Hogwarts: I Have a Billion Points of Special Abilities
Chapter 1: Thought It Was a Max-Level Reset, Turns Out It's a Version Update
July 31, 1991, London.
Scorchingly hot, Charing Cross Road was blanketed in heat; the air was thick with the acrid smell of sun-baked asphalt and the pungent sting of car exhaust.
A black Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit was stuck in the bustling traffic. Its windows were tightly shut, sealing out the heat and noise, while the air conditioning hummed at full blast.
In the back seat, 11-year-old Moen White boredly closed the Financial Times in his hands.
He wore an expensive Savile Row bespoke suit, his hair combed meticulously, with a sense of weariness on his youthful face that was completely at odds with his age.
"Alfred, how much longer?" Moen glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist.
"Apologies, Young Master, the road ahead is completely blocked," the old butler in the front seat said helplessly, glancing at the rearview mirror. "It seems a... Giant-sized eccentric is blocking the way."
Moen sighed and turned his head to look out the window.
As a "reincarnator" who had crossed over with memories and a cheat, Moen felt his life had already entered "garbage time."
Ever since awakening the [Universal Trait Extraction System] at the age of three, he had been exploring the limits of this world.
From a Nobel Prize winner, he had extracted [Mind Palace (Blue)].
From a Royal Special Forces soldier, he had extracted [Combat Mastery (Blue)].
From a Wall Street tycoon, he had extracted [Financial Acumen (Blue)].
For eleven whole years, no matter how brilliant the individual, the highest-grade trait he could extract was merely... Blue!
In his understanding, White was mediocre, Green was excellent, and Blue was the limit of human genetics.
White, Green, Blue.
Relying on this set of "Blue God-tier equipment," he entered the stock market at five, took the helm behind the scenes at eight, and led the White Family's assets past ten billion pounds by ten.
"This world is truly too boring..."
Just as this thought rose in Moen's mind, his gaze was drawn to a figure outside the window.
That "eccentric" was indeed very strange.
Visually, he stood over three and a half meters tall, like a moving small mountain. Shaggy black hair and a beard covered most of his face; he was wrapped in a heavy moleskin overcoat and held a pink, old umbrella.
Beside him followed a pitifully thin boy wearing glasses.
"Special skeletal development? Or an undiscovered human subspecies?"
Moen's long-dormant "collector's heart" gave a sudden thud.
This kind of physique, which completely defied biomechanics—if he could extract a trait, even if it was just a Blue [Giant Strength], it would definitely be a rare specimen!
"Stop the car."
"Young Master, you can't here..."
"I said, stop the car."
Moen pushed open the car door, and a wave of heat hit him. Ignoring the terrified, dodging gazes of the pedestrians, he walked straight toward the Giant.
Getting closer, the sense of pressure became even more real. Moen only reached up to the other's thigh.
"Hey! Mr. Big Guy!" Moen looked up, revealing a highly deceptive, innocent smile.
Hagrid stopped, turned clumsily, and looked down for quite a while before spotting Moen at his feet.
"Oh, blimey," Hagrid's voice boomed like muffled thunder. "Careful there, little nipper. I almost flattened yeh just now."
"It's all right, sir. I'm Moen White." Moen extended his small, pale hand. "Your stature is truly impressive. May I have the honor of shaking your hand?"
Beside them, Harry Potter looked curiously at this peer who exuded an aura of wealth.
Hagrid clearly rarely received such kindness. He awkwardly wiped his palm on his moleskin coat and extended a thick finger. "Of course, as long as yeh don't mind the smell of engine oil. I'm Rubeus Hagrid."
Now!
Moen grabbed that finger.
[Ding! Contact successful!]
[Determining trait...]
Moen habitually expected a blue box to pop up as usual, but in the next second, the system interface erupted with an unprecedented, blinding light!
[Warning! High-dimensional biological signatures detected!]
[Probability correction in progress... Luck explosion!]
[Extraction successful!]
Not only did a notification sound in Moen's mind, but he also felt a surge of energy, hot as lava, frantically pouring into his body through his finger.
"Ugh!" He let out a muffled groan, his face instantly flushing red.
He subconsciously summoned the system panel, and the data displayed in the next moment caused his pupils to tremble.
[Universal Trait Extraction System]
Host: Moen White
Age: 11
Traits Held:
[Red] Half-Giant Bloodline (Incomplete) — New Feature!
[Purple] Magic Affinity — New Feature!
[Purple] Magical Creature Affinity — New Feature!
[Blue] Mind Palace
[Blue] Financial Acumen
[Blue] Combat Mastery
[Blue] Strong Physique
...Remaining Extractions: 12
Status: Today's check-in incomplete.
..."Red? Purple?!"
Moen's brain stalled at that moment.
So Blue wasn't the limit at all? So this world had powers of a higher dimension?
Before he could finish digesting this information, the newly extracted [Magic Affinity] began to rampage through his unprepared Muggle body!
"magic... This is magic?!"
Moen finally realized.
Rubeus Hagrid.
Harry Potter.
1991.
This isn't some urban reincarnation novel; this is Harry Potter?!
"Young Master! What's wrong?" The old butler, Alfred, ran over in a panic.
"Don't... don't come over!" Moen gritted his teeth, feeling like his body was a balloon about to burst from over-inflation.
BOOM—!!!
An invisible shockwave erupted suddenly, centered on Moen!
*Crash!*
All the windows of the nearby Rolls-Royce instantly shattered into powder, the streetlights sizzled and exploded, and glass from surrounding shops rained down like water.
People screamed and fled in all directions.
Hagrid reacted instantly, pulling Harry behind him and using his broad back to shield against the flying shards.
A few seconds later, the storm subsided.
The street was a mess.
Exhausted, Moen wobbled and collapsed into Hagrid's timely extended hand.
"Merlin's beard..." Hagrid widened his beetle-black eyes, looking at Moen in his palm in shock. "That commotion... You're a Wizard, lad! And a young Wizard with frighteningly strong magic at that!"
Moen panted, forcing his eyes open.
Though his body was utterly exhausted, the weariness in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a fervor and greed like someone discovering a new continent.
He glanced at the two dazzling Red and Purple traits on the system panel, then at the now lackluster Blue traits.
Red, Purple, Purple... Blue.
His ten-billion-pound fortune, his business empire—at this moment, they all became tasteless.
"Wizard..." Moen wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, struggled to stand firm, straightened his glass-shard-covered suit tie, and gave Hagrid an elegant yet crazed smile.
"Mr. Hagrid, if you don't mind, could you take me along?"
Moen glanced back at the totaled Rolls-Royce, pulled a checkbook from his pocket, and tossed it to the stunned butler.
"Alfred, handle the compensation. Tell Father I'm going to a special boarding school."
With that, he turned around and looked at Hagrid with burning eyes:
"I assume the place we're going is invisible to ordinary people?"
Chapter 2: The Leaky Cauldron and the First Pot of "Gold"
"Quickly, children, keep up with me."
Hagrid seemed a bit flustered at this moment. Although he was massive in size, facing the approaching Muggle police and the mess all over the street clearly made him more nervous than facing a Norwegian Ridgeback.
He shielded Harry with one hand and carefully guided Moen with the other—fearing that this little porcelain doll, who had just triggered a magic explosion, might have another accident.
Moen stepped on the shattered glass covering the ground; though his steps were a bit unsteady, his back remained ramrod straight.
He glanced back at the completely totaled Rolls-Royce and the butler, Alfred, who was frantically dealing with the crowd of onlookers, feeling not the slightest bit of heartache.
That was the price of the old world. And now, he was walking toward the gateway of a new world.
The three of them stopped in front of a shop named the "Leaky Cauldron."
This place was filthy. With its peeling black paint and dust-covered windows, it looked as if it were about to go out of business.
Moen keenly noticed that even if the passersby hurrying along the street glanced this way, their eyes would slide past quite naturally, as if their brains were automatically filtering out the existence of this area.
"High-level psychological suggestion? Or space-folding technology?"
Moen narrowed his eyes as the [Mind Palace (Blue · Peak)] in his brain began to operate at high speed, analyzing this counter-intuitive phenomenon. This sensation, which could not be explained by science, fascinated him.
"Let's go in." Hagrid pushed open the creaking door.
Stepping inside felt like crossing between two worlds.
The sunlight and clamor from outside were instantly cut off. The bar was dimly lit.
