Chapter 111: Black Sun, The Ministry of Magic Kneels
This was Lord Voldemort's exclusive domain magic, Dark Invasion.
It was intelligence he had just obtained yesterday.
Morrin's expression grew grave.
He could feel that every shadow contained a curse capable of corroding the soul.
"It seems it's time to get serious."
Morrin pulled the bottle containing the [Dementor Slice Essence] from his pocket and crushed it in one go.
Gray.
Then, he slammed his cane heavily into the ground.
[Alchemy · Ultimate Mystery].
"Black Sun."
Hum—
Centered on Morrin, a black sphere that seemed capable of devouring light expanded rapidly.
That was not darkness; it was an "absolute gravitational field."
The countless shadow blades shot by Lord Voldemortwere all twisted and elongated the moment they neared the black sphere, then forcibly sucked into it and decomposed into the most primitive magic factors.
The two forces collided in the air, devouring each other.
The Death Chamber trembled, and the veil swayed frantically.
Harry and the others were pressed to the ground by this terrifying energy fluctuation, unable to even lift their heads.
This was a battle of gods.
Just as the two sides were deadlocked and Morrin felt his magic reserves rapidly depleting.
The sound of a fireplace bursting erupted above them.
A ball of scorching, sacred firelight illuminated the entire Death Chamber.
Fawkes the Phoenix appeared amidst the flames, singing a resounding battle hymn.
Immediately after, a tall old man wearing star-and-moon robes stepped out from the flames.
Albus Dumbledore.
He looked at Morrin, who was clashing with Lord Voldemort, a flash of surprise in his eyes, which immediately turned into stern anger—anger directed at Lord Voldemort.
"It ends here tonight, Tom."
Dumbledore raised the wand.
Lord Voldemort's expression changed drastically upon seeing Dumbledore.
He knew that if these two joined forces, he might really die here today.
"Morrin White..."
Before retreating, Lord Voldemort took one last deep look at Morrin.
"I'll remember you. Our accounts are not yet settled."
Lord Voldemort waved his robes violently, sweeping up the remaining Death Eaters—except for those knocked unconscious by Morrin—and turned into a black whirlwind that shattered the ceiling of the Death Chamber and vanished into the night sky.
The pressure suddenly dissipated.
Morrin pulled out his cane, his body swaying, nearly falling over.
That "Black Sun" move just now had almost drained all his magic.
"Are you alright, Morrin?"
Dumbledore walked over quickly, wanting to help him.
"Don't touch me."
Morrin waved his hand and steadied himself. He pulled a bottle of highly concentrated [Energy Potion] from his pocket and downed it in one breath.
"I'm fine, Professor."
Morrin wiped the potion residue from the corner of his mouth, looking in the direction where Lord Voldemort had disappeared, his eyes flashing with madness that had yet to fade:
"It's just... that transaction earlier hasn't been settled yet."
"But that's alright."
Morrin turned his head, looking at the chaotic Death Chamber and the Death Veil that was still drifting.
"At least, I've already received the 'entry fee' for tonight."
Ministry of Magic Atrium.
The Ministry of Magic in the early hours of the morning was in shambles.
The golden fountain that symbolized the "Brotherhood of magic" had been smashed to pieces, and the floor was covered in scorch marks and broken glass.
Cornelius Fudge was wearing pajamas with a striped cloak over them, staring blankly at everything before him. Behind him, dozens of officials who had rushed over in their pajamas were whispering in terror.
They had all seen it.
The person who must not be named had just been here, in this very hall.
"He's back..." Fudge muttered to himself, looking as if he had aged twenty years in an instant, "Dumbledore was right... Potter was right... What have I done?"
"You did a stupid thing, Minister."
A calm voice came from beside a pile of rubble.
Morrin White was sitting on the base of a broken statue, holding a handkerchief, wiping dust off his cane.
His trench coat was slightly damaged—traces left by the battle just now—but this only made him look even more arrogant.
"Mr. White..." Fudge looked at him as if grabbing a life-saving straw, "You... you were there! You fought those Death Eaters! You must testify for me! I... I didn't know..."
"Testify?"
Morrin stood up, his leather shoes crunching on broken glass, and walked up to Fudge.
