Chapter 21: Quidditch Match
"Although you violated the rules, Mr. White." Professor McGonagall looked at him with a complex expression, "But considering you saved three students... ten points to Slytherin."
"Thank you, Professor." Moen White bowed slightly.
As the teachers began to deal with the Troll, Moen Whitenoticed a detail.
There was a distinct tear in the hem of Snape's robes; it was a huge canine bite mark, and black blood was still oozing from the wound.
Fluffy had bitten him.
Moen White's gaze swept toward Quirrell again. This stuttering Professor was huddled in the corner, not daring to look at the Troll, but his flickering eyes were constantly sneaking glances at Snape's leg.
"Very good." Moen White sneered inwardly.
All the actors had arrived.
Snape was trying to stop Quirrell, while Quirrell was looking for an opportunity to break through the defenses on the third floor.
Moen White glanced at the system panel.
[Remaining Draws: 45]
"Not enough yet." Moen White gripped his Black Ironwood Cane tightly, "Need to keep saving up."
As he walked out of the bathroom, Hermione suddenly chased after him.
"White!" She called out to Moen White.
Moen White stopped and turned to the side: "Is something the matter, Miss Granger? If it's about thanking me, why not help me finish this week's History of Magic essay?"
Hermione was stunned for a moment, then blushed: "No... I mean, thank you for saving me. And... that blow you landed earlier, it doesn't conform to common sense physics. Your kinetic energy couldn't possibly generate that much destructive power, unless your bone density is more than five times that of a normal person."
Moen White raised an eyebrow.
As expected of a top student, she saw the essence of the problem at a glance.
"That is a trade secret, Hermione." Moen White called her by her name for the first time, the corners of his mouth curling up, "In this world, some powers cannot be calculated with formulas. If you are interested, you are welcome to come to the Slytherin table to find me—of course, remember to bring your essay."
After speaking, Moen White leaned on his Black Ironwood Cane and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Harry and Ron walked over.
"Did he just call you Hermione?" Ron looked terrified, "Oh my god, you've been targeted by the Slytherin devil."
Hermione looked in the direction where Moen White had disappeared, wiping away her tears thoughtfully.
"Maybe," she said softly, "he isn't as bad as you say. At least... he is more reasonable than a Troll."
November 9th.
Hogwarts welcomed the first match of the Quidditchseason: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
Early in the morning, cold mist shrouded the mountains, and a thick layer of frost covered the grass. But this chill could not cool the fervent atmosphere in the castle.
The Great Hall was filled with the aroma of grilled sausages and hash browns, as well as an extremely intense smell of gunpowder.
"Good luck, Harry." Hermione pushed a glass of milk toward Harry. Although she and Ron had made up, facing the upcoming match, she was still as nervous as if she were the one about to play.
Harry was pale and couldn't eat anything at all.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was completely different.
Moen White was enjoying an exquisite Eggs Benedict. Opposite him, Malfoy was directing Goyle and Crabbe to hide a huge banner that read "Potter Must Lose" under the table.
"Moen, are you really not nervous?" Malfoy couldn't help but ask, watching Moen White's rock-steady hands, which could even elegantly slice open a runny egg yolk.
"Nervousness stems from the uncontrollability of the results." Moen White wiped the corner of his mouth and glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist, "And in my calculations, today's win rate has been locked in at over 80% through equipment suppression. The remaining 20% depends on whether Savior can catch the Golden Snitchbefore getting knocked unconscious by a Bludger."
Moen White stood up, leaving his Black Ironwood Cane on his seat—he didn't need it on the Quidditch pitch, his broom was his weapon.
"Let's go, gentlemen. Time to collect on our return on investment."
At eleven o'clock, the Quidditch pitch was roaring with noise.
The stands were packed with students waving red and gold Gryffindor flags and green and silver Slytherin flags.
Lee Jordan, that Gryffindor commentator, was adjusting the sound in front of the microphone.
In the locker room, Flint looked at his teammates standing before him, wearing brand-new dark green robes and holding Nimbus 2000s, his face flushed with excitement.
"Listen up! This is Slytherin's strongest year!" Flint roared, "We have the best brooms, the best sponsor! Knock those Gryffindor weaklings down!"
The team members let out a beastly howl.
Moen White stood at the back, holding the long black case in his hand. He opened the lock, and the "Black Swan," with its ferocious design and matte metallic texture, was revealed.
He didn't even need a pep talk. He just needed to win.
"Madam Hooch has blown the silver whistle! The match begins!" Lee Jordan's voice echoed throughout the Quidditch pitch, "The Quaffle has been grabbed by Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson! She is an excellent Chaser, and quite charming too—"
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall warned from the side.
"Sorry, Professor. Anyway, she's breaking through with the Quaffle! Wait, who is that? That is—oh my god!"
Lee Jordan's voice suddenly changed pitch.
A black afterimage, accompanied by a low humming sound, instantly tore through the air of the Quidditch pitch.
Not from the side, but directly from behind, chasing down Angelina Johnson like a supersonic fighter jet.
"It's the Slytherin newcomer, Moen White! Merlin's beard, what is he riding? That's not a broom at all, that's a rocket with handles!"
Moen White lowered his body; the terrifying power brought by the [Half-Giant Bloodline] allowed him to perform micro-maneuvers on that heavy broom.
"Sorry, miss. This road is closed."
Moen White swung the tail sharply, and the iron-hard tail nozzle of the "Black Swan" slammed hard against Angelina Johnson's broomstick.
It wasn't a foul collision, but a utilization of airflow and vibration.
Angelina Johnson only felt her hand go numb, and the Quaffle slipped from her grasp.
Moen White scooped it up with one hand, and the red Quaffle landed steadily in his palm.
"Counterattack!" Moen White shouted in a low voice.
At this moment, the advantage of Slytherin's six Nimbus 2000s became apparent. Flint and Warrington plunged toward the Gryffindor penalty area like two sharp knives.
Moen White did not pass the ball.
He activated the "Magic Boost Valve" on the [Black Swan].
Boom! Blue exhaust flames spewed out.
Like a black cannonball, he charged directly toward the Gryffindor Keeper, Wood.
Wood looked at the black figure that seemed intent on killing, and cold sweat instantly broke out. He remembered Harry's description during the training match: "He will smash you and your broom to pieces."
Wood instinctively flinched.
That was all it took.
Moen White, ten feet from the goal, threw the ball with force.
Augmented by [Half-Giant Strength].
The Quaffle let out a shrill whistle as it broke through the air, like a red meteor, grazing Wood's ear and smashing into the hoop!
"Slytherin scores! 10 to 0!" Lee Jordan shouted reluctantly, "This... this is simply the aesthetics of violence. White's speed is too fast; the Gryffindor Nimbus brooms can't even catch up to him!"
In the stands, Slytherin erupted in thunderous cheers. Malfoy was down there screaming until he was hoarse.
Chapter 22: Losing is Also Winning
The next ten minutes were practically Moen's personal show.
He didn't need teamwork because no one could keep up with his speed. He didn't need to dodge the Bludgers because the armor of the [Black Swan] could deflect them directly.
30 to 0.
50 to 0.
80 to 0.
Gryffindor fell into despair. Their Seeker, Harry Potter, was circling high in the air, anxiously searching for the Golden Snitch. He knew that only by catching the Golden Snitchcould he end this slaughter.
Just then, something unexpected happened.