The moment Moen's feet touched the greasy floor of the bar, the silent system notification sound rang out clearly in his mind.
[Ding!]
[High-magic Node detected: Leaky Cauldron (Wizarding World Entrance)]
[Sign-in conditions met. Would you like to sign in?]
"Sign in," Moen muttered in his heart without any hesitation.
[Sign-in successful!]
[Due to the host's first entry into the magic world, a lucky critical hit has been triggered!]
Several golden, shimmering reward icons popped up on his retina:
[Currency Obtained]: Gringotts Galleon x 1000 (The system has automatically opened a Dimensional Storage Space 'Currency Only' for you, accessible at any time.)
[Trait Obtained]: Basic Potion Identification (Green) (You can now tell the difference between slug slime and dish soap.)
[Item Obtained]: Guaranteed Draw Card (Limited to Purple and below) x 1 (The redemption of the unlucky.)
Moen raised an eyebrow.
A thousand Galleons?
According to his conversion based on fuzzy memories of the original work, it was about five thousand pounds? For the assets of the White Family, this amount of money was less than a drop in the ocean. But in this Wizarding World, which had yet to establish a modern financial system, it was undoubtedly a substantial "starting fund."
"Hagrid! The usual?"
The owner behind the bar was a hunchbacked old man, toothless, with a head like a shriveled walnut. He was wiping a glass with a rag so dirty its original color was unrecognizable; seeing Hagrid enter, he greeted him warmly.
"Not today, Tom." Hagrid patted Harry's shoulder; that massive palm almost slapped the frail Harry into the ground. "I'm on Hogwarts business. Taking Harry to buy his school supplies."
"By the way," Hagrid pointed to Moen White beside him, who was dressed in a bespoke suit but looked bedraggled, "this is Mr. Moen White, also a new student this year."
Old Tom's gaze was initially just a casual sweep, but when his eyes landed on the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead, the cup in his hand stopped with a "clink."
"Good heavens..." Tom's cloudy eyes widened. "This... this is..."
"Harry Potter!"
These four words were like a magic spell.
The originally noisy bar fell instantly silent.
In the next second, the harsh sound of chairs scraping against the floor echoed one after another. Customers dropped their glasses and swarmed forward as if they had seen some rare treasure, scrambling to shake hands with Harry.
"An absolute honor, Mr. Potter!"
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter!"
"Danmore, that's my name, Danmore!"
Moen was pushed aside by the fanatical crowd.
He wasn't annoyed; he simply brushed the dust off his suit with elegance, found a relatively clean corner to stand in, and coldly observed this farce titled "The Return of Savior."
"This is the embodiment of 'fame'."
Moen evaluated calmly in his heart.
"In this closed society, fame is the greatest leverage. The name Harry Potter itself is of immeasurable value."
At this moment, Harry was surrounded by the crowd, his face flushed red as he looked helplessly toward Hagrid.
Just then, a stuttering voice came from behind the crowd.
"P-Potter... s-so pleased to meet you."
A pale young man with a large purple turban wrapped around his head squeezed through. He looked nervous, and one of his eyes was twitching incessantly.
"Oh, Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid said as if he had seen a savior. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."
"V-very pleased to m-meet you, Potter." Quirrell reached out his hand, but seemed afraid to actually touch Harry; he just waved it in mid-air before pulling it back as if he'd received an electric shock.
Standing on the periphery, Moen's gaze instantly locked onto this man named Quirrell.
[Mind Palace] operated automatically, as countless details were magnified and dismantled:
"Wrapping a thick turban in the middle of summer? Even for a Wizard, it defies common sense."
"There's a strong smell of garlic on him, seemingly to mask another... smell of decay?"
"Voldemort, what a find!"
Moen subconsciously activated the system's inspection function, focusing his gaze on Quirrell.
[Warning! Warning!]
[Extremely dangerous high-level lifeform parasitic reaction detected!]
[Target Danger Level: Gold (Remnant Soul)]
[Suggestion: The host's current strength is too weak. Contact is strictly prohibited! Strictly prohibited!]
Gold... Golden?!
Moen's pupils suddenly contracted to the size of pinheads.
He had originally thought about whether he could go up and shake hands to leach some trait like [Dark Arts Mastery], but at this moment, that thought was instantly doused by cold water.
A red trait could cause a magic riot that almost blew up a whole street. If he touched this golden "Remnant Soul," wouldn't he just drop dead on the spot?
"It seems that having just entered the starter village, I'd better not touch the boss; it's not safe." Moen stepped back quietly, hiding himself in the shadows.
Fortunately, using his size to his advantage, Hagrid finally rescued Harry from the crowd.
"Alright, alright, we've got shopping to do. Move along."
Hagrid led the two children past the bar and into a small walled courtyard in the back. There was nothing here but a trash can and a few weeds.
"Alright, watch closely, Harry, and you too, Mr. White."
Hagrid pulled that pink umbrella out of his coat pocket and pointed at the bricks on the wall: "Three up... two across..."
"It opens as long as you tap the right bricks?" Moen, standing to the side, suddenly asked.
"That's right. Stand back a bit, Harry." Hagrid tapped the wall three times with the tip of his umbrella.
Tap, tap, tap.
The brick he had tapped began to quiver; then, a magical scene unfolded.
The bricks began to move and rearrange themselves; a small hole appeared in the middle, which expanded rapidly until, in the blink of an eye, it became a wide archway.
A winding cobblestone street appeared before the three of them.
It was bright and colorful, a stark contrast to the gray and oppressive London outside.
The street was lined with cauldrons, brooms, owl cages, and all sorts of marvelous goods never seen before. Wizards in robes bustled about, their haggling voices mingling with the hoots of owls.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said proudly, his tone as if he were showing off his own backyard.
Harry's mouth fell open, his face full of wonder.
Chapter 3: Pure-blood and "Money Power"
Moen took a deep breath and stepped through the archway.
If the Leaky Cauldron was just the reception at the entrance, then this place was the true treasure trove.
His gaze was no longer just appreciation; it was filled with a predator's greed and excitement.
Characteristics were everywhere here.
Even a passing Goblin might possess [Metal Perception].
Even an owl in a shop window might possess [Night Vision].
"Mr. Hagrid."
Moen suddenly stopped, his hand in his suit trousers pocket, fingers caressing the pouch of Galleons he had just acquired.
"I think we need to go to Gringotts to exchange money first, but before that..."
Moen pointed to a shop not far away called "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions," then turned to look at Harry, who was still worried that his old wallet didn't have enough Pounds, a capitalist's unique smile playing on his lips.
"Since we're starting school, we need new clothes. I don't want to meet Goblins in this suit full of glass shards. Harry, as my new classmate, consider this my welcome gift to you."
Harry was stunned for a moment: "But, I can't..."
"Don't refuse, Mr. Potter." Moen casually pulled a few shiny Galleons from his pocket, tossing them in the sunlight, producing a crisp, pleasant clinking sound.
"In my world, this is called—angel round investment."
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
It was a squat shop with various robes displayed in its windows.
"Listen, Harry, and Mr. White." Hagrid pointed to the Leaky Cauldron not far away, a bit embarrassed, "I need to go have a pick-me-up drink; those... er, things, just now, have left me a bit breathless. You two go in and get measured, I'll be right back to pick you up."
Hagrid was clearly startled by Moen's magical outburst and the Muggle police sirens earlier, and urgently needed a Firewhisky to calm his nerves.
"Of course, Mr. Hagrid." Moen smiled and nodded, "We'll take care of ourselves."
After watching Hagrid leave, Moen pushed open the shop door.
The doorbell chimed a crisp "ding-a-ling."
"Hogwarts freshmen? Come in, come in." Madam Malkinwas a squat witch with a smile and a violet robe. "There are several children trying on clothes here."
In the back of the shop, a pale-faced boy with a pointed chin stood on a footstool, a witch pinning up the hem of his black robe.
Moen's gaze swept over the boy.
Light blonde hair, a refined posture, and an arrogance that emanated from his very bones.
Draco Malfoy.
Moen didn't rush to speak, but subtly led Harry to stand on the footstool next to him. Madam Malkin draped a robe over Harry and began to measure him.
"Hey." Malfoy turned his head, his grey-blue eyes scrutinizing Harry and Moen, his tone lazy and drawn out, "Going to Hogwarts too?"
"Yes." Harry answered somewhat awkwardly.