"I can testify, Minister. I can prove that you were a leader who 'arrived at the scene immediately and commanded heroically,' or I can prove that you were a sinner who 'delayed the battle because you were deceived.'"
Morrin lowered his head, looking at this man who had completely lost his composure:
"It depends on... what kind of 'public relations fee' you intend to pay."
"What do you want? I'll give you anything!" Fudge no longer cared about the dignity of a Minister; if he stepped down, it would mean total ruin.
"It's very simple."
Morrin held up two fingers:
"First, restore all of Dumbledore's positions. Although I don't like that old man, it's better for everyone if he's alive."
"Second, approve 'collaborative law enforcement authority' for the White Security Company. In other words, my Werewolf Guard can legally arrest Death Eaters on the streets when necessary."
"Third..."
Morrin pointed to Lucius Malfoy, who was being escorted by Aurors not far away, looking ashen-faced. During the battle, he hadn't resisted crazily like Bellatrix, but had been subdued very "sensibly."
"...That is my important business partner. I don't want him to go to Azkaban."
"What?!" Fudge's eyes widened, "Lucius is a Death Eater! We all saw it!"
"No, Minister, you saw it wrong."
Morrin bullshitted without changing his expression:
"Mr. Malfoy was under the Imperio. And a very advanced one at that. As an Alchemy expert, I can issue a detailed 'Assessment Report on Long-term Mental Control by Dark Arts.'"
"Of course, as a 'victim,' the House of Malfoy is willing to donate 50,000 Galleons to the Ministry of Magic as a 'post-war reconstruction fund,' to be used for repairing this hall, and... to compensate the frightened officials."
Fudge fell silent.
He looked at the escorted Lucius, then at Morrin's eyes, which were full of implications.
50,000 Galleons.
This could fill the Ministry of Magic's huge fiscal deficit.
And if Lucius went in, the taxes from pure-blood families would also be affected...
"Imperio..." Fudge wiped his sweat, his voice trembling, "Yes... this is reasonable. Mr. Malfoy is also a victim. We will... we will investigate thoroughly."
"A wise choice."
Morrin patted Fudge on the shoulder, just like patting an obedient old dog.
"Congratulations, Minister. You've just saved your position. Tomorrow's The Daily Prophet will portray you as a wartime leader who 'turned back from the wrong path and turned the tide.'"
...
Three days later, Malfoy Manor.
This once gloomy and arrogant manor was now shrouded in gloom and misery.
Although Lucius had been "acquitted," he didn't feel relieved.
In the study.
Lucius knelt on the floor, trembling all over.
Narcissa was sobbing softly on the side.
Sitting in the high-backed chair at the head of the table was not Lord Voldemort—he was still recuperating somewhere—but Morrin White.
Chapter 112: Malfoy's 'Imperio' and the War Tax
"Fifty thousand Galleons, Lucius."
Morrin held a glass of red wine in his hand—a Goblinvintage from Malfoy's century-old private collection.
"This is the 'bail money' I paid on your behalf. Adding the previous interest, and the 'mental distress fee' for your attack on me in the Department of Mysteries..."
Morrin took out a thick ledger and tossed it in front of Lucius.
"...The House of Malfoy's current liquid capital is already in the negatives."
Lucius looked up, his usually well-maintained face now full of exhaustion and fear.
"Thank you... thank you for saving me, Morrin." Lucius's voice was hoarse. "But the Dark Lord... he'll kill me! I botched the mission for the prophecy orb!"
"He won't kill you."
Morrin said indifferently.
"Because he's short on money right now too. He's just been resurrected; he needs to recruit men and buy supplies. And you are his biggest financial backer."
"But I have no money left!" Lucius shouted in despair. "The money is all in your hands!"
"Exactly."
Morrin set down his wine glass and leaned forward, his black eyes shimmering with a devilish light.
"Listen, Lucius. From today on, you are my 'agent' within the Death Eaters."
"Whatever Voldemort needs, you buy for him. wands, robes, Potions... procure them all from 'White Heavy Industries'."
"I will issue you 'fake high-value invoices' so you can show your loyalty to Voldemort. In reality, you will transfer the cost and profit of these supplies entirely into my account."