Harry's broom suddenly began to shake violently.
It was like a bucking bronco, trying to throw Harry off. Harry clung tightly to the broom handle, tumbling in the air, looking as if he might fall at any moment.
"Harry's broom is out of control!" Hermione screamed from the stands.
Hagrid, holding his binoculars, said anxiously, "Impossible! Nothin' can interfere with that broom unless it's got Dark Arts on it itself!"
Moen had just scored a goal and was hovering in mid-air, enjoying the cheers.
[Dynamic Vision Enhancement (Blue · Peak)] allowed him to keenly catch Harry's abnormality.
He turned his head, his gaze crossing half the pitch to look at the teachers' stands.
There.
Professor Quirrell was staring intently at Harry, muttering under his breath.
And Professor Snape was also staring at Harry, likewise muttering, though he was chanting a counter-curse.
"As expected, it's started." Moen's eyes turned cold.
If Harry fell to his death, the plot for the Philosopher's Stone would collapse. If Harry didn't die but the match was suspended, Slytherin's victory would be diminished.
"I must interrupt the casting."
Moen glanced at Harry, who was struggling to maintain his balance, and then at the distant teachers' stands.
Hermione seemed to have discovered Snape's 'abnormality' and was preparing to set a fire.
"The little girl is moving too slowly." Moen shook his head. "At a time like this, we need a little 'accident'."
Moen suddenly pulled up the nose of his broom.
"Flint!" he roared. "Cover me! I'm going to do a loop!"
Before Flint could understand what he meant, Moen had already activated the pressure boost again.
This time, he didn't charge toward the goal hoops.
Pretending to chase a Quaffle that had been knocked away, he adjusted his course and charged straight—toward the teachers' stands.
His speed got faster and faster.
The [Black Swan] let out an overburdened roar.
"What is he doing?!" Professor McGonagall stood up in horror. "White! Those are the stands! Stop at once!"
Moen did not stop.
He silently counted down in his mind.
3, 2, 1.
Just when he was less than five meters from the stands, and all the Professors were so terrified they had pulled out their wands to defend themselves—
Moen slammed his broom down to the left, performing an extremely dangerous 90-degree sharp turn.
BOOM—!!!
The airflow thrown out by the massive centrifugal force, combined with the burst of the alchemy engine's tail flame, formed a visible shockwave that slammed hard into the stands!
Crash!
The railings in front of the teachers' stands buzzed from the impact of the airflow.
The Professors' robes were blown over their faces by the gale.
Quirrell, who was concentrated on casting the jinx, was directly knocked over by this sudden shockwave. He toppled backward, landing right on Professor Flitwick in the back row.
Casting interrupted!
At the same time, using the reaction force, Moen drew a perfect arc in the air and steadily caught the Quaffle that 'happened' to fly over.
"Sorry, Professors!" Moen shouted loudly in the air, his voice devoid of any apology. "The brakes failed a bit! This damn German engineering!"
On the stands, Quirrell scrambled up miserably, his nose bumped red, staring at Moen in the air with a venomous gaze. But he didn't dare lash out, because it looked entirely like an accident caused by 'chasing the ball too aggressively.'
Only Snape, after tidying his messy robes, gave Moen a deep look.
That airflow just now... the angle was so precise it cut off his line of sight to Harry. Was this kid doing it on purpose?
High in the air, Harry's broom instantly returned to normal.
"I'm okay!" Harry shouted in surprise.
At the same time, a golden flash streaked past his eyes.
The Golden Snitch!
Harry hesitated no longer, leaning low and diving toward the ground.
The Slytherin Seeker, Higgs, also spotted it, and the two raced neck and neck.
"Ram him!" Moen ordered coldly from a distance.
But it was too late.
Harry made a death-defying move. He stood up on his broom and lunged forward like an acrobat.
He hit the ground, rolled a few times, and then made a retching motion.
A tiny, golden, saliva-covered ball fell into his hand.
"He's caught the Golden Snitch!" Lee Jordan bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch! One hundred and fifty points! Gryffindor wins!"
The whole place erupted.
Gryffindor students rushed onto the pitch and tossed Harry into the air.
The Slytherin players, however, were like frost-bitten eggplants, landing dejectedly. Their 80 to 0 lead had instantly turned into an 80 to 170 defeat because of one Golden Snitch.
Flint slammed his broom onto the ground. "Damn it! We were so close!"
Moen landed slowly.
He carried the still-steaming 'Black Swan,' his face showing no frustration from the defeat.
He glanced at Harry, surrounded by the crowd, then at his system panel.
[Daily Check-in Complete: Quidditch pitch (Debut)]
[Reward Obtained: Gacha Pulls +2]
[Remaining Pulls: 48]
"Lost the match, won at life." Moen patted Flint's shoulder, his tone calm. "Don't be discouraged, Captain. At least we proved one thing—on the main battlefield, no one is our match. As for that Golden Snitch..."
Moen glanced at Quirrell in the distance, who was clutching his nose.
"...that was a necessary price to pay to protect something more important."
If Harry fell to his death, who would help him clear the stages to get the Philosopher's Stone?
This match, in his eyes, was nothing more than an armed exercise to protect a 'core asset.'
"Let's go, Malfoy." Moen beckoned to the dumbfounded Malfoy on the stands. "Go tell the kitchen to open champagne in the Slytherin Common Room tonight. To celebrate our possession of the school's strongest firepower."
"But we lost..." Malfoy said weakly.
"What we lost was the score; what we won was dominance." Moen tossed his cane to Malfoy to carry, hands in his pockets, his back looking solitary and proud. "Remember, some victories aren't on the scoreboard."
That night, despite losing the match, the SlytherinCommon Room was exceptionally lively. Because Moenfulfilled his promise—unlimited Butterbeer and Honeydukes' sweets.
And the legend of 'Moen White nearly knocking over the teachers' stands' became a topic of conversation even more popular than 'Harry swallowing the Golden Snitch.'
No one knew that in that seemingly reckless collision, an eleven-year-old boy had just saved The Boy Who Livedfrom the hands of Voldemort.
Chapter 23: The Deathly Hallows
December 25th, Christmas.
Hogwarts was covered in thick snow, and the Black Lakewas frozen solid.
The early morning sunlight shone on the snow-covered towers, reflecting a blinding glare.
The Slytherin common room was empty. Most students had gone home for the holidays, including Draco Malfoy.
"I don't want to go back, Moen," Malfoy had complained before leaving. "I want to stay at school and watch Pottermake a fool of himself. I heard Weasley doesn't even have the money to go home."
"Go back, Draco." Moen had been sitting by the fire reading at the time, not even looking up. "Christmas is the best time to maintain family connections. You need to appear at the Malfoy Manor dinner, give my regards to your father, and incidentally hand him that proposal regarding the 'Gringotts Exchange Rate Reform.' That is far more important than watching Potter's jokes."
So, Malfoy obediently packed his bags and left.
Now, Moen was the only one left in the entire Slytherinfirst-year dormitory.
"Peace and quiet."
Moen sat up from his bed and stretched.
The foot of his bed was piled high with presents.
Most were sent from home: expensive custom suits, the latest Alchemy equipment, and a report from his father about the smooth progress of acquisitions in the Soviet Union.
Professor Snape sent a copy of the out-of-print "Moste Potente Potions." Although it wasn't signed, that unique herbal scent gave him away.
Hagrid sent a large box of homemade fudge that was as hard as rocks.