"My father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the street looking for wands." Malfoy said wearily, "Then I've got to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own brooms. I think I'll force my father to buy me one, then find a way to sneak it in."
Harry listened with a blank expression, clearly embarrassed.
Moen, meanwhile, quietly adjusted his cufflinks. His deep-set eyes, through the reflection of the mirror, stared at Malfoy's back, as the system interface quietly unfolded.
[Scanning Target: Draco Malfoy]
[Characteristic Found]: Pure-blood Magic Circuit (Blue) (A wizarding lineage passed down through generations, making his magic more stable than half-bloods, but that's all it is)
[Characteristic Found]: Flying Talent (Purple) (This kid really has something when it comes to riding a broom, he's a natural Seeker)
[Characteristic Found]: Arrogance (White) (A common ailment of spoiled young masters, no extraction value)
"Purple Flying Talent?" Moen's heart stirred.
Although he had no interest in the high-risk sport of flying through the sky on a wooden stick, in a world where transportation largely relied on flying, this was clearly an extremely practical skill.
At this moment, Malfoy's gaze shifted to Moen.
Compared to Harry, who was wearing ill-fitting old clothes, Moen, in a somewhat dirty Savile Row bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe on his wrist, clearly interested him more.
"And you?" Malfoy raised his chin, nodding towards Moen, "You don't look like someone that big oaf would bring. Which family are you from?"
In Malfoy's perception, someone who could afford such exquisite clothes was most likely a young master from a pure-blood family.
Moen smiled slightly, turned around, and extended his hand to Malfoy.
"White. Moen White." Moen's voice was steady and elegant, an aura cultivated from years at the negotiating table. "My family runs a small business, mainly involved in energy, real estate, and multinational finance."
"White?" Malfoy frowned, not extending his hand. "Never heard of that surname. Are you pure-blood?"
Harry watched the scene nervously from the side.
Moen naturally withdrew his hand, not feeling embarrassed by the rejection, but instead looking at Malfoywith a tolerant gaze, as if at an "ignorant child."
"Bloodline?" Moen chuckled, as if he had heard a joke. "In my world, we are more accustomed to measuring a person's nobility by their balance sheet and influence. But since we are in Rome..."
Moen suddenly stepped forward, his movement so quick that Malfoy didn't react.
He reached out to smooth a wrinkle on Malfoy's robe collar that wasn't even crooked.
"Your collar is crooked, Mr. Malfoy. As a gentleman, that's not proper."
The moment his fingertip touched Malfoy's neck.
[Contact successful!]
[Extracting Characteristic: Flying Talent (Purple)...]
[Base Probability: 15%]
[Random Number Generated: 14... Judgment successful!]
[Congratulations on acquiring Characteristic]: Flying Talent (Purple) (You can now perform a Cobra Maneuver in the air even on a vacuum cleaner)
Moen's smile deepened.
Good luck, it seems today he was possessed by the King of Europe.
Malfoy recoiled as if burned, a flush appearing on his pale face, a blush of offended anger: "What are you doing? Who allowed you to touch me?"
"Just a friendly reminder." Moen calmly retreated to his footstool, by which time Madam Malkin had finished measuring Harry.
"Who's that? That big oaf?" Malfoy, trying to regain his composure, suddenly pointed out the window at Hagrid, who was walking towards them with two ice creams, a mocking expression on his face. "I've seen him, he's a Hogwarts servant."
"He's the gamekeeper." Harry couldn't help but retort, he liked Hagrid very much.
"Whatever you say. I heard he's barbaric, lives in a small hut on campus, gets drunk from time to time, and even messes with magic, ending up burning his own bed." Malfoy scoffed, "I really don't know why Hogwarts would keep someone like that around. And those Muggle-borns... it's practically an invasion, don't you think, White?"
He tried to win over Moen, who seemed like a "rich" kindred spirit.
Moen had already stepped off the footstool. He walked over to Harry and patted Harry's trembling shoulder.
Then, he turned his head and looked at Malfoy with an extremely cold gaze, like appraising an unsold commodity.
"Mr. Malfoy, here's a business tip for you."
Moen slowly took out the heavy pouch of Galleons from his pocket and threw it onto the counter with a dull thud, making Malfoy's eyelids twitch.
"While I don't understand your so-called pure-blood glory, in the adult world, casually criticizing another's friends is extremely ill-mannered."
Chapter 4: Gringotts and the Rich Second Generation
Moen looked at Malfoy, his tone disdainful:
"Furthermore, if you're truly proud of your father's wealth, you shouldn't be here complaining about why first-years can't bring brooms. Instead, you should have your father directly sponsor a Quidditch team for Hogwarts and then change the rules. That's the power of capital, understand? Little brat."
After speaking, Moen ignored Malfoy, whose face had turned the color of pig's liver, and turned to the stunned Madam Malkin, saying:
"Madam, I like your craftsmanship very much. I'll pay for both these gentlemen's robes. Also—"
Moen pointed to the most expensive silk fabric in the shop.
"Make Mr. Potter three more sets of everyday robes from this fabric. Deduct the bill from here, and the rest is a tip."
Madam Malkin looked at the bag of gold coins, her smile instantly blooming like a flower: "Oh! What a generous little gentleman! No problem, of course, no problem!"
Harry looked at Moen, his green eyes filled with gratitude and a shock he had never experienced before.
For the first time, he felt how good it was to have someone support him.
Meanwhile, Malfoy, still on the footstool, glared intensely at Moen's departing back, his lips moving, finally only managing to squeeze out:
"...Damn upstart!"
Stepping out of Madam Malkin's robe shop, the sunlight in Diagon Alley was still bright and dazzling.
Harry held the bag containing his new robes, his expression still somewhat dazed. Everything that had just happened in the shop—Malfoy's provocation, Moen's domineering retort, and his extravagant spending—had given the boy who had always lived in a cupboard an unprecedented shock.
"Um... Moen," Harry began awkwardly, his green eyes full of gratitude, "Thank you so much just now. But I can't let you pay, I have money, Hagrid said I have..."
"Stop, Mr. Potter." Moen raised his hand, elegantly interrupting him, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather, "This is just a trivial social expenditure. More importantly, it seems your big friend has brought you a surprise."
Harry followed Moen's gaze.
Hagrid was striding through the crowded streets. Although his enormous moleskin overcoat made him look like a walking brown bear, a very gentle smile was on his face.
More importantly, he was carrying a huge birdcage.
Inside the cage was a snow-white owl, its head buried in its wings, fast asleep. It was as beautiful as a clump of snow fallen to earth.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" Hagrid said, panting, "I thought you didn't have a pet yet. Toads are long out of fashion, and no one brings cats... This is a Snowy Owl, very practical, it can help you send letters."
Harry's lips trembled, and he couldn't speak for a long time. For a child who had never received a real birthday present, the impact of this moment was even greater than learning he was a Wizard.
"Thank you... Hagrid..." Harry's voice choked.
Moen stood by, quietly watching the scene. Although he was a rational pragmatist, this tender moment didn't displease him.
He casually activated the system and glanced at the owl.
[Species]: Snowy Owl (Magically Tamed Species)
[Trait]: Ultra-Long-Range Navigation (Blue) (It can find anyone as long as it has a name)
[Trait]: Spirituality (Purple) (This bird is very intelligent; it can understand human speech and even disdain its owner)
"Nice pet." Moen commented, then glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist, "Mr. Hagrid, although I don't want to interrupt this touching moment, I think we should get down to business. I only have a thousand Galleons in my pocket, which won't last long in Diagon Alley."
"Oh, right, Gringotts!" Hagrid slapped his forehead, "Almost forgot about that. Harry needs to withdraw money, and... and that'special errand' for Hogwarts."
Upon hearing the words "special errand," a glint flashed in Moen's eyes.
Today is July 31st.
According to the plot, Hagrid not only has to take Harry to withdraw money but also go to the famous Vault 713 to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, crafted by Nicholas Flamel, which grants immortality and turns metal into gold.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Moen licked his somewhat dry lips.
If even a half-Giant like Hagrid and a Wizard hatchling like Harry could provide purple and red traits, then what would the legendary Philosopher's Stone, as the pinnacle of Alchemy, contain?
Would it be gold? Or an even higher legend?
"I must touch it." Moen set his goal in his heart, "Even if only for a second."
...
Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
This towering, snow-white marble building stood at the intersection of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, its bronze doors gleaming in the sun. A Goblin dressed in a scarlet, gold-trimmed uniform stood at the entrance, scrutinizing every Wizard entering and exiting with wary and greedy eyes.