Lucius was stunned.
He looked at Morrin in disbelief.
"You... you want to profit off the Dark Lord? You want to be an arms dealer playing both sides?"
"It's called a war dividend."
Morrin stood up, walked over to Lucius, helped him up, and even tidied his messy robes.
"Don't worry, Lucius. As long as you're obedient, I guarantee you and Draco will survive until the end of the war, and be wealthier than before."
"But if you dare to play tricks..."
Morrin's finger lightly brushed Lucius's neck, where there was an invisible alchemical collar, just like the ones on Peter and the Werewolf.
"...You'll find that dying at Voldemort's hands might be a mercy."
Lucius shuddered and lowered his head deeply.
"Yes... boss."
...Hogwarts, the end of the term.
The final day of departure.
The sun was bright, but a shadow hung over everyone's hearts.
Everyone knew that Voldemort was back.
Harry Potter carried his suitcase, walking on the path to the station.
He looked much more mature than before, and much gloomier.
Sirius's "fake death crisis" had made him realize his own recklessness, and the direct confrontation with Voldemort had shown him the gap in their power.
"Harry."
Morrin stood at the school gate, still wearing his signature black trench coat.
"Are you going back to Privet Drive?"
"Yes." Harry stopped. He wasn't hostile as before, but spoke with a complex calm. "Dumbledore says it's safest there."
"Safety is relative."
Morrin took a small box out of his pocket and handed it to Harry.
"Take it."
"What is this now?" Harry didn't take it. "A new monitor?"
"No. This is a 'Portable Alchemical Alarm Network'."
Morrin stuffed the box into Harry's hand.
"Install it around your uncle's house. If anything unclean approaches, it will sound an alarm that only you can hear and automatically send a distress signal to the Order of the Phoenix... and me."
Harry looked at the box and remained silent for a long time.
"Why?" Harry asked. "You're clearly a Slytherin. You're clearly using me."
"Because you're my 'number one spokesperson', Harry."
Morrin smiled. This time, there was less calculation and more frankness in his smile.
"If the savior dies, how will I sell my anti-Dark Artsproducts? Who will help me draw Voldemort's fire?"
"So, stay alive. Don't die too easily."
Morrin patted Harry on the shoulder and turned toward the Slytherin carriage.
Harry gripped the box tightly.
"Thank you," he whispered to Morrin's retreating back.
The train started.
The fifth school year ended in a haze of chaos and unease.
Morrin sat in his compartment, watching the scenery fly by outside the window.
On his system panel, the 'Draw Count' that had returned to zero had jumped back up to '10' due to the massive influence of the 'Battle at the Department of Mysteries' and his operations over the past few days.
"Next semester."
Morrin touched the documents in his pocket that he had 'conveniently' taken from the Ministry of Magic's archives.
It was information regarding Horace Slughorn.
"The secret of the Horcruxes... is inside that old walrus's head."
"And it's also time to find a heavyweight honorary chairman for my 'White Elite Club'."
July, Budleigh Babberton.
This was a lifeless Muggle village.
Night fell, and the wind was biting cold.
Even though it was summer, this chill felt as if it came from the depths of hell—the result of Dementors running rampant across Britain.
A pitch-black car stopped in front of a stone house that looked long abandoned.
Morrin White pushed open the car door and stepped into the overgrown garden.
He wore a dark grey silk shirt with a light, spell-resistant trench coat over it, holding his black ironwood wand.
"This place is really remote." Alfred followed behind, adjusting the alchemical monocle on the bridge of his nose. "Young Master, is the target inside?"
"Yes."
Morrin looked at the tightly closed door, and True Sightactivated.
Through the door panels and the camouflage charms, he saw that the house hadn't been destroyed, but was filled with a certain... deliberate chaos.
"A frightened old collector is disguising himself as an armchair." The corners of Morrin's mouth curled slightly. "Very creative Transfiguration."
Morrin did not knock.
He extended his wand and lightly tapped the tip against the keyhole.
Gate of Truth — Structural Analysis: Unlocking.
*Click.*
The door opened.
The room was a mess.
The grandfather clock was smashed, piano keys were scattered across the floor, and the walls were splattered with red—
"Nice acting, Horace."