Moen quickly finished unwrapping his gifts, finished washing up, changed into a deep green cashmere sweater, took his Black Ironwood Cane that never left his side, and walked out of the dungeons.
His goal was clear: Gryffindor Tower... In the Gryffindorcommon room, Harry and Ron were wearing pullovers knitted by Molly Weasley, sitting by the fire opening presents.
"There's even one from Moen," Harry said in surprise, picking up an exquisite little silver box.
Upon opening it, inside was a pair of finely crafted windproof goggles, with runes for automatic defogging and night vision engraved on the lenses.
"'To the best Seeker, I hope you can see the Golden Snitchclearly even in a blizzard. — Your sponsor, M.W.'" Harryread the card, feeling a warmth in his heart. "He's really generous."
"I got something too," Ron said indistinctly, his mouth stuffed with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "An entire box of premium owl treats for Scabbers. He said Scabbersis too thin and needs some nourishment."
In Ron's pocket, the rat named Scabbers was shivering. It could sense that the box of treats wasn't poisoned, but that was exactly what terrified it the most—why would that demon be so kind to a rat?
Just then, the hole behind the portrait of The Fat Ladyopened.
"I hope I haven't arrived too late, gentlemen."
Moen walked in.
The Gryffindor common room was like his own back garden to him, as long as he knew the password or used a few little tricks.
"Moen! Merry Christmas!" Harry jumped up happily.
"Merry Christmas." Moen nodded with a smile, his gaze sweeping over the wrapping paper on the floor, finally settling on the pile of silvery-gray, fluid-like fabric at Harry's feet.
The Invisibility Cloak.
One of the Deathly Hallows.
Legend says it is a corner cut from Death's own cloak.
Moen's pupils contracted slightly.
The system in his mind began to alarm frantically.
[Warning! Warning!]
[Mythical-level Law Item detected!]
[Item Name]: Invisibility Cloak
[Source]: Deathly Hallows
[Energy Level]: Gold (Mythical · Complete Form)
"What is that?" Moen asked knowingly, pointing at the pile of fabric.
"I don't know either," Harry said, picking it up; the fabric flowed through his fingers like water. "It came with a letter, unsigned. It says it was left by my dad."
"Try it on," Moen encouraged.
Harry draped the cloak over himself. His body vanished instantly, leaving only a head suspended in mid-air.
"Whoa!" Ron exclaimed in awe. "It's an Invisibility Cloak! That's an extremely rare treasure!"
"Rare indeed."
Moen stepped forward and reached out.
"Mind if I take a look at the material? From an alchemical perspective."
"Of course not." Harry generously took off the cloak and handed it to Moen.
As Moen's fingers touched that cool, silky texture like ripples of water, he felt as if he were touching not fabric, but some kind of woven 'rules'.
[Contact successful!]
[Analyzing...]
[This is a perfect shroud. It not only obscures light, but also magic, scent, and even causality. It is Death's blind spot.]
[Current remaining extraction attempts: 65]
[Perform extraction?]
Note: Due to the extremely high level of this item and its 'indestructible' trait, the extraction success rate is extremely low. It is recommended to enable 'Probability Stacking' mode.
Moen's fingers gently rubbed the edge of the cloak.
He was hesitating.
To extract or not?
If he threw all 65 attempts into it, there was a high probability he could extract a god-tier trait like [Permanent Invisibility] or [Presence Erasure].
But if he used them for this, what about the Philosopher's Stone?
The Philosopher's Stone concerned the completion of the [Alchemy Origin] and his control over the fundamental powers of this world. While the Invisibility Cloak was powerful, it was more of a support item.
"Hold back."
Moen took a deep breath.
"Rather than hiding, I prefer to stand at the forefront and control everything."
"What an exquisite weaving technique," Moen praised, returning the cloak to Harry. A fleeting trace of greed flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly suppressed by reason. "This is definitely no ordinary item, Harry. Keep it safe, don't let Filch confiscate it."
[Since the host has waived extraction, the system automatically records the law fluctuations.]
[Passive Buff Gained]: True Sight (Able to see through low-level invisibility spells and Disillusionment Charms).
"Consider this a consolation prize," Moen smiled to himself... Late at night.
The castle had fallen into a deep sleep.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry slipped out wearing the Invisibility Cloak. He wanted to go to the Restricted Section to look for information on Nicolas Flamel.
And in the shadows, another pair of eyes was watching him.
Moen was not sleeping. Dressed in a black dressing gown and holding his Black Ironwood Cane, he followed unhurriedly behind Harry, relying on his True Sight and the acute hearing of his Half-Giant Bloodline.
He watched Harry nearly get caught by Filch and saw him duck into an abandoned classroom in a panic.
Once the sound of Filch's footsteps faded, Moen stepped out from the shadows and pushed open the door.
The classroom was filled with discarded desks and chairs, but in the center stood a magnificent mirror, reaching up to the ceiling, with a golden frame and two claw-shaped feet at the bottom.
The Mirror of Erised.
Harry was kneeling before the mirror, staring into it blankly, tears streaming down his face.
"Dad... Mom..." Harry whispered to himself.
Moen did not disturb him. He knew how cruel and yet how precious this moment was for an orphan.
He stood quietly at the door until Harry finally came to his senses and discovered Moen behind him.
"Moen? You can see me?" Harry was still wearing the Invisibility Cloak.
"I can't see you, but I can hear your breathing, Harry," Moenlied, walking into the classroom. "What are you looking at?"
"My parents." Harry pointed at the mirror, his voice excited. "And my family... they're all inside. Moen, you come look too! Maybe you can see your family?"
Moen walked to the mirror and stood beside Harry.
Harry stepped aside: "Do you see it?"
Chapter 24: Ambition in the Mirror
Moen raised his head and looked at the mirror's surface, smooth as water.
He asked himself in his heart, "What do I desire?"
"To return to my past life? No, that world was boring to the extreme."
"Billions in assets? I already have that."
"Invincible power? That is merely a means, not the end."
The mirror's surface rippled, and the mist dissipated.
Moen saw himself.
But not the self of now.
The Moen in the mirror wore a robe as black as night, and in his hand, he held not a wand, but a shifting, unpredictable mass of "Laws" flickering with golden light.
Behind him, Hogwarts castle floated in the clouds, and countless Wizards bowed their heads in salute.
Beneath his feet, mountains of Galleons and the Philosopher's Stone served merely as a foundation.
And on his left side stood the Three-headed dog, which had been completely analyzed and was now like an obedient puppy; on his right side floated countless orbs of characteristics that he had extracted and fused.
He saw it—absolute control.
Not becoming a god, but making the entire world operate according to his will.
"This really is... an undisguised ambition." Moen smiled self-deprecatingly in his heart.
"What do you see?" Harry asked curiously.
"Me?" Moen withdrew his gaze, his expression returning to indifference. "I see myself buying Gringotts and firing that whole bunch of annoying Goblins."
Harry was stunned for a moment, then laughed, "That sounds just like your style."
Just then, a calm voice sounded from the darkness.
"That is its magic, isn't it? Making people indulge in an illusion that does not exist."
Harry jumped up in fright, his Invisibility Cloak slipping off.
Moen, however, showed no surprise; he turned around and bowed slightly to the white-bearded old man in the corner.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."
Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the shadows and sat on a table.