"These are Goblins," Hagrid whispered to Harry. "These fellows are not to be trifled with, Harry. If you want to store something, this is the safest place in the world besides Hogwarts."
As Moen passed the Goblin, he tilted his head slightly.
[Species]: Goblin
[Traits]: Metal Perception (Purple), Greed (Blue), Miser(Blue)
"Not just guards, but natural bankers." Moen sneered inwardly. Handing the economic lifeline to an alien race to manage, the Wizarding World's government truly consists of a bunch of idiots who never studied macroeconomics.
Passing through the second silver door, they entered a spacious marble hall. Hundreds of Goblins sat behind high counters, some weighing coins, others examining gems.
Hagrid led the two to an unoccupied counter.
"Good morning," Hagrid said to the idle Goblin behind the counter. "We've come to withdraw some money from Mr. Harry Potter's vault."
"Do you have the key?" the Goblin asked indifferently, without even looking up.
"Yes, yes, let me think where I put it..." Hagrid began rummaging through the countless pockets of his greatcoat, scattering a pile of moldy dog biscuits and strange parts onto the counter.
The Goblin wrinkled its long nose.
Moen stood to the side, his fingers gently tapping the marble counter, making a rhythmic "tap, tap" sound.
"Also," Hagrid finally pulled out a small golden key, then mysteriously produced a letter, "Professor Dumbledoreasked me to retrieve something from 'Vault 713.'"
The Goblin took the letter, examined it carefully, and its attitude became slightly more respectful: "Alright. Griphook! Take these two gentlemen to the vaults."
...
The journey to the vaults was a roller coaster ride.
The Goblin named Griphook took them in a rickety little cart. The cart sped through a maze of underground tunnels, wind whistling in their ears. Occasionally, they would see bottomless underground lakes and burning torches.
Hagrid's face was green, gripping the edge of the cart tightly, as if he were about to throw up at any second. Harry, meanwhile, was shouting excitedly, his hair disheveled by the wind.
Only Moen.
He sat steadily in the cart, even crossing his legs. The Flying Talent (Purple) he had just extracted from Malfoygave him an extremely strong sense of balance and spatial adaptability, so this level of weightlessness was like walking on flat ground for him.
"This is your mode of transport?" Moen asked Griphookloudly, "It's too inefficient. Why don't you lay Maglev Tracks?"
Griphook looked back at this strange human cub, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth: "What's a Maglev Track? Is it as exciting as this?"
"Incomprehensible bad taste." Moen shook his head.
Finally, the cart stopped.
"Vault 687," Griphook said.
This was Harry's vault. The moment the door opened, the mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins almost blinded Harry.
"It's all yours, Harry," Hagrid said with a smile.
Harry was stunned. He had always thought he was a pauper, but he never expected to be a Rich Second Generation.
Chapter 5: Copying the Philosopher's Stone, Ollivander
Moen swept a glance at the contents of the vault. "About fifty thousand Galleons in liquid assets." Moen quickly estimated the value. "It's not bad as starting capital, but in business operations, this amount of money would only be enough to buy two buildings in central London."
Harry packed a bag of money, his face flushed with excitement.
"Alright, next is Vault 713." Griphook said, starting the cart again.
This time, the cart sped towards a deeper, darker place. The air became bone-chillingly cold.
Finally, the cart stopped in front of a small door without any keyholes.
"Stand back." Griphook said seriously. He stretched out a long, slender finger and lightly traced it across the door.
The door melted right before their eyes, revealing an empty stone chamber inside.
There were no gold coins, no jewels. Only a small, dirty brown paper package sat alone on the floor. That was the Philosopher's Stone.
Hagrid walked in, bent down to pick up the small package, and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.
"What exactly is that?" Harry asked curiously.
"Don't ask, Harry. This is top secret." Hagrid patted his bulging pocket mysteriously.
Now. Moen's eyes narrowed.
He pretended to stumble because the ground was slippery and collided with Hagrid.
"Ouch!" Moen exclaimed, his palm "accidentally" pressing onto the position of Hagrid's coat pocket—right through the layer of fabric, pressing against the hard little package.
"Be careful, Moen!" Hagrid quickly steadied him. "It's too dark in here."
But in that tenth of a second of contact, the system in Moen's mind was already running frantically to its limit.
[Contact with Legendary Alchemy item!] [Item Name]: Philosopher's Stone (Philosopher's Stone) [Energy Level]: Gold (Mythical) [Parsing core laws...] [Judging...]
Extraction Target: Law of Immortality (Gold) — Failed (You need to consume it directly or hold it for a long time). Extraction Target: Transmutation (Gold) — Failed (Contact time too short).
Moen's heart contracted violently. Was he going to return empty-handed?
[Triggering Pity Mechanism / Fate Node Interference!] [Extraction Successful!] [Acquired Trait]: Alchemy Origin (Incomplete / Gold)
[Description]: You did not gain the ability to turn stone into gold, but you touched the truth of Alchemy. You now have an understanding of material transformation, magical enchantment, and Potion synthesis that points directly to the source. This is not just a technique; it is a fragment of authority.
A cool and profound aura instantly washed over Moen's brain. He felt that the world in his eyes had changed.
Looking at the damp rock walls around him, his mind no longer saw "stone," but rather "silicates, trace magical crystals, raw materials convertible to low-level earth elements." Is this the perspective of Alchemy?
Moen steadied himself, using the action of straightening his clothes to hide the ecstasy in his eyes.
"Sorry, Mr. Hagrid. The path here is indeed not easy to walk." Moen raised his head, revealing an impeccable smile. "Since the secret has been obtained, shouldn't we head back? I still want to go buy a wand."
"Of course, of course." Hagrid completely failed to notice that the Philosopher's Stone in his arms had been "freeloaded" once by this seemingly harmless little boy.
Sitting on the cart on the return trip, Moen looked at his palm. [Alchemy Origin (Gold)]. Although it was incomplete, it was Gold!
With this, even in his first year at Hogwarts, he had the capital for dimensional reduction strikes.
"Potions Class... Professor Snape..." That gloomy man appeared in Moen's mind. "I think we will have many common topics."
"Here we are, only this one." Hagrid stopped in front of a small, dilapidated shop. The gold sign on the door had peeled off, and it read: "Ollivander: Makers of Fine wands since 382 BC."
In the dusty display window, a single wand lay alone on a faded purple cushion.
"Er... Harry, and Moen." Hagrid stood at the door, not intending to step inside. His massive frame blocked most of the display window, and his expression became somewhat awkward and dim. "I won't go in. You know, this place is too narrow, I'm afraid of breaking things... I'll eat an ice cream outside and wait for you, how about that?"
Harry nodded, thinking Hagrid just felt it was too crowded. But Moen stopped and took a deep look at Hagrid.
[Mind Palace] quickly retrieved the file on Hagrid from the memory database: Rubeus Hagrid, expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, wand snapped. Later, he hid it in that pink umbrella.
For a Wizard, the wand shop is where dreams begin, but also where Hagrid's dreams were shattered.
"Alright, Mr. Hagrid." Moen did not expose this clumsy excuse, but said considerately, "I also think the dust in there might make you sneeze. That would be a disaster."
Hagrid looked at Moen gratefully and turned to walk towards the ice cream shop not far away.
"Let's go, Harry. Go pick out your weapon." Moen pushed open the shop door. The interior was very small; apart from a bench, there was nothing else. Thousands of long, narrow paper boxes were stacked up to the ceiling, covered everywhere with thick dust. A mysterious, spine-chilling sense of silence permeated the air.
"Good afternoon." A soft voice suddenly rang out, making Harry jump. An old man walked out from behind the shelves in the shadows. He had a pair of large, pale eyes that shimmered like two moons in the dimly lit shop. Garrick Ollivander.
"Hello." Harry stammered.
"Oh, yes, yes. I knew I would see you soon, Harry Potter." Ollivander's gaze locked onto Harry. "Your eyes are like your mother's... It was also the first wand I sold to her, ten and one-quarter inches, swishy..."
For the next few minutes, Moen stood to the side, quietly watching this fated "reunion." He was observing.
After activating [Alchemy Origin (Gold)], this originally dilapidated shop underwent an earth-shaking change in his eyes. Countless tiny light motes floated in the air; those mountains of wand boxes were no longer dead objects—they were breathing. Every wand was emitting a unique frequency; some were as irritable as fire, others as cold as water.