Morrin stepped over a shattered chandelier and walked straight toward the lumpy, gaudily patterned chintz armchair in the center of the living room.
He didn't use a spell to force the other to reveal himself.
He simply took an exquisite crystal bottle from his pocket and uncorked it.
A rich aroma of wine with notes of oak-barrel aging instantly filled the room.
"1875 Goblin Berry Wine."
Morrin swirled the bottle and spoke to the chair:
"This is a unique find I discovered in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. I think, for a gentleman of refined taste, wouldn't you rather come out for a drink than turn into a chair and grow mold?"
The chair stiffened for a second.
Chapter 113: The Old Walrus in the Sofa, the Acquired Network, and the Charred Finger
Immediately after, there was a violent distortion.
Cotton turned into velvet pajamas, and chair legs turned into feet wearing slippers.
A bald, bug-eyed, fat old man with a walrus-like mustache appeared in his place.
He was gasping for breath, still clutching a wand tightly in his hand, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
Horace Slughorn.
"Who are you?!" Slughorn pointed at Morrin in terror, "A Death Eater? I'm telling you, I may be old, but I..."
"I am not a Death Eater, Professor."
Morrin took two wine glasses from the only cabinet nearby that hadn't been "smashed" and poured wine calmly.
"I am Morrin White. The current Chairman of the HogwartsBoard of Governors, and... your future employer."
"White?" Slughorn froze for a moment, then those shrewd little eyes lit up, "That White who monopolized the wolfsbane potion and broomstick markets? That young man who played Fudge like a fiddle?"
"Just an empty reputation."
Morrin handed him a glass of wine.
Slughorn hesitated, a fear of poison.
Morrin smiled and took a sip himself first.
Only then did Slughorn snatch the glass, drain it in one go, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Good wine... truly good wine..."
"Now that the wine is drunk, let's talk business." Morrinfound an intact chair and sat down.
"I'm not coming out of retirement!" Slughorn immediately became alert. "If Dumbledore sent you, go back! I don't want to get involved in a war! Lord Voldemort will kill me!"
"I'm not here to persuade you to go to your death, Horace."
Morrin shook his head:
"I'm here to talk to you about an 'asset acquisition.'"
"Assets? I only have this fat and this pile of junk."
"No, you have connections."
Morrin looked at this seemingly destitute old man:
"You've taught countless students. They are now high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Magic, Quidditch stars, famous editors... this network is a priceless treasure."
"However, this network is currently depreciating because of your hiding."
Morrin leaned forward, the pressure of a capitalist making Slughorn find it difficult to breathe:
"I heard you like to collect 'outstanding people'? Like that Slug Club?"
"That's in the past..."
"Then let it be revived." Morrin snapped his fingers. "I'll provide the funds."
"What?"
"I invite you back to Hogwarts to resume your post as Potion Class Professor. But I have one condition."
Morrin took out a golden contract:
"You will reorganize the 'Slug Club.' But this time, it will be exclusively sponsored and named by the White Group."
"All party expenses, rare gifts, and even the appearance fees for those big shots you want to win over—I'll cover it all."
"And I will provide you with a full 'White Security Package.' A defense network composed of elite Werewolf Guards and anti-Dark Arts alchemy arrays—it's absolutely ten thousand times safer than this broken house of yours."
Slughorn's heart beat violently.
Safety, comfort, fine wine, and... this was simply the retirement life he dreamed of.
"But... Dumbledore..." He still wanted to be a bit reserved.
"Dumbledore has to listen to the Board of Governors too," Morrin said indifferently.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the door.
"It seems our Principal has arrived as well." Morrin looked toward the door.
The door was pushed open.
Albus Dumbledore walked in, followed by Harry Potter.
"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore said with a smile, then saw Morrin sitting inside, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "Ah, Mr. White. It seems your movements are always one step faster than mine."
"I'm just here to help the school with some 'talent recruitment,' Principal." Morrin stood up.
Harry looked at Morrin with a complex expression.
He hadn't expected to run into Morrin here as well.
"Harry!" Slughorn's eyes went straight when he saw Harry. "This... this is Harry Potter!"
"Yes." Morrin walked to Harry's side and patted him.