"Good evening, Mr. White, and Mr. Potter." Dumbledorelooked at the two through his half-moon spectacles. "It seems you, like thousands of students before you, have discovered the pleasures of the Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't see you, Professor." Harry stammered.
"You don't need an Invisibility Cloak to be invisible." Dumbledore said gently, then his gaze turned to Moen.
That feeling of being scanned by X-rays returned.
"Mr. White," Dumbledore asked softly, "You said just now that you saw Gringotts?"
Moen looked straight into Dumbledore's azure blue eyes.
He knew that in front of this old fox, lying required nine parts truth and one part falsehood.
"Not entirely, Professor." Moen said calmly. "Actually, I also saw that I had monopolized the entire magical world's Potion market, and Professor Snape was working for me."
Dumbledore was taken aback for a moment, then burst into a hearty laugh.
"Hahaha! Severus working for you? That is truly the most interesting wish I have ever heard." Dumbledore wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. "However, Mr. White, ambition is a good thing, but if ambition is too great, sometimes one can lose their way."
"Ambition is merely fuel, Professor." Moen replied calmly, his tone carrying a maturity beyond his years. "Reason is the steering wheel. As long as I don't lose control, this car can go faster than anyone else's."
Dumbledore put away his smile and looked deeply at this first-year Slytherin student.
He saw the shadow of that person in Moen—Tom Riddle.
Talented, ambitious, and extremely confident.
But he also saw a difference.
Tom was cold and destructive.
And Moen... he seemed more like a shrewd builder. What he wanted was order and prosperity, not mere destruction.
"Very well." Dumbledore nodded. "This mirror will be moved to a new location tomorrow. Harry, I do not wish for you to seek it out again. Indulging in illusory dreams while forgetting real life is of no benefit."
"As for you, Mr. White."
Dumbledore stood up, his robes fluttering in the moonlight.
"I hear you are collecting characteristics? Or perhaps... some kind of observational talent?"
Moen's heart skipped a beat.
The old bee had discovered it?
"Everyone has a way of observing the world, Professor." Moen tightened his grip on his wand, keeping his composure. "I am just better at summarizing and concluding."
"Of course, of course." Dumbledore winked. "If you are interested in Alchemy, perhaps we can chat later. After all, Nicolas Flamel is an old friend of mine."
Having said that, Dumbledore waved his hand, signaling them to go back to sleep.
Moen and Harry walked out of the classroom.
In the hallway, Moen's back was already soaked.
That hint just now about "Nicolas Flamel" was by no means a casual remark. Dumbledore was testing him, and might even have guessed his interest in the Philosopher's Stone.
"But that doesn't matter."
Moen looked at the moon outside the window, a crazy smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"Since you have invited me, Professor."
"Then I must not miss out on this Philosopher's Stone."
[Remaining Draws: 65]
Time until the final challenge: 5 months.
"Save up to 100 draws." Moen set a goal in his heart. "I want to show Dumbledore what is called—hostile takeover."
April.
Spring at Hogwarts came a bit late, but it arrived eventually. The snow around the castle melted, the water level of the Black Lake rose, and the lawn on the grounds turned emerald green again.
In the library, the air became restless.
The Easter holidays had just passed, and everyone was worrying about the final exams.
Hermione Granger had entered "Berserker Review Mode," creating a minute-by-minute study plan for Harry and Ron, and even attempting to shove one at Moen.
"No need, Miss Granger."
Moen sat by the window, holding a book titled "Principles of Advanced Alchemy," the sunlight spilling onto his dark green robes. He had grown a head taller since entering school, and that Black Ironwood Cane still rested by his side.
"Compared to reciting the 'Werewolf Code of Conduct,' I am more concerned about whether the recent GringottsGoblin strike will affect the import prices of Potioningredients."
Moen closed the book and glanced at the system panel.
[Current Remaining Draws: 88]
[Distance to "100-Draw Guarantee": 12 more]
Over the past few months, he had been hoarding every opportunity like a miser. Except for using a few draws during Snape's Potions Class to steal a few key techniques, he had almost managed to "only sign in, no drawing cards."
"Almost there." Moen looked at Hagrid's hut outside the window. "Once that big guy is born, plus the final challenge, I will be able to scrape together the chips for a one-hit kill."
Just then, a streak of inconspicuous black smoke rose from the direction of Hagrid's hut.
Immediately after, a huge hound, Fang, ran to the entrance of the castle with a piece of parchment hanging around his neck.
Harry took one look, his expression changed, and he immediately leaned over to Moen and whispered, "Hagridsays—it's about to hatch."
Moen's eyes lit up instantly.
Dragon.
One of the top-tier creatures in the magical world.
Every part of it was a treasure: dragon hide, dragon blood, dragon heartstring, dragon liver... In the eyes of an Alchemist, that was not a creature at all, but a walking vault of gold.
"Let's go." Moen stood up and grabbed his wand. "Let's go see our 'new project'."
Chapter 25: The Birth of the Norwegian Ridgeback
Hagrid's hut was as hot as a sauna.
A roaring fire burned in the fireplace; Hagrid, dripping with sweat, was pouring tea for Harry, Ron, and Hermione with his large, trembling hands.
"Look, it's coming out!" Hagrid pointed to the middle of the table.
The dark, bowling-ball-sized egg lay on the table, already covered in cracks. A clicking sound, like coins scraping against metal, echoed from within.
Moen stood by the table; despite the extreme temperature inside, he wasn't sweating. The [Half-Giant Bloodline] granted him incredible environmental adaptability.
He activated [True Sight].
Inside the eggshell, a mass of violent fire elements was condensing. It was an energy more primal and savage than ordinary magic.
"Crack."
The eggshell burst open.
A creature looking like a crumpled black umbrella crawled out. It had spiny wings, a long snout, and White smoke was puffing from its nostrils.
A Norwegian Ridgeback.
"Oh, isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid reached out a hand; the dragonet immediately snapped at his fingers, baring sharp fangs. "Look, he knows his mummy!"
"Hermione, remember this case," Moen commented coldly from the side. "This is a classic example of 'blindly holding high-risk assets.' Keeping a Dragon in a wooden hut without a breeding permit or fire-safety facilities—Mr. Hagrid is shorting his own career."
"Stop it, Moen," Hermione said, looking nervously out the window. "This is illegal! If someone finds out..."
"For instance—those little mice who like to eavesdrop?"
Moen suddenly turned around, his Black Ironwood Canesnapping toward the gap in the curtains.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A grey light shot from the tip of the wand, passing through the gap in the curtains and hitting the figure peeping from the windowsill outside.
"Thud."
A dull thud followed, as if something had fallen stiffly into the pumpkin patch.
Harry and Ron jumped: "Who's out there?"
"Our old friend."
Moen pushed open the door and walked out.
In the pumpkin patch, Draco Malfoy was frozen in a comical pose—hands gripping the windowsill, face pressed against the glass, yet his body lay in the mud like a statue, with only his grey-blue eyes darting around in terror.
"Good afternoon, Draco."
Moen looked down at him, lightly tapping Malfoy's stiff cheek with his wand.
"It seems Slytherin's etiquette classes didn't teach you that peeping at others' trade secrets is immoral."
Inside, Hagrid's face went pale upon seeing Malfoy. "Malfoy! It's over, he saw Norbert! I'm going to be sent to Azkaban!"
Harry and Ron panicked too. If Malfoy reported this, Hagridwas finished.