Finally, the moment that holly and Phoenix feather wandfell into Harry's hand. Boom! A red-gold light illuminated the entire shop.
"Curious... very curious..." Ollivander muttered to himself, recounting that destiny regarding the "brother wands." Harry held the wand, both excited and afraid.
"And now, what about this one?" Having finished with Savior, Ollivander finally turned around, his silver-white eyes looking at Moen, who was leaning in the shadows by the door. The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.
In his perception, this little boy wearing an exquisite suit contained a highly contradictory energy within his body. On one side was a heavy, violent blood aura like an ancient beast (Half-Giant Bloodline), and on the other was an extremely precise, rational, and almost cold mental power (Mind Palace + Alchemy).
"Mr. White, is it?" Ollivander said softly. "Truly a... rare guest. Your presence is very 'heavy'."
"You flatter me." Moen stepped forward and extended his arm. "I am used to using my right hand."
The tape measure flew up automatically and began frantically measuring him, from the distance between his nostrils to the length of his little finger. "Try this one." Ollivander pulled one out from the shelf. "Beech wood, dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice, very flexible."
Chapter 6: A "Sturdy" wand, Starting School
Moen took the wand.
[Item Contact]: Beech Wand (Common Grade)
[Compatibility]: 15%
[Evaluation]: It cannot withstand your grip, much less your magic power.
Before Moen even had time to wave it, he simply gave it a slight squeeze.
*Crack.*
A crisp sound rang out. This exquisite wand actually split a crack directly in his hand.
Ollivander's eyelids twitched. "Oh... it seems this one is too fragile."
"Sorry." Moen insincerely set the defective item aside.
"Sturdy... yes, sturdy." A glimmer of excitement flashed in Ollivander's eyes. "Try this one. Ebony, Unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. Very springy."
Moen took it again.
This time the wand didn't break, but when he tried to inject magic power, the wand trembled violently, let out a sharp whistling sound, and then bounced out of his hand like a hot potato, hitting the wall.
[Compatibility]: 5%
[Evaluation]: Rejection. Your magic nature is too overbearing; Unicorn hair hates you.
"Picky... very picky." Not only was Ollivander not angry, but he became increasingly excited. He darted between the shelves like a madman, pulling out over a dozen boxes.
Some smoked the moment they touched Moen's hand, some were as unresponsive as dead wood, and some bent ninety degrees directly in his hand.
As the pile of discarded boxes on the floor grew larger, Harry watched from the side, dumbfounded. He thought he had a hard enough time picking a wand, but he didn't expect Moen to be practically dismantling the shop.
"I see..."
Ollivander stopped and stared at Moen, those silvery-white eyes seemingly seeing through something.
"Ordinary wood cannot carry your power, and ordinary cores cannot respond to your ambition."
The old man searched his mind for those few "freaks" he had sealed away long ago.
"Wait."
Ollivander turned and walked toward the deepest part of the shop, where the dust lay even thicker.
After a long while, he emerged carrying a long black box.
"This one has been here for nearly half a century." Ollivander blew the dust off the box, his tone becoming solemn. "I once thought it would never find a master because it is too 'heavy.' Both physically and magically."
He opened the box.
A wand, entirely pitch-black with no decorative patterns but emitting a metallic luster, lay quietly inside.
"Black Ironwood, the hardest kind of Lignum Vitae. Thirteen inches, so hard it is almost impossible to bend."
Ollivander introduced it in a low voice:
"The core is... Hebridean Black Dragon heartstring. And it's the thickest blood vessel from that dragon's atrium."
"Black Ironwood... Black dragon heartstring..."
As Moen looked at the wand, the [Half-Giant Bloodline] and [Alchemy Origin] within him both produced a strong surge of excitement.
He reached out and gripped the handle.
Heavy.
That was the first sensation.
The weight of this wand was at least five times that of an ordinary one, feeling like a solid iron rod in his hand. But for Moen, who possessed a trace of Giant blood, the feel was just right.
The next second.
BOOM—!
It wasn't sparks, nor was it colored light.
A visible black ripple rippled outward with Moen as the center. All the boxes on the surrounding shelves vibrated, and the dust in the air was instantly cleared out, forming an area of absolute vacuum.
Moen felt that he wasn't holding wood, but an extension of his own arm.
In the vision of [Alchemy Origin],
He clearly saw the magic circuits inside this wand perfectly interlocking with his own magic, forming a precise energy amplifier.
[Congratulations on obtaining an Exclusive Weapon!]
[Item]: Black Ironwood Wand
[Quality]: Purple (Growth Type)
[Trait 1]: Heavy Pressure (Adds armor-piercing effect during physical strikes; this is both a staff and a club)
[Trait 2]: magic Amplification (30% effect bonus to offensive spells and Transfiguration)
[Evaluation]: A violent staff for a violent gentleman.
"Perfect..." Moen praised softly, giving it a casual wave.
A black blade sliced through the air, cutting off a corner of the counter in front of him; the cut was as smooth as a mirror.
"Ouch!" Ollivander cried out in distress, but the smile on his face was even brighter than before. "I knew it! I knew it! Black Ironwood always favors those Wizards with firm wills, even those who are somewhat cold."
"How much?" Moen toyed with the heavy "murder weapon" in his hand, unable to put it down.
"Seven Galleons." Ollivander bowed. "Additionally, for the counter repair fee, that will be three Galleons."
Moen readily laid out ten gold coins.
When he and Harry walked out of the wand shop, Hagridwas standing in the sunlight holding two massive ice creams.
"All picked out?" Hagrid asked with a smile, handing Harrya chocolate-flavored one and Moen a raspberry-flavored one.
"All picked out." Moen took the ice cream, his other hand gently stroking the Black Ironwood Wand tucked into his suit's inner pocket, feeling that reassuring weight.
He glanced at the pink umbrella in Hagrid's hand, then at the Holly wand in Harry's hand.
"Mr. Hagrid." Moen suddenly spoke, taking a lick of the ice cream as the sweet, creamy taste melted on his tongue. "Does Hogwarts... allow students to bring their own servants or butlers?"
"Uh, of course not, Moen. Only owls, cats, or toads," Hagridsaid.
"What a shame." Moen shrugged, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. "It seems that after I get to school, I'll have to scout for a few capable 'employees' myself. After all, I don't plan on wasting all my time writing essays."
September 1st.
The London sky had cleared up for once, and pale golden sunlight pierced through the thin mist, spilling onto the busy platforms of King's Cross Station.
At half-past ten in the morning, a brand-new, pitch-black Rolls-Royce Phantom slowly pulled up to the station entrance.
Compared to the Silver Spirit that had unfortunately "died in the line of duty" a month ago, this car was fitted with bulletproof glass and a reinforced chassis—not to protect against bullets, but purely to prevent Moen from blowing the car up again if he happened to sneeze.
The car door opened, and Moen stepped out, wearing a well-tailored dark charcoal-grey three-piece suit topped with a black cashmere overcoat. He leaned on his heavy Black Ironwood Wand as if it were a cane, scanning the hurrying crowd with a cold expression.
In the eyes of Muggles, he was just holding an exquisite walking stick.
"Young Master, the luggage has been moved."
The butler, Alfred, pushed a fully loaded trolley over. On the trolley was not only a large black leather trunk but also an exquisite birdcage containing a majestic Eurasian Eagle-Owl.
That was one of Moen's spoils from the past month, named "Nasdaq."
"Thank you, Alfred." Moen checked his watch. "You can head back. I'll send a letter home at Christmas; remember to keep an eye on those funds shorting the Ruble."
"Yes, Young Master. I wish you... a pleasant term." The old butler hesitated, but finally gave a respectful bow, watching this eleven-year-old boy, who was already the pillar of the family, walk toward that unknown magical world.
Moen pushed his trolley into the station.
Chapter 7, the Weasleys
This past month, he had led an extremely fulfilling life.
Although he hadn't officially enrolled yet, relying on [Alchemy Origin (Gold - Fragmented)] and [Mind Palace (Blue - Peak)], he had managed to devour the entire first-year curriculum at home.
Especially Potions and Transfiguration. With the underlying logic of Alchemy as support, he discovered that these so-called "magic" were essentially formulas for the transformation of energy and matter. As long as the computational power was strong enough and the control over magic was fine enough, it was basically a precision science.