Slughorn looked at Harry, then at the golden contract in Morrin's hand, and finally at Dumbledore.
That greedy soul, longing for comfort and fame, finally triumphed over fear.
"Alright!" Slughorn said loudly, "I'll go back! If even Mr. White says so... I suppose Hogwarts should be considered safe enough."
Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief.
He looked at Morrin and nodded in thanks.
But Morrin's gaze did not linger on Slughorn.
His eyes fell on Dumbledore's right hand.
That hand was charred and withered, as if burned by fire, emitting a sickening aura of death.
[True Sight] — Analysis.
[Curse Type]: High-level Dark Arts curse from the Resurrection Stone ring.
[Status]: Has spread, slowly consuming life force.
[Remaining Life]: Less than one year.
"You're injured, Professor." Morrin suddenly spoke, pointing at the blackened hand.
Harry only then noticed and cried out, "Professor! Your hand!"
"A small accident." Dumbledore hid his hand in his sleeve, his expression calm. "As one gets older, one tends to get clumsy."
"Is that so?"
Morrin walked up to Dumbledore and lowered his voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear:
"That ring... the Gaunt family ring. You put it on?"
Dumbledore's eyes instantly became sharp.
"You know?"
"I know many things, Albus."
Morrin looked at this old man who was approaching his end.
"You paid the price of your life just to see a deceased relative."
"It doesn't fit a businessman's logic. But... I admire it."
Morrin took a small bottle containing a golden liquid from his pocket; it was Life Essence refined through the Gate of Truth.
"Take this. Although it can't save your life, it will make you less miserable in this final year."
Dumbledore took the bottle and gave Morrin a deep look.
"Thank you, Morrin. You... are becoming more and more unfathomable to me."
"Being unfathomable is a good thing."
Morrin turned and picked up his cane.
"Since the interview is over, I'll be leaving first."
He walked to the door and looked back at Slughorn, who was busy questioning Harry.
"Professor Horace, remember our contract. After the term starts, remember to save a head seat for me at the first 'White-Slug Supper.'"
"Of course! Of course!" Slughorn said with a face full of smiles.
Morrin walked out of the house into the cold night air.
"Young Master, Dumbledore's hand..." Alfred asked in a low voice.
"He's dying."
Morrin's voice drifted away in the wind.
"The greatest White Wizard is about to leave the stage. The sky over Hogwarts is about to fall."
"However..."
Morrin touched the unused time-turner in his pocket.
"...Before it falls, I have to borrow that elder wand in his hand... to play with for a bit."
"I heard Weasleys Wizard Wheezes has opened. As a major shareholder, I should go and cut the ribbon."
Chapter 114: The Club with a Name, The Peeping Tom Under the invisibility cloak
September 1st, Hogwarts Express.
The train sped along the winding tracks.
Although it was sunny outside, every passenger could feel the tension in the air.
New disappearances were reported daily in the newspapers, and Dementors loomed in the mist.
But in compartment C in the middle of the train, the atmosphere was so luxurious it felt like a vacation, not a flight.
It had been modified with an Undetectable Extension Charm, heavy velvet curtains hung, and the tables were laden with exquisite silver plates and sparkling wine.
Professor Horace Slughorn was comfortably nestled in a sofa, holding a glass of mead specially provided by White Winery, his face beaming as he looked at the carefully selected students around him.
"Ha! As I was just saying!" Slughorn laughed loudly, "Harry, you inherited your mother's talent! Lily was one of the most outstanding Potion students I've ever seen... until I met Mr. Morrin, of course."
Slughorn looked flatteringly at Morrin White, who was seated at the head of the table.
Morrin, wearing a dark gray silk vest, wasn't holding a wine glass. Instead, he held a membership list for the "Slug Club(White-Sponsored Edition)" and was marking it with a golden pen.
"Professor, you flatter me," Morrin said without looking up. "I'm just good at 'purification.' Whether it's Potions or people."
Sitting around were the "valuable" students:
Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom.
There were even two bewildered seventh-year students whose uncles held high positions in the Ministry of Magic.
"This gathering is really nice," Slughorn said, looking at the expensive refreshments on the table, all provided by Morrin. "Morrin, regarding the 'Potion Patent Sharing Program' you mentioned in your letter..."