"Don't panic," Moen turned to the room and said. "Leave it to me."
He turned back to Malfoy on the ground, a devilish smile curling his lips.
"Finite Incantatem," Moen waved his wand.
Malfoy gasped for air and scrambled up from the ground, brushing off the mud while snarling viciously, "I'm telling my father! I'm telling Dumbledore! That big oaf is keeping a Dragon! You're all finished! Especially you, White—you're actually covering for him!"
"Go ahead."
Moen didn't stop him; instead, he stepped aside to clear a path.
"What?" Malfoy blinked.
"I said, go ahead and report it," Moen said calmly. "But before you go, I'd like to settle an account with you."
Moen pulled a piece of parchment from his robes; it was the financial statement for the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"If Hagrid is arrested, the Dragon will be confiscated by the Ministry of Magic. As for me, the accomplice, I'll get some points deducted and a detention at most. After all, there are still reasonable people on the Board of Governors."
Moen took a step closer, his voice low:
"But, Draco... if you dare ruin my'source of Alchemymaterials'..."
"Alchemy materials?" Malfoy was stunned.
"Why do you think I let Hagrid raise it?" Moen lied without blinking. "This is a secret Alchemy experiment. I'm researching Twelve New Uses for Dragon Blood, involving millions of Galleons in patent fees."
"If you let the Ministry take it away, I'll charge that loss to the Malfoy family."
Moen's wand tapped lightly against Malfoy's chest:
"I will withdraw funding from the Slytherin team, take back all the Nimbus 2000s and your custom broom. Furthermore, for the next seven years, I will use all my influence in the financial world to target your father's business."
"Do you think Mr. Lucius Malfoy cares more about the fate of a Gamekeeper, or his family vault shrinking by half?"
Malfoy's face went from pale to ghostly White.
Though he was a spoiled child, he had been raised in an environment where he understood exactly what "vault shrinking by half" meant.
"You... you lunatic," Malfoy hissed. "That's illegal!"
"That's business," Moen corrected.
Malfoy struggled for a long time before finally stamping his foot in frustration. "Fine! I won't tell the Ministry! But I... I'm telling Professor McGonagall! This is a breach of school rules! I don't believe you'd dare threaten Professor McGonagall too!"
With that, Malfoy fled in a panic.
"Let him go," Moen said, watching Malfoy's retreating back without stopping him.
Because the plot required it.
If he didn't let Malfoy report them, there would be no "Forbidden Forest detention" later, and he wouldn't have the chance to encounter the slain Unicorn or meet Voldemort again on that special night.
Unicorns weren't something you could just encounter whenever you wanted; the Ministry prohibited private sales, and he had tried to buy one before the term started, but there was no supply.
Only in the "Restock Forest" were there such abundant resources.
Everything was going according to plan.
Back inside, Hagrid was still shaking.
"Thank you, Moen. But I still have to send him away... he's growing too fast."
Moen looked at the fire-breathing dragonet.
Norbert.
"Before sending him away, Hagrid," Moen walked toward the table, "do you mind if I check his development?"
"Of course, of course," Hagrid said, wiping his sweat.
Moen reached out; this time, he wasn't wearing gloves.
When the dragonet saw Moen's hand, its fierce gaze suddenly became a bit dazed.
[Magical Creature Affinity (Purple)] took effect.
In the dragonet's eyes, this human carried the scent of its own kind—and a very strong one at that.
It didn't bite Moen; instead, it stretched out its head and rubbed against Moen's palm, its scales burning hot.
[Contact Successful!]
[Detected High-Tier Magical Creature: Norwegian Ridgeback (Infant)]
[Consume an extraction charge?]
Moen hesitated for a second.
Although he was saving up charges, a creature like a Dragon was too rare.
If he missed this chance, he'd have to go to Romania to touch a live Dragon in the future.
Chapter 26: The Difficulty of Surviving the System's Newbie Protection Period
"Draw once. Just once."
[Consumed draw count x 1]
[Remaining count: 87]
[Parsing...]
[Judgment successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Primary Fire Immunity (Purple)
[Description]: An invisible magical insulation layer has formed on your skin surface. Ordinary flames like torches or campfires cannot burn you, and you can take eggs out of boiling water with your bare hands. You have weak resistance to Dark Arts flames such as Fiendfyre.
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)
[Description]: This is a type of aura. When you are angry, lower-order creatures will feel instinctive fear.
"Worth it."
Moen felt the cool sensation on his skin; the originally scorching furnace fire now felt like the warm sun of spring to him.
"It is very healthy, Hagrid." Moen withdrew his hand and nodded with satisfaction, "And, its fire sac has developed very well."
In the following days, the situation developed according to Moen's script.
Malfoy indeed didn't dare to go to the Ministry of Magic, but instead secretly told Professor McGonagall.
The result was, one late night in May.
Harry and Hermione brought the Invisibility Cloak to try to send away the dragon, Neville wanted to come and report the news, and Malfoy was deliberately left alone by Moen; the four of them were caught red-handed by Professor McGonagall.
Gryffindor was deducted one hundred and fifty points.
Harry went from being Savior to the public enemy of the entire school.
And Moen, as the mastermind behind all this, was sitting in the Slytherin common room, watching the rubies in that huge hourglass clatter away, while the emeralds were far in the lead.
"Now, the House Cup is also within my grasp."
But he knew, the real test was still ahead.
The Forbidden Forest.
That was the next important node in his plan.
"System." Moen looked at the dark Forbidden Forest in the direction outside the window, "Get ready. Next time we go there, what we are hunting is not just traits."
"We are going to meet an old friend."
May 26th, late at night.
The Hogwarts castle fell into slumber again, but for a few unlucky ones, tonight was destined to be sleepless.
In the entrance hall, Filch held that dim oil lamp, looking at the five students in front of him with a gloating face: Harry, Hermione, Neville, Malfoy, and... Moen White, who was wearing a black hunting outfit convenient for movement and playing with a wand in his hand.
"Follow me." Filch lit the oil lamp, his wrinkled face full of malice, "If it were me, I would hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for days and nights. But the current punishment... Hmph, consider yourselves lucky, or perhaps unlucky."
"Where are we going?" Malfoy's voice trembled, "To the Forbidden Forest? There are Werewolves in there!"
"That is a matter for you to worry about." Filch pushed open the oak doors.
Moen walked at the very back, his expression calm.
These past few days, he hadn't been idle.
To verify the drop rate of "High-level Traits," he specially went to shake hands with the dueling champion Professor Flitwick, and pretended to fall and bump into Professor McGonagall.
The result was very touching.
[Extraction Log]:
Target: Filius Flitwick
Extracted Trait: Spell Master (Gold)
Base probability: 0.5%
Result: (Obtained consolation prize: Levitation Charmproficiency + 1) Failure
Target: Minerva McGonagall
Extracted Trait: Animagus Inspiration (Purple)
Base probability: 2%
Result: (Your hand was shocked by static electricity) Failure
Moen realized profoundly that the previous "good luck" might really have been the newbie protection period. Now the system had entered the real "random mode," with no guaranteed minimums, just deep pitfalls.
"This is why I wanted to save up that pile of attempts." Moen glanced at the panel.
[Remaining extraction attempts: 92]
The reason he voluntarily applied for detention tonight, citing that he had blown up an inconsequential cauldron in Potions Class—which Snape didn't believe but approved anyway—was precisely for that thing in the Forbidden Forest.