Of course, in order to practice controlling the violent magicof his [Half-Giant Bloodline], the basement at home had its renovation ruined three more times.
"Platform 9... Platform 10..."
Moen stopped between the two platforms. In his eyes, that seemingly solid brick wall was emitting faint ripples of magic.
Just then, a noisy crowd caught his attention.
"Hurry up! It's packed with Muggles, as usual... Ron, don't dawdle!"
A plump, kindly red-haired woman was directing a large group of red-haired children. They were pushing rickety trolleys piled high with old trunks and books.
the Weasleys.
Moen stopped in his tracks, watching this typical family with interest.
Poor, but full of life.
This was his first impression of the Weasleys.
"Fred, you first!" the plump woman shouted.
"I'm not Fred, I'm George!" one of the twins protested. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"
"Sorry, George, dear."
"Only joking, I am Fred." The boy grinned, pushed his trolley toward the wall, and vanished in an instant.
Moen narrowed his eyes as the system interface quietly unfolded, locking onto the twins.
[Scanning Target]: Fred & George Weasley
[Traits Discovered]:
[Purple] Twin Telepathy: They share thoughts and cooperate seamlessly. If this were at a business negotiation table, they would be invincible.
[Blue - Peak] Prank Genius: They possess astonishing creativity when it comes to breaking rules and creating chaos.
[Blue] Alchemy Intuition (Undeveloped): They naturally know how to infuse magic into objects. Although it's only for making prank props, it is indeed the embryonic form of Alchemy.
"Interesting." Moen stroked his chin. Alchemy Intuition? This was a rare talent. If he wanted to start some industries in the wizarding world later on, these twins might be excellent candidates for heads of the R&D department.
Just then, Harry Potter appeared, pushing his trolley and panting.
"Hagrid left you behind?" Moen walked over and greeted him in a relaxed tone.
"Moen!" Harry's eyes lit up instantly upon seeing a familiar face, like a drowning man catching a straw. "Thank goodness! Hagrid left right after giving me the ticket... I asked the guard, and he said there's no such thing as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I thought I'd been tricked."
"Calm down, Mr. Savior." Moen pointed at the wall. "This is the entrance. Look, that red-haired family."
Harry turned his head just in time to see Percy Weasleypass through the wall.
"This... we have to crash into it?" Harry asked, a bit frightened.
"It's walking through. If you're nervous, just run."
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley noticed the two children, especially Harry's helpless look and Moen's conspicuously expensive attire.
"First time at Hogwarts? Ron is a first-year too." Mrs. Weasley pointed to the tall, red-haired, freckle-faced, somewhat awkward-looking boy beside her.
Ron smiled at them somewhat uneasily. His gaze lingered for a second on Moen's expensive-looking cashmere coat before quickly shifting away, a hint of inferiority in his eyes.
"That's right," Harry said, "but this wall..."
"Don't worry." Mrs. Weasley instructed patiently.
Harry plucked up his courage and charged through with his trolley.
Moen gave Mrs. Weasley a slight nod. "Thank you for the guidance, Madam."
That innate breeding and elegance made Mrs. Weasleypause for a moment, before she broke into a warmer smile. "Oh, what a polite little gentleman. Off you go then, don't be late."
Moen pushed his trolley, walking unhurriedly toward the wall.
At the moment of contact, there was no sensation of impact, only a cool breeze brushing past his cheeks.
The scene before him suddenly opened up.
A scarlet steam engine was puffing out white smoke, parked beside a platform crowded with people. A sign on the engine read: Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock.
Cats of all colors darted between people's feet, and the hoots of owls rose and fell.
Moen didn't even have to struggle through the crowd. He just slightly released a bit of the aura from his [Half-Giant Bloodline], and the surrounding people instinctively felt this kid was not to be trifled with, automatically clearing a path for him.
He found Harry. Harry was struggling to lift a heavy trunk onto the steps of the carriage door, but the trunk was too heavy and even fell on his foot.
"Need a hand?" The red-haired Ron walked over.
"Thanks!" Harry said gratefully.
Just as the two of them were panting and still unable to move it, Moen walked over. He grabbed the large trunk that had left them helpless with one hand and tossed it easily into the carriage corridor as if he were carrying an empty cardboard box.
"Whoa..." Ron's eyes widened. "You're really strong."
"Just a bit of... exercise." Moen brushed the dust off his hands and led the way into the carriage... The train started moving, and the houses and fields outside the window sped past.
Moen, Harry, and Ron sat in the same compartment.
The atmosphere was a bit subtle.
Moen sat by the window, holding a copy of "Intermediate Transfiguration Guide," reading it with the focused gaze one might use for a financial report. Harry and Ron, sitting opposite him, appeared somewhat stiff.
Ron had been stealing glances at Moen.
This black-haired boy put too much pressure on him. That straight back even while sitting, those elegant movements when turning pages, and that black cane leaning by his hand... all reminded Ron of Malfoy. However, Moen didn't seem to have that annoying arrogance; rather, it was a kind of... aloof sense of refinement.
"Are you Harry Potter?" Ron finally couldn't help but break the silence, looking at Harry.
Harry nodded and pulled back his bangs to reveal the scar.
The two began to discuss the scar and Voldemortenthusiastically, though Ron didn't dare mention that name.
After chatting for a while, the Trolley Witch arrived.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Ron blushed and held up his shriveled sandwiches. "I've brought my own."
Harry, having just inherited a fortune, grandly bought a huge pile of snacks.
"Let's eat together!" Harry invited generously.
Chapter 8, Peter Pettigrew and Hermione Granger
Moen put down his book.
He had no interest in those Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs, but he was not averse to this kind of "social behavior."
"I'll have some too." Moen took out a Galleon and handed it to the witch, "Give me a cup of chilled pumpkin juice, and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to buy all the Cauldron Cakes."
The atmosphere in the compartment warmed up quickly because of the snacks. Ron was stuffing his face with cake while vaguely introducing his rat.
"His name is Scabbers, and he's useless." Ron pointed to a plump, grey rat sleeping on his lap, "He just sleeps all day, and eats when he wakes up."
Upon hearing the name "Scabbers," Moen, who had been maintaining an elegant posture, suddenly had his gaze sharpen.
He closed his book, leaned forward slightly, and locked his gaze tightly onto that seemingly unremarkable, and even missing a toe, rat.
Peter Pettigrew.
Pettigrew.
The culprit who betrayed the Potters and caused this series of tragedies, and also the key pawn for Voldemort's resurrection.
At this moment, this "rat" seemed to sense something. Its originally tightly shut beady eyes suddenly opened a slit, looking vigilantly toward Moen. The instinct of an animal, or rather an Animagus, told it that this black-haired boy possessed an aura that terrified it to the extreme—the aura of a predator.
Moen silently activated the system scan.
[Scan Target]: Scabbers
[Real Name]: Peter Pettigrew
[Race]: Human Wizard (Animagus form)
[Traits Held]:
[Purple] Animagus (Rat): To survive, he solidified himself in this form for twelve years. This is not just magic, but a psychopathic level of endurance.
[Purple] Absolute Betrayal: He is a natural-born snitch. For survival, he can betray anyone. In the field of betrayal, he is a master.
[Blue] Sleazy Survival Wisdom: He can always find a sewer-like exit in a death-certain situation.
[Red] Dark Lord's Mark (Dormant): This is a curse, and also a locator.
Moen's fingers tapped gently on his knees.
He was thinking.
Should he expose him now?
Or... directly extract his traits?
If he extracted [Animagus], could he also transform?
If he extracted [Dark Lord's Mark], would it attract Voldemort's attention?
"What's wrong, Moen?" Harry noticed that Moen had been staring at the rat for a long time, and his eyes were a bit... scary.
"It's nothing." Moen withdrew his gaze, a meaningful sneer curling at the corner of his mouth, "I just think this rat... looks quite unique. It must have lived for a long time, right?"
"It has been many years." Ron complained, "It was originally Percy's, and then it was given to me."
"Ron." Moen spoke suddenly, his tone serious, "If I were you, I would keep a close eye on it. Some things, on the surface, are pets, but in reality... they might be a ticking time bomb."
Ron looked blank: "A bomb? You mean it will explode? Just like those prank items of Fred's?"
"It's much more serious than that." Moen didn't say anything more, just took one more deep look at the shivering rat.
"Keep it."
Moen calculated in his heart.