"No rush, Professor," Morrin closed the list. "When we get to school, I'll have someone deliver the contract to your office. For now, let's enjoy the journey."
Morrin's gaze suddenly sharpened, sweeping over the empty luggage rack above the compartment.
True Sight activated.
He saw a folded human magnetic field—Harry Potter, draped in his invisibility cloak, curled up there, eavesdropping.
Wait, there was also a Harry sitting in the seat below?
Morrin's lips curved slightly.
"Polyjuice Potion? Or... some kind of advanced decoy?". No, that was the real Harry.
No, that was the real Harry.
The one above... Morrin distinguished carefully.
The one above was Draco Malfoy, using a listening charm.
"An interesting game of cat and mouse."
After the party, the students left one after another.
Morrin stood up, not in a hurry to leave.
"Professor, I have a few words I'd like to discuss privately with my 'employee,'" Morrin said to Slughorn.
"Of course, of course! You two chat!" Slughorn tactfully slipped away with a bottle of wine.
The compartment door closed.
Morrin raised his staff and gently tapped the luggage rack.
"Come down, Draco. The hem of your invisibility cloak is showing."
The air twisted. Draco Malfoy ripped off his invisibility cloak—he had actually managed to get one too, though its quality wasn't as good as Harry's—and jumped down awkwardly.
Draco Malfoy ripped off his invisibility cloak—he had actually managed to get one too, though its quality wasn't as good as Harry's—and jumped down awkwardly.
His face was pale, his eyes dark-rimmed; he looked like he hadn't slept well all summer.
"Morrin..." Malfoy's voice trembled, "Save me! I can't do it... I really can't!"
"Sit."
Morrin pointed to the sofa opposite him.
"Lord Voldemort gave you a task?" Morrin asked, knowing the answer.
"Yes!" Malfoy pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing the hideous dark mark.
He cried like a helpless child, "He wants me to kill Dumbledore! If I don't, he'll kill my whole family! But... that's Dumbledore! How could I possibly kill him?"
"There's another task," Malfoy sobbed, "He wants me to fix the vanishing cabinet in Borgin and Burkes Shop and let Death Eaters into the school..."
"That cabinet?"
Morrin picked up a cherry from the table and put it in his mouth.
"That cabinet was repaired by me two years ago."
Malfoy's crying stopped abruptly, and he stared at Morrinwith wide eyes.
"Wh..." "That vanishing cabinet is now one of my'secret logistics channels'."
Morrin explained calmly:
"I use it to smuggle some contraband alchemy materials from Knockturn Alley and, incidentally, transport high-end Potions produced at Hogwarts out to avoid taxes. It works perfectly, and I even installed soundproofing runes."
Malfoy's mouth hung open, feeling his worldview shattered once again.
What he thought was an "impossible mission" was just "daily logistics" to Morrin?
"So, Draco."
Morrin leaned forward, looking into Malfoy's eyes:
"You don't need to fix the cabinet. You just need to perform."
"Perform?"
"Exactly." Morrin's eyes gleamed like a director's. "Lord Voldemort doesn't expect you to actually kill Dumbledore. He just wants to punish your father, because Luciusmessed up the prophecy orb. He's sending you to your death."
"But we can use that."
Morrin extended his staff and gently tapped Malfoy's chest:
"This school year, I want you to play the role of a 'pathetic wretch on the verge of collapse, trying his best but utterly failing to fix the cabinet.'"
"You need to appear anxious, gaunt, and neurotic. You'll spend a long time in the Room of Requirement, pretending to repair the cabinet that's actually already fixed."
"And even..." Morrin smiled, "You can attempt a few clumsy assassinations. Like sending a poisoned necklace, or a bottle of poisoned wine. Of course, I'll make sure those things don't reach Dumbledore's lips."
"Why?" Malfoy asked blankly, "Why act?"
"To buy time."
Morrin stood up and straightened his collar.
"Lord Voldemort isn't ready for all-out war yet. We also need time to integrate our resources."
"Moreover, this act is also for Dumbledore."