...
Edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid was waiting there with a huge crossbow and Fang.
"We need to split up." Hagrid pointed to a pool of glittering silver liquid on the ground, "That is the blood of a Unicorn. Something has wounded it. Our task is to find that poor creature."
"I'm not going." Malfoy screamed, "I heard it too! That's the sound of a Werewolf!"
"That is the sound of the wind, coward." Moen interrupted him coldly, "If you want to stay here and feed Filch's cat, be my guest."
In the end, the team split into two groups.
Hagrid took Hermione and Neville along one path.
Moen, Harry, Malfoy, and Fang took the other path.
"Why do I have to be in a group with Potter?" Malfoycomplained, clutching the oil lamp tightly.
"Because you need someone to act as bait." Moen walked in the lead, his Black Ironwood Cane pushing aside the thorny brambles, "And Harry Potter is the brightest light bulb in this forest."
Harry: "..."
They followed the bloodstains deeper.
The trees became denser and denser, and the surroundings were terrifyingly quiet, with only the crisp sound of dry branches being snapped underfoot.
Suddenly, a rustling sound appeared in the clearing ahead.
A half-man, half-horse creature walked out. He had red hair and a beard, and his lower body was a reddish-brown horse body.
Ronan.
"Mars is bright tonight." Ronan looked up at the sky, his voice low.
Moen narrowed his eyes. A Centaur. A highly intelligent creature skilled in astrology and prophecy.
"Good evening." Moen stepped forward and proactively extended his hand, "I am Moen White. Regarding tonight's celestial phenomena, do you have any specific interpretation?"
Ronan looked down at this human cub, hesitated for a moment, and extended that rough, large hand.
[Contact successful!]
[Target detected: Centaur]
[Extractable traits]: Astrological Prophecy (Purple), Natural Archer (Blue)
Moen silently recited in his heart: "Extract Astrological Prophecy."
[Attempts invested: 1]
[Probability judgment in progress... 1.5%...]
[Result: Failure.]
Moen's expression remained unchanged: "Draw again."
[Attempts invested: 1]
[Result: Failure.]
"Draw again."
[Attempts invested: 1]
[Result: Failure.]
Failed three times in a row.
Moen let go of his hand, the corner of his eye twitching slightly.
This is reality.
No guaranteed minimums; the drop rate for purple traits is hideously low.
I really am a person with terrible luck; even after transmigrating, it's still the same.
"The forest hides secrets." Ronan withdrew his hand, still using that cryptic, shaman-like line, "Especially where the innocent have bled."
After speaking, he turned and disappeared into the woods.
"Damn shaman." Moen cursed in his heart, "Wasting three of my chances for nothing."
This made him even more vigilant. Tonight's target is the Unicorn, which is a gold or even legendary-level existence; if the drop rate remains like this, he might end up losing everything he has.
"Keep moving." Moen ordered.
After walking for about half an hour, there was more and more silver blood on the ground.
Finally, in a clearing, they saw that tragic scene.
Chapter 27: Wealth Sought in Peril
A creature glowing with a pure white light lay on the ground, its long legs frozen in the posture of a final struggle before death.
Its mane was spread across the rotting leaves like pearls.
It was dead.
A Unicorn.
"It... it's dead." Harry walked over, feeling sad.
"Don't move." Moen suddenly reached out to stop Harry, his voice extremely low.
A slick, spine-chilling sound came from the shadows.
A hooded figure, like a Giant reptile, crawled slowly along the ground.
It reached the side of the Unicorn's carcass, lowered its head, and began to greedily suck the silver blood from the wound.
Malfoy let out a shrill scream, dropped the oil lamp, and ran for his life.
Fang also tucked his tail and fled.
Harry froze in place, his scar hurting violently, causing him to clutch his forehead and drop to his knees.
The figure raised its head.
Its mouth was full of silver blood, like a demon from hell.
It saw Harry, immediately abandoned the Unicorn, and slithered over like a snake.
That was Voldemort.
Moen did not run.
He gripped his Black Ironwood Cane tightly, his heart beating violently.
It was not because of fear, but because of greed.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The Unicorn had just died, and its spiritual essence had not yet dissipated.
And Voldemort was approaching, which meant if he didn't hurry, he might die.
"Wealth is sought in peril."
Moen lunged forward, blocking Harry.
But he did not attack Voldemort; instead, in the split second before Voldemort could pounce, he pressed his left hand firmly onto the still-warm carcass of the Unicorn!
[Contact Successful!]
[Target]: Unicorn (Carcass/Cursed Status)
[Grade]: Gold (Legendary · Fallen)
[Warning! Detected that this creature has been tainted by Dark Arts and belongs to a sacred creature, base extraction success rate: 0.001%]
One in a hundred thousand?
How is this any different from buying a lottery ticket?
Voldemort had closed to within five meters, and that stench of rot rushed toward him.
Moen's eyes became wild.
"System! Activate Probability Stacking Mode!"
"Give it everything!"
[Attempt Count: 10... Success rate increased to 0.1%... Judgment Failed.]
[Attempt Count: 10... Success rate increased to 0.5%... Judgment Failed.]
[Attempt Count: 10... Success rate increased to 1.2%... Judgment Failed.]
Cold sweat beaded on Moen's forehead.
Thirty times! A full thirty times!
Adding the previous waste, his inventory was shrinking rapidly.
Was he going to return empty-handed tonight?
"Add twenty more!" Moen roared in his heart.
Voldemort reached out his pale hand, grabbing for Moen's neck.
[Attempt Count: 20... Success rate increased to 15%...]
[Random number generation: 12... Judgment Passed!]
[Congratulations, extraction successful!]
[Acquired Trait]: Pure Blood (Incomplete/Cursed)
[Quality]: Red (Originally Gold, downgraded due to dying an unnatural death)
[Effects]: 1. Curse Resistance: You possess extremely high immunity to Dark Arts curses (after all, you have even merged with this kind of cursed blood).
2. Life Reflow: As long as you aren't completely dead, your wound healing speed is ten times that of a normal person.
3. Cost: Your life form has become "semi-cursed." Dementors will be particularly fond of you.
"Done!"
Moen felt a bone-chillingly cold current snake up his arm and into his heart; it felt as if mercury were flowing through his veins.
Meanwhile, Voldemort's hand had already touched Moen's collar.
"Get away!"
This wasn't shouted by Moen.
It was the sound of rapid hoofbeats.
Firenze, a blond Centaur, rushed out of the forest.
He reared up and kicked fiercely at the hooded figure.
Voldemort was forced to retreat, turning into a puff of black smoke and disappearing deep into the forest.
Moen let go, exhausted, gasping for breath.
His inventory: [Remaining Extraction Attempts: 39].
This wave burned through 50 attempts directly.
"Are you alright, White?" Firenze turned around, his blue eyes looking at Moen in surprise, "You just... blocked Potter? Facing that thing?"
Harry also crawled over, enduring the intense pain: "Moen! You... you saved me for the second time."
Moen wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, feeling the [Half-Giant Bloodline] inside him merging with the [Pure Blood].
The feeling of cold and fury intertwined made him feel a bit dizzy.
"Don't mention it, Potter."
Moen stood up, straightened his messy collar, and looked at the dead Unicorn, a flash of heartache in his eyes—heartache for those 50 extraction attempts.
"I was just protecting... the company's core assets."