"There's not much benefit in exposing him now. A living Animagus, right under my nose, who is also a Death Eater, this is an excellent'source of raw materials.' When my Alchemy and magic get stronger, perhaps I can use him for some more interesting experiments."
Just then, the compartment door was pulled open again.
A girl with bushy brown hair, carrying a pile of books, appeared at the door, her tone somewhat bossy.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville has lost a toad."
Hermione Granger had arrived.
She saw the snacks filling the seats, and Ron, who was holding his wand ready to change the color of his rat.
"Oh, are you casting magic? Then let us see it." Hermionesat down without ceremony, her gaze sweeping over the three of them, finally resting on Moen.
The main reason was simple—Moen looked too unlike a normal first-year student.
He was using a silk handkerchief to slowly and meticulously wipe that pitch-black wand, his focused expression just like someone wiping a dagger that had just killed someone.
"Um..." Hermione felt her throat tighten slightly, subconsciously shifting her gaze away and looking at Ron, "You begin."
Ron cleared his throat, waved his wand, and chanted a spell.
Nothing happened. Except for the box bursting open a little.
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione immediately switched on her academic mode, beginning to chatter on, displaying the book knowledge she had memorized, and even helpfully fixed Harry's glasses.
"I'm Hermione Granger, who are you?"
"Ron Weasley."
"Harry Potter."
"You're Harry Potter?!" Hermione exclaimed again.
Finally, she looked at Moen, who had been silent all along.
Moen put away his handkerchief, slid the Black Ironwood Wand back into his inner pocket, raised his head, and his deep, black eyes gazed calmly at Hermione.
"Moen White."
He didn't offer any extra self-introduction, but his calm tone carried a confidence that could not be ignored.
The system interface flashed again.
[Scan Target]: Hermione Granger
[Traits Discovered]:
[Blue · Extreme] Academic Mind: The speed of absorbing book knowledge is ten times that of an ordinary person. She is the ruler of exams.
[Purple] Rule Maintainer: She highly respects order and rules, but when necessary, she can break all rules to uphold the justice in her heart.
[Blue] Spell Genius: Precise, standard, textbook-like spellcasting.
"A promising candidate for an excellent Human Resources Director." Moen labeled Hermione in his mind.
"It's nice to meet you all." Hermione stood up, giving Moena complex look, "You'd better change into your robes quickly. I just asked the driver, we're almost there."
After speaking, she turned and left.
Moen looked at the sky gradually darkening outside the window, the distant mountains and lakes looming in the twilight.
Hogwarts, finally arriving.
He touched the wand at his chest and felt the remaining 9 draw opportunities in the system.
"I hope the Sorting Hat can sort me into a good place." Moen whispered to himself, "For example... a place without so many idiots, where I can quietly do research and make money."
"What did you say?" Ron asked with his mouth full of cake.
"I said," Moen stood up, looking at the towering silhouette of the castle outside the window, "we are going to start doing business."
Chapter 9: Signing in at Hogwarts, the Sorting Ceremony Begins
The night was as dark as ink, and the surface of the Black Lake shimmered with cold ripples under the moonlight.
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid stood on the shore, his massive frame like a lighthouse, directing the chattering group of first-year students.
Moen was the first to step onto a small boat, his movements incredibly light. Harry and Ron followed closely behind, and finally, Neville, the round-faced boy who had been looking for his toad, climbed aboard.
"Everyone on board?" Hagrid shouted, occupying a boat all by himself. "Right then... forward!"
The fleet of small boats seemed to come alive, cutting through the calm lake surface and heading toward the towering cliff ahead.
As they rounded the cliff, that classic scene finally unfolded before their eyes.
A massive castle stood atop the mountain, with numerous spires and windows flickering with warm orange light, appearing both mysterious and grand under the starry sky. Hogwarts.
"Wow..."
Harry and Ron let out a synchronized gasp of wonder.
Moen sat at the bow, his deep black eyes reflecting the shadow of the castle.
In that instant, the system in his mind erupted with unprecedented cheers, as if a beggar who hadn't eaten for three days had seen a grand feast.
[Ding!]
[Detected World-Class Core High-magic Node: Hogwarts castle]
[This is the magic hub of the wizarding world, the legacy site of the the Four Founders!]
[Would you like to sign in?]
"Sign in," Moen muttered in his heart, his palm subconsciously gripping the gunwale.
[Sign-in successful!]
[Epic Critical Hit triggered!]
[Congratulations on obtaining Trait]: Ancient Magic Language Proficiency (Gold)
[Description]: You can directly read Runes, Ancient Celtic, and even some Dragon Tongue. Those obscure ancient magic books are as easy for you to understand as a morning newspaper.
[Congratulations on obtaining Passive Skill]: Favor of Hogwarts (Purple · Special)
[Description]: The castle likes you. Your magic recovery speed within the castle is +50%, the probability of getting lost is -90%, and the probability of discovering the Room of Requirement is +100%.
[Congratulations on obtaining Asset]: Hogwarts Board of Governors · Hidden Seat (To be activated)
[Description]: A fragment of an ancient contract. As long as you can collect the remaining parts and inject enough funds, you will become one of the true masters of this school.
Moen's mouth curled up wildly.
Ancient magic Language? That was the foundation for studying advanced magic.
Favor of Hogwarts? This was the home-field advantage.
And that "Board of Governors seat"... "This is what I wanted to see." Moen looked at the approaching castle, the ambition in his eyes no longer hidden. "In this world, nothing is more interesting than becoming a 'rule-maker'."
...Passing through the ivy-covered tunnel and climbing the stone steps, they finally stood before the massive oak doors of the castle.
Hagrid raised his huge fist and knocked three times on the door.
The door swung open immediately.
Professor McGonagall stood behind the door, dressed in emerald-green robes with a stern expression. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her gaze behind her glasses was as sharp as an eagle's.
"The first-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid reported.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take over from here."
Professor McGonagall led the group through the massive entrance hall. Torches blazed along the stone walls, and the ceiling was so high it was almost impossible to see.
Moen walked at the front of the line. As he passed Professor McGonagall, he habitually activated his Mind Palace for analysis.
[Scanning Target]: Minerva McGonagall
[Detected Traits]:
[Gold] Transfiguration Master: She can turn furniture into an army, and she can turn you into a teapot. In this field, she is the authority.
[Blue · Zenith] Strict Educator: Fair, but also fearsome.
[Purple] Animagus (Cat): Agile, sharp, and has nine lives.
"A respectable candidate for Vice President," Moen gave a high evaluation in his heart.
Professor McGonagall took them to an empty room and began to announce the rules for the Sorting.
"Hogwarts has four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin..."
When she mentioned "Slytherin," Moen noticed Ronbeside him curl his lip, while Draco Malfoy in the distance puffed out his chest arrogantly.
"While you are at school, your house will be like your home..."
After a brief introduction, Professor McGonagall left.
"How are we going to be sorted?" Harry asked Ronnervously. "Do we have to take some kind of test? Fredsaid we have to fight a Troll."
"Don't listen to your brother's nonsense," Moen interjected calmly, adjusting his cufflinks. "If we really had to fight a Troll, the enrollment rate at Hogwarts every year would be zero. This is just a personality test, or rather—a mutual selection."
Just then, about twenty ghosts suddenly drifted through the walls.
Pearly-white, translucent bodies floated in the air. The Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Nick... the new students let out a chorus of screams.
Moen narrowed his eyes.
[Scanning Target]: Ghost Group
[Analysis]: Residual soul magnetic fields.
[Traits]: Physical Immunity (Purple), Phasing (Blue), Cold Aura (White).
"If you're not afraid of the cold, these would be perfect surveillance cameras and intelligence networks," Moenthought to himself... "Now, form a single line and follow me." Professor McGonagall had returned.
The doors opened.
The magnificent Great Hall was revealed to everyone. Thousands of candles floating in mid-air illuminated four long tables, where golden plates and goblets sparkled. The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the starry sky outside.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermionewhispered, reciting behind Harry. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Moen walked in the line, feeling the gaze of hundreds of eyes within the Great Hall.
He didn't look around like the other freshmen; instead, he looked straight ahead with a detached expression. His expensive, high-end custom suit and the Black Ironwood Cane in his hand made him stand out like a crane among chickens in this crowd of robe-wearing children.
At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore, seated in the center, was smiling at everyone.
Moen's gaze briefly met that of the white-bearded old man.
