample," Morrin corrected. "Remember to show off the 'W' logo to the people around you while watching the match."
Morrin turned around, his gaze sweeping across the corner of the box.
There sat Winky, a House-elf who looked nervous and was shaking constantly.
She covered her eyes with her hands, and an invisibility cloak lay on the empty seat beside her, seemingly saving it for her master.
That was Barty Crouch's seat.
But he himself was not there.
Morrin's eyes narrowed.
True Sight—Activate.
In his vision, that seemingly empty seat was not empty.
A twisted Black humanoid magnetic field, filled with madness and repression, was huddled under that invisibility cloak.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The Death Eater genius who had been controlled by his father's Imperio for over a decade, yet was gradually awakening in this noisy environment.
Morrin could see the Black magnetic field fluctuating violently.
He was resisting the control of the Imperio, attempting to steal Harry Potter's wand.
"This is the person I'm looking for."
Morrin did not expose him.
He walked over nonchalantly, pretending he was going to greet Lucius.
As he passed the empty seat, the black ironwood wand in Morrin's hand "accidentally" slipped, striking the floor in front of the empty seat with a heavy thud.
Thud!
An extremely faint but highly penetrative alchemical ripple traveled down the wand into the ground, then accurately pierced the sole of the invisible person's foot.
[Mental Mark: Implantation Successful]
The person under the invisibility cloak shuddered violently, but he didn't dare make a sound, only biting his lip hard.
Winky shrieked in fright. "Sir! Be careful!"
"Apologies." Morrin elegantly withdrew his wand, giving the empty space a meaningful smile. "The floor is a bit slippery. I hope I didn't step on anything... invisible."
He sat down next to the Malfoy family.
"What were you doing just now?" Draco whispered. "Talking to the air?"
"I was greeting a future 'business partner'." Morrin looked at the center of the pitch.
The match began.
The Bulgarian Team's mascots, the Veela, glided onto the field.
They began to dance, and every man in the stadium instantly became dazed.
Harry wanted to jump from the box, and Ron was tearing at his shamrock hat.
Morrin sat there calmly; although he hadn't drawn the skill, he relied on the Multiple Mind Core's automatic simulation to block the Veela's mental charm.
Occlumency.
He activated the system.
[Target Detected: Barty Crouch Jr. (Invisibility state)]
[Traits Found]:
[Gold] Ultimate Disguise: He can fool the Goblet of Fire, fool Dumbledore, and even fool himself. He can perfectly mimic anyone's behavior, tone, and magical fluctuations.
[Purple] Dark Arts Genius: He is more insane than Snape and more rational than Bellatrix Lestrange.
[Current Extraction Count: 16]
"16 times..." Morrin's finger tapped the armrest. "Not enough to stack for a gold trait. But..."
He looked at Viktor Krum flying on the pitch.
The best Seeker in the world.
"If tonight's riot is big enough, if the chaos can cover everything..."
Morrin's plan took shape in his mind.
The match was intense.
In the end, just as in the original plot, the Irish Team won, but Krum caught the Snitch.
"A brilliant match."
Morrin stood up, ignoring the still-celebrating crowd.
He looked at Alfred and Lupin.
"Pass the word down." Morrin's voice sounded exceptionally calm amidst the noise. "Put the Werewolf Guard on high alert."
"Should we stop the riot?" Lupin asked.
"No."
Morrin watched the fireworks rising in the night sky, a cold light flashing in his eyes.
"Let them cause trouble. Only when things are chaotic is it easy to fish in troubled waters."
"Our mission is—to prey on the predators."
"The fellow under the invisibility cloak will launch the dark mark tonight. I want to 'kidnap' him the moment he launches it."
"A living, conscious Barty Crouch Jr. is worth more than a hundred Death Eaters."
Morrin adjusted his gloves and walked out of the box.
Night fell.
The bonfires in the camp were still burning, but in the shadows, masked Death Eaters had already begun to gather.
And Morrin White, like a more patient oriole, was quietly watching the mantises about to catch their cicadas.