"Besides, Mr. Firenze." Moen looked at the Centaur, "If you want to save someone next time, could you be two minutes earlier? My heart isn't very good."
Firenze looked at him deeply: "The stars indicate there will be a variable tonight. But I didn't expect the variable to be you, Slytherin boy."
"You have... a very complex scent on you. It has both the fury of a Giant and the sorrow of a Unicorn."
"That's the scent of perfume." Moen bullshitted without changing his expression, "Limited edition, do you want to try it?"
That night, although Moen White had lost everything, he had obtained the strongest trump card for surviving in this high-risk world.
An 'immortal' constitution.
Although, the cost really did make his heart ache.
June 4th, the night the exams ended.
The summer at Hogwarts was unusually sweltering.
The castle's large classroom was as hot as a steamer, and even the anti-cheating quills distributed to the students by the proctor were hot enough to burn.
When Professor Flitwick announced "Quills down" in his shrill voice, a sigh of relief echoed throughout the classroom.
Harry Potter rubbed his sore wrist and walked out of the classroom with the flow of people.
Ron was arguing with Hermione about whether the "Werewolf Code of Conduct" was article fourteen or fifteen.
"I think I failed my Transfiguration exam." Ron said dejectedly, "I accidentally turned that mouse into a snuffbox, but it still has whiskers."
"It's okay, Ron." Hermione comforted him, "At least you managed to Transfigure it. By the way, where is Moen?"
The three looked around.
In the shadows of the corridor, Moen White was leaning against a suit of armor, holding that Black Ironwood Cane, his expression indifferent.
Unlike the students around him, who were dripping with sweat and whose robes were soaked through, there wasn't a hint of sweat on Moen.
In fact, if you got close to him, you would feel a bone-chilling cold as if it came from the depths of a cellar.
This was the side effect, or perhaps the benefit, brought by the [Pure Blood (Incomplete/Cursed)].
Since that night in the Forbidden Forest when he "bled out" his resources to snatch a trait from Voldemort, Moen's body temperature had remained constant at an extremely low level.
He no longer feared the intense heat, and even his heartbeat was half as slow as a normal person's.
"You guys look like you just came back from a swim in the Black Lake." Moen looked at the sweating trio and handed them three bottles of iced pumpkin juice, which he had just chilled on the spot using Alchemy.
"Thanks! God, your hand is so cold!" Harry touched Moen's fingers as he took the bottle and couldn't help but shiver, "Moen, you sick?"
"No, this is called 'calm'." Moen said indifferently, his eyes deep, "Before a business showdown, keeping your head and body at a low temperature is necessary."
"Showdown?" Harry was taken aback.
Just then, Harry suddenly clutched his forehead, and his scar throbbed violently.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked nervously.
"I remember now..." Harry looked up suddenly, his face pale, "Hagrid! That stranger who gave him the dragon egg! Who would walk around all day with an illegal dragon egg? Hagrid must have told him how to subdue Fluffy!"
"We have to go find Hagrid!" Harry ran off, and Ron and Hermione followed closely behind.
Moen stood in place, watching their sprinting backs, a cold sneer curving his lips.
"Reaction isn't too slow." He took a look at the system panel.
[Remaining Extraction Attempts: 94]
[Distance to "Hundred-Pull Pity": 6 attempts left]
"Tonight is the night to clear the levels." Moen gripped his wand, "All the levels, all the Professors, and that stone... tonight I must complete that pull."
...Half an hour later, the corridor outside the common room.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran back, panting.
They had just pried the information out of Hagrid that playing music would make Fluffy fall asleep, and they had tried to find Dumbledore, only to be told by Professor McGonagall that the Headmaster had just received an owl message and had gone to London.
"This is a trap!" Harry said anxiously, "Snape sent Dumbledore away! He's going to steal the Philosopher's Stone tonight!"
"We have to stop him!" Hermione no longer cared about school rules at this moment.
"How do we stop him?" Ron asked, "Professor McGonagallwon't believe us."
"Then we'll go ourselves." Harry said firmly.
"Take me with you."
A calm voice came from the shadows at the end of the corridor.
Chapter 28: Following the Trio into the Dungeon
The three were startled, turning around to see Moenwalking out of the darkness. His footsteps were very light, as light as a ghost.
"Moen?" Harry said in surprise, "Do you know what we are going to do?"
"To protect the school's assets." Moen walked in front of them, his cold aura making the anxious trio calm down a little, "Someone will make a move tonight. If the Philosopher's Stone is stolen, Hogwarts will face a huge credibility crisis, which is not in my interest."
"Besides," Moen glanced at Harry, "With the three of you's level of magic, I'm afraid you wouldn't even be able to deal with the plants in the first level."
"But… we are going to break school rules." Hermione was still struggling.
"Miss Granger." Moen looked down at her, his eyes like knives, "When rules cannot protect justice, breaking the rules is the only justice. Besides… if you are expelled, I can hire you to work at my company. Paid leave, and social insurance and housing fund."
Hermione froze for a moment, then bit her lip: "Alright. We will meet in the third-floor corridor tonight."
Midnight, 11:30 PM.
Gryffindor common room.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wearing the Invisibility Cloak, preparing to climb out of the hole.
"Where are you going?"
The lights suddenly came on.
Neville Longbottom, holding his toad Trevor, stood up from behind an armchair, blocking their way.
"Neville?" Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak, "Move aside, we have an urgent matter."
"No! You are going out again! Gryffindor has already lost all its points!" Although Neville was trembling all over, his eyes were exceptionally firm, "If you want to leave, you have to step over my dead body! I am going to fight you!"
"Neville, don't be like this…" Ron said helplessly, "We are going to save everyone."
"I don't believe it!" Neville raised his fist.
Hermione pulled out her wand, but her hand was trembling: "Neville, I'm sorry, but I must—"
"Let me handle this."
The portrait hole of the common room was suddenly pushed open.
There was no password, because The Fat Lady seemed to have been bought by some "money power", and was tipsily holding a bottle of aged red wine, giggling there.
Moen walked in. He was wearing a black slim-fit hunting suit, holding the Black Ironwood Cane in his hand.
"Moen? How did you get in?" Ron was stunned.
"That is a trade secret."
Moen walked to Neville.
Neville looked at this Slytherin "devil", scared back a step, but still stubbornly blocked the middle of the road.
"What do you want, White?" Neville asked trembling.
"I am appreciating your courage, Longbottom." Moenlooked at this round-faced boy, a flash of appreciation in his eyes.
[Scanning Target]: Neville Longbottom
[Discovered Trait]: Hidden Courage (Gold · Awaiting Awakening)
This child is a true Gryffindor. At the critical moment, he can pull out that sword.
"It takes courage to face enemies, but it takes even greater courage to face friends." Moen said softly, "You will become a great Wizard, Neville. But tonight, what we need is efficiency, not obstacles."
Moen raised his wand, his movement so fast it was hard to see.
The tip of the wand gently tapped on Neville's forehead.
"Stupefy."
He didn't chant, but a red light flashed.
Neville's eyes rolled back, and his body stiffened as he fell backward. Moen stretched out a hand, steadily catching him, and then gently placed him on the carpet.
"I'm sorry." Hermione covered her mouth.
"Don't waste time with sympathy." Moen stood up and straightened his gloves, "Snape has been inside for half an hour. If you don't want to collect his corpse, we need to hurry."