In that instant, Moen felt the Mind Palace and Half-Giant Bloodline in his brain tremble violently, as if an invisible mental force wanted to penetrate, but it was immediately repelled by his Violent Will and the high-dimensional laws of the Alchemy Origin.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered slightly, appearing somewhat surprised, and then his smile deepened.
"Legilimency?" Moen withdrew his gaze, his heart beating slightly faster. As expected, in front of the strongest White Wizard, no secret was safe. He would have to be careful in the future.
The Sorting began.
A battered, patched, pointed Wizard's hat was placed on a four-legged stool.
It twitched, a rip opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing that same old song year after year.
After it finished singing, Professor McGonagall began calling names.
"Hannah Abbott!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Hermione Granger!"
Hermione ran up nervously, and as soon as the hat touched her head, it shouted, "Gryffindor!"
The line was shortening.
Moen watched as that Malfoy walked up, and the hat shouted "Slytherin!" before it even touched his scalp.
Chapter 10: Choosing Slytherin and the First "Free" Dinner
Malfoy walked down the stage triumphantly, raising his eyebrows provocatively as he passed Moen.
"Harry Potter!"
A burst of whispers instantly erupted in the Great Hall.
Harry sat on the stool for a long time. Moen knew he was having a debate with the hat about "not going to Slytherin."
"Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in thunderous cheers. The the Weasley twins shouted: "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Finally.
"Moen White!"
Professor McGonagall read out the name.
The Great Hall quieted down slightly. Many people noticed this boy with a unique temperament, who even carried a cane.
Moen walked onto the stage with steady steps. He leaned his cane against the stool and sat down elegantly.
When that hat, smelling of hair oil, covered his vision, the world fell into darkness.
Immediately after, a tiny voice sounded in his mind.
"Hmm... interesting. Very interesting."
"What do I see? A palace? A palace built of pure logic and data... This is a very rare structure in Occlumency. Your mind is terrifyingly mature, child."
"Thank you for the compliment," Moen responded in his mind, "I would be more grateful if you could hurry up. I don't like this feeling of being peered into."
"Don't worry, don't worry." The hat seemed to be chewing on his thoughts, "Let me see... you have the wisdom of Ravenclaw, that thirst for the origin of knowledge, the obsession with Alchemy... If I put you in Ravenclaw, you would become the next great scholar."
"Scholars are usually poor," Moen replied coldly.
"Oh? Then... Hufflepuff? No, no. Although you are hardworking, your diligence is for profit, not for loyalty. You are too shrewd."
"What about Gryffindor? You have courage. Daring to control tens of billions in assets at the age of 11, daring to face magic riots... but your courage lacks recklessness; it's all calculation."
The hat paused, its voice becoming low.
"Then, there's only one left. You have ambition. A huge ambition that wants to devour everything. You want to control the rules, to stand at the top of the pyramid. Half of your bloodline is roaring for power, and the other half of your reason is thirsting for authority."
"Slytherin," the hat whispered, "that place can help you reach the peak. But I must remind you, that house values bloodline very much; your Half-Giant Bloodline might make things difficult for you."
Moen chuckled softly in his mind, a laugh full of contempt and arrogance.
"Make things difficult? No, Mr. Hat."
"It is precisely because it is full of self-righteous pure-blood idiots that it is the best market."
"Since they worship power and strength, I will buy their power and crush their strength."
"Send me there. I'm going to teach those declining nobles what real—Capital Predation—is."
The hat was silent for two seconds, seemingly shocked by the wild words of this 11-year-old boy.
Then, it shouted out the name destined to turn Slytherinupside down:
"Slytherin!!"
Scattered applause rang out from the Slytherin table. The expression on Malfoy's face was as if he had swallowed a fly, both surprised and somewhat disgusted.
On the Gryffindor side, Harry and Ron both showed expressions of disappointment and disbelief.
"How could he go there?" Ron muttered, "He doesn't look like a bad person... although he is a bit scary."
Moen took off the hat and picked up his Black Ironwood Cane.
He ignored the various gazes around him, his mouth wearing that signature indifferent smile, and walked toward the Slytherin table.
He walked straight to the empty seat opposite Malfoy and sat down.
"It seems we are in the same house, Mr. Malfoy," Moensaid slowly and deliberately while adjusting his napkin.
Malfoy glared at him, just about to say something, but Moen put a finger to his lips.
"Shh. The Headmaster is going to speak."
Moen turned his head and looked at Dumbledore on the podium.
His Slytherin career had begun.
And his first step was to turn this house into his private board of directors.
Beside the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was somewhat eerily stagnant.
The opening banquet, which should have been lively, became a bit subtle because of Moen White's arrival. He sat right across from Draco Malfoy, leaning his heavy Black Ironwood Cane casually against the table, making a dull thud as if striking everyone's heart.
"Welcome to Hogwarts."
At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore stood up. His robes of stars and moons in
"Before the banquet begins, I would like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you!"
Dumbledore sat down again, and the whole hall erupted in thunderous applause.
Harry and Ron were laughing uncontrollably at the Gryffindor table, while on the Slytherin side, most students just clapped reservedly, with a mocking expression of "the old madman is having an episode again" on their faces.
Moen didn't applaud.
He was using his Mind Palace to deconstruct the meaning of these four words.
"Nitwit—this is how Ravenclaw sees everyone else, representing the arrogance of intellect."
"Blubber—this is Hufflepuff in the eyes of Gryffindor, representing the prejudice of courage."
"Oddment—this is the half-bloods and Muggles in the eyes of Slytherin, representing the discrimination of bloodline."
"Tweak—this is the change Hufflepuff hopes everyone will make, representing the helplessness of tolerance."
"A very interesting pre-war mobilization." Moen picked up a goblet, a playful curve hooking at the corner of his mouth, "Using seemingly insane language to directly point out the prejudices and barriers between the four houses. This CEO's management art is indeed master-class."
As Dumbledore's voice fell, mountains of food suddenly appeared out of thin air in the gold plates before them: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes... "The teleportation magic of House-elves." Moen forked a medium-rare steak and sliced it elegantly, "Zero labor cost, efficient logistics. If Hogwarts' operating model were placed in the catering industry, it would be an absolute dimensional strike."
Draco Malfoy, opposite him, obviously had no appetite. He was staring fixedly at Moen, trying to kill this "nouveau riche" who had stolen his spotlight with his gaze.
"White." Malfoy finally couldn't help himself; he drawled in his signature way, his grey-blue eyes flashing with malicious light, "You haven't answered my question from earlier. You said your family does business, but I've searched through the 'Pure-Blood Directory' and never heard of any pure-blood family named White. You couldn't be... a Mudblood, could you?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the movements of several upper-year students nearby who were cutting their steaks paused.
Pansy Parkinson, a girl who looked like a pug, let out a shrill sneer. Blaise Zabini, a handsome boy with dark skin, turned his head with interest, waiting for Moen's reaction.
In Slytherin, bloodline was the passport. If Moen was Muggle-born, no matter how much money he had, he would find it difficult to move an inch here.
Moen swallowed the tender and juicy beef in his mouth and picked up a napkin to gently wipe the corners of his mouth.
He lifted his eyelids, those deep black eyes calmly watching Malfoy, without anger, only a coldness like looking at "distressed assets."
"Mr. Malfoy." Moen spoke, his voice not loud, but possessing a strange penetrating power, "Is your father, Lucius Malfoy, currently having a headache over the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office's raid?"
Malfoy's expression changed instantly: "How do you know? You—"
"I also know that the Malfoy family's wealth is mainly concentrated in ancient manors, land, and those Dark Artscollections that cannot see the light of day." Moen swirled the goblet in his hand, the pumpkin juice inside rippling, "In other words, your 'Fixed Assets' are high, but your 'Liquid Capital' is extremely scarce."
"Once the Ministry of Magic freezes your assets or introduces new tax laws, your so-called glory will be like this steak, at the mercy of others."
Moen leaned forward slightly, and that terrifying pressure originating from his Half-Giant Bloodline instantly enveloped Malfoy.
"And I, the White Family," Moen said softly, "possess a cash flow beyond your imagination. I can buy half of Diagon Alley, and I can short the exchange rate of Gringotts at any time. In this world, bloodline determines your starting point, but capital... determines your finish line."
"So, put away your ridiculous sense of superiority. In my eyes, you are just a Trust Fund Baby who could go bankrupt at any time."