Morrin looked out at the fleeting scenery:
"That old man is dying. He's looking for a successor and making arrangements for his affairs. If you appear 'redeemable' enough, he might make some... interesting arrangements to save your soul."
"For example, having Snape do it instead of you."
Malfoy half-understood, but he grasped one key point: Morrin could save his life.
"Then what should I do?" Malfoy wiped away his tears.
"Now, wipe your face and put on an 'I'm a Death Eater and I'm awesome' expression."
Morrin opened the compartment door.
"Harry Potter is peeking from the next compartment. Go, Draco. Give him some 'clues' and let him think you're plotting some grand conspiracy."
"This is also part of the plan, to keep the savior on alert."
Malfoy took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and once again put on that arrogant and gloomy expression.
"Understood, boss. I'm the best actor."
Watching Malfoy walk out, kick open the door of the next compartment, and then mock Harry with that vicious tone.
Morrin nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good."
He touched the time-turner in his pocket.
"Sixth year, the script is written."
"Next, before the greatest white Wizard falls..."
"...get the elder wand in his hand."
Chapter 115: Charred Bones, the "Dialysis" of Alchemy, and the Handshake with the elder wand
Late at night.
In the circular room of the Principal's office, the air was stiflingly heavy.
The Phoenix Fawkes stood on its perch, emitting a low, mournful cry.
Albus Dumbledore lay half-reclined in his chair, his complexion ashen, his breathing shallow.
His right hand—the hand that had once cast countless great magic—was now charred and withered, like a piece of burnt deadwood, and that horrific necrosis was spreading from his wrist up his arm.
Severus Snape stood to the side, holding his wand and a bottle of golden Potion, sweating profusely as he chanted a complex counter-curse.
"I have done my best." There was a deep sense of frustration and anger in Snape's voice. "The curse has been temporarily sealed in one hand. But it will spread. This kind of curse... is irreversible."
"How much more time can you give me?" Dumbledoreasked weakly.
"One year," Snape said coldly. "Perhaps less, if you continue to neglect your own body."
"One year... is enough." Dumbledore closed his eyes.
"Perhaps, we could extend this deadline to 'natural death'?"
A sudden voice broke the tragic atmosphere.
The green flames in the fireplace suddenly surged. MorrinWhite stepped out from the fire and brushed the soot off his body.
He was not wearing a school uniform, but rather the white Alchemy robe he used in the laboratory, carrying a heavy metal case in his hand.
"White?" Snape turned abruptly, his wand pointed at him. "Who let you in? This is..."
"This is a medical malpractice scene."
Morrin ignored Snape's wand and walked straight to Dumbledore's side, lowering his head to examine the charred hand.
[True Sight]— Microscopic pathological analysis.
"The curse Lord Voldemort placed on the Gaunt ring... is quite creative."
Morrin extended a finger wearing the [Spirit-Binding Glove] and gently touched the charred skin.
"This is not just a toxin, but a form of 'entropy increase'. It is accelerating the passage of time for your cells, causing your body to begin rotting while you are still alive."
"Do you have a way?" Dumbledore opened his eyes. His azure eyes were weary, yet still sharp.
"Potion can only delay, not eradicate. Because Potion is a chemical reaction." Morrin opened the metal case, which contained a set of precise, glowing silver surgical instruments. "But Alchemy... is the rewriting of rules."
"Professor, let's make a deal."
Morrin picked up a scalpel engraved with runes and looked at Dumbledore:
"I will use my ability to help you construct a 'time loop barrier' to completely lock this curse below your wrist, ensuring it won't spread an inch within three years."
"In exchange..."
Morrin's gaze fell upon the wand resting on the table to Dumbledore's left.
That wand made of elder wood, with its knobby protrusions.
The elder wand.
"...I want to borrow your wand to'study' for ten minutes. Right here, in front of you."
Snape looked at Morrin warily: "What are you trying to do? That wand..."
"Give it to him." Dumbledore interrupted Snape.
The old Principal looked at Morrin, a complex light flashing in his eyes.
He knew what Morrin wanted, but he knew even more that the current situation required Morrin's power.
"If I can live two more years, this deal is very worthwhile." Dumbledore pushed the elder wand over.
"A wise choice."
Morrin was not in a hurry to take the wand.
He fulfilled the contract first.
"Severus, hold him down."
The scalpel in Morrin's hand lit up with a blinding golden light.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Local law solidification.
He did not cut the skin, but instead used the tip of the blade to "carve" a circle of visible golden runes onto Dumbledore's wrist.
Those runes embedded themselves into the skin like red-hot iron brands, forming an impenetrable line of defense.
"Urgh..." Dumbledore let out a muffled groan.
The black aura of death trying to spread upwards hit the golden runes, emitting a sizzling sound, and then retreated helplessly back into the palm.
"Done." Morrin put away the knife. "This hand is ruined, but your life is saved. As long as you don't do anything stupid like trying to cast magic with this hand, living to one hundred and fifty is no problem."
Snape examined the wound in shock.
It was indeed locked.
The spread of necrosis had stopped completely.
"Now, it is time for my payment."
Morrin took off his gloves and even specifically used a cleaning spell to wash his hands three times.
Then, he reached out and slowly, solemnly grasped the elder wand resting on the table.
Boom!
The moment his fingertips touched the wood of the wand.
The entire Principal's office shook violently.
There were no sparks, nor any light.
But an indescribable feeling, as if gripping "power itself", surged instantly through his arm straight to Morrin's crown.
It was an extreme arrogance, coldness, and power.
This wand was examining him.
It was evaluating whether this person holding it was qualified to be its master.
If it were an ordinary Wizard, they might be backlashed by this power.
But Morrin possessed a formidable physical body, the endless energy of the [Magic Power Furnace], and the law suppression of the [Gate of Truth].
"Behave."
Morrin let out a low shout, the golden vertical pupils in his eyes contracting sharply.
He forcibly suppressed the wand's restlessness.
[System Notification]
[Contact Successful!]
[Detected Supreme Relic: elder wand (elder wand)]
[Law Attributes]: Absolute Power, magic Power Amplification, Invincibility (Conceptual)
[Current Extraction Count: 15]
[Proceed with extraction?]
"Invest all of it." Morrin ordered in his mind. "Only the core trait."
[Consumed Extraction Count x 15]
[Analyzing the magic circuit of the "deathly hallows"...]
[Extraction Successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Spell Maximization (Gold · Passive)
[Description]: Any magic you cast has its power automatically corrected to 2. When magic clashes, you possess absolute judgment advantage. 200%
[Bonus]: Recognition of the elder wand (Pseudo). Although you did not defeat Dumbledore, the wand has recognized your power level. When you use your own wand, you can also simulate a trace of the elder wand's pressure.
Morrin let go.
In just ten seconds, he felt as if he had run a marathon; the cold sweat on his back had soaked through his robe.
But that feeling of being filled with power made him want to cast Fiendfyre at the sky to test it out.
"Is this... the power of the deathly hallows?"
Morrin looked at the wand that had returned to calm, a flicker of wariness in his eyes.
This thing is a curse.
Whoever takes it dies.
But he had extracted the trait without needing to bear the curse.
This is the cheating aspect of the system.
"Thanks for the hospitality, Professor."
Morrin took a step back, resuming that merchant's fake smile.
"Transaction complete."
Dumbledore looked at Morrin, his gaze even deeper than before.
He could feel that in those few short seconds just now, Morrin seemed to have "taken" something from this wand, yet the wand itself remained completely unharmed.
"You are a dangerous variable, Morrin," Dumbledore said softly. "But I hope... you are on the side of the living."
"I am on the side of interests."
Morrin picked up the case and walked towards the fireplace.
"As long as Lord Voldemort wants to destroy the world, I will always be his enemy."
"Oh, right, Professor."
Before stepping into the green flames, Morrin looked back:
"Regarding Draco Malfoy... he is repairing that vanishing cabinet.
"Give him a little hope. And also give Professor Snape... a chance to perform."
Having said that, Morrin disappeared into the green flames.
In the office.
Snape stared fixedly at the fireplace: "He knows everything... Dumbledore, this boy is too terrifying."
Dumbledore looked at his own black hand, locked by the golden runes, and remained silent for a long time.
"Yes, Severus."
Dumbledore sighed: "But perhaps... only a monster can defeat a monster."