Harry put on the Invisibility Cloak, while Moen directly cast a high-level Disillusionment Charm on himself, a bit of inspiration he gained by analyzing the Invisibility Cloak.
The four of them ran all the way to the third floor.
The corridor was quiet.
Peeves was floating in mid-air, holding a bag of chalk dust, preparing for a prank.
"Who's there?" Peeves keenly sensed the flow of air.
Harry held his breath.
Moen dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and materialized from the air.
He raised his head, his black eyes turned into vertical pupils, a certain alienated feature of [Pure Blood], staring fixedly at Peeves.
A pressure originating from the depths of the soul—that was a terrifying aura mixed with [Half-Giant Bloodline], [The Bloody Baron's Deterrence], and [Cursed UnicornBlood]—instantly enveloped Peeves.
"Get lost."
Moen only said one word.
Peeves, who was usually afraid of nothing, seemed to have seen a ghost at this moment, screamed, dropped the chalk dust, and escaped through the wall.
"Cool…" Ron couldn't help but exclaim.
They arrived at the wooden door at the end of the corridor.
The door was ajar.
This meant someone had already entered.
Moen pushed open the door.
A low sound of a harp came from inside. An enchanted harp was playing automatically, the melody soothing.
In the center of the room, that huge Three-headed dogFluffy was lying on the trapdoor, all three heads drooping on the ground, fast asleep. Its snoring blew the dust on the ground flying everywhere.
"It's asleep." Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"It seems our opponent has a musical cell." Moen walked to Fluffy's side.
He didn't rush to open the trapdoor, but stretched out his hand and touched Fluffy's huge head again.
[Ding! Detected repeat target: Fluffy]
[Today's sign-in point refreshed: Three-headed dog's Kennel]
[Sign in?]
"Sign in."
[Sign-in successful!]
[Reward obtained: Draw count + 1]
[Item obtained: Big bone covered in saliva (Useless except for throwing to dogs)]
"95 times." Moen thought to himself.
"We have to move its paw away." Harry pointed to the trapdoor.
The four of them worked together, though mainly relying on Moen's freakish strength, to move Fluffy's heavy paw away, revealing the trapdoor underneath.
Pulling the ring, underneath was a pitch-black cave, bottomless.
"Who goes down first?" Ron swallowed his saliva.
"I'll go first." Harry said bravely.
"No."
Moen stopped him.
"As an investor, I must first assess the risks."
Moen walked to the hole and activated [True Sight] to look down.
Although it was dark, he could see the tangled and twisted plant at the bottom.
Devil's Snare.
Afraid of light, afraid of fire.
"It's a soft landing below." Moen turned to the three of them, "But it's a plant. Remember what was taught in Herbology? Don't move around."
After saying this, Moen leaped, jumping into the darkness.
The wind whistled in his ears.
A few seconds later.
"Puff."
Moen landed on something soft but cold.
Before he could stand steady, those snake-like vines immediately wrapped around, tightly strangling his ankles and wrists.
"Is this Devil's Snare?"
Moen didn't struggle. He calmly felt the strangling force of these plants.
[Contact successful!]
[Target]: Devil's Snare
[Trait]: Photosensitive weakness (Negative), Strangulation entanglement (Blue)
"Worthless."
Moen couldn't even be bothered to use his wand to cast a spell. The [Primary Fire Immunity (Purple)] in his body allowed him to adjust his body surface temperature at will.
With a thought, his magic power urged [Dragon Might].
A scorching breath erupted from his body.
Those vines that were originally tightly wrapped around him, as if scalded, seemed to scream as they let go of him and retreated to the corner.
Moen stood up elegantly, straightened his collar, and looked up.
"Come down. It's very safe."
"If you don't mind being embraced by plants."
Next, Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped down like dumplings.
As soon as Ron landed, he started struggling wildly, nearly being strangled to death. Fortunately, Hermione timely released a blue flame, which saved him.
"It seems we passed the first level." Harry said, panting.
"This is just the beginning."
Moen pointed to the sloping stone corridor ahead.
"Let's go, everyone. Let's go see what other surprises our Professors have prepared for us."
Moen walked in the front, the Black Ironwood Cane in his hand tapping lightly on the ground, making a crisp sound.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the final few levels.
The swarm of keys (Flying Talent).
The giant chessboard (Logical Thinking).
And finally… the Philosopher's Stone.
"5 more times." A hunter's gleam flashed in Moen's eyes, "Tonight, I must collect them all."
Chapter 29: Violent Breakthrough
Underground corridor, after the Devil's Snare.
The air was filled with a damp, musty smell. In the distance, there was a faint sound like countless birds flapping their wings.
"What is that sound?" Harry asked vigilantly.
"The vibration of high-speed objects rubbing against the air," Moen said, walking in the lead, his Black Ironwood Cane tapping the ground lightly. "It sounds like metal."
They arrived in a brightly lit, large room with a high, arched ceiling. Countless small birds, shimmering like gems, flew around the room. On the opposite side of the room was a heavy wooden door.
"It's keys," Harry squinted for a moment, "keys with wings."
Moen scanned the area. There were several broomsticks in the corner of the room.
[Ding!]
[Special Node Detected: Flying Key Chamber]
[Check-in Successful!]
[Reward Obtained: Draw Count + 1]
[Current Count: 96]
"Four more to go," Moen counted silently to himself.
"We need to catch the key that opens the door," Ron said, looking at the huge keyhole on the other side, "It's probably a large, antique-looking silver key."
Harry grabbed a broomstick: "I'll do it. This is my specialty."
"Be my guest, Potter," Moen didn't move, "This is a reasonable division of labor. I am a heavy tank; doing delicate work like catching mosquitoes isn't for me."
Harry got on the broomstick and rushed into the flock of flying keys.
It had to be said that his talent for flying was indeed top-notch. He wove through the dense rain of keys, moving as nimbly as a swift.
In less than two minutes, Harry had caught the silver key with the broken wing, dove down, and shoved the key into the lock.
"Click." The door opened.
"Well done," Moen applauded, "High efficiency. It seems that Gryffindor investing in a Nimbus 2000 for you was a worthwhile investment."
...
Next level.
Pitch black.
As they stepped into the room, torches suddenly ignited all around.
This was a huge chessboard. They stood at the edge of the board, facing black stone chess pieces that were taller than them. On the opposite side were white pieces.
Those pieces had no facial features, just standing silently, exuding a murderous aura.
[Ding!]
[Special Node Detected: Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Chessboard]
[Check-in Successful!]
[Reward Obtained: Draw Count + 2]
[Current Count: 98]
"We have to play chess to get past," Ron looked at the scene, the fear in his eyes gone, replaced by a commander-like fanaticism, "This is Wizard's Chess."
He walked to an empty spot for a black knight and reached out to touch the cold stone statue.
"Harry, you go to the bishop's position. Hermione, you go be the rook. Moen..."
Ron hesitated for a moment, looking at Moen. Getting this Slytherin "demon" to follow orders didn't seem very easy.
"Where do I go?" Moen asked, his tone calm.
"Uh... can you be the king? Or the queen?"
"No," Moen refused, "The king is the one to be protected, that's too passive. I'll be the chariot on the other side."
Moen walked to the left side of the chessboard and waved his wand at the black stone rook: "Move aside."
The stone statue actually obeyed and stepped out of the board, as if expelled by the will of some superior being. Moen stood in the square.
"Alright, Ron," Moen looked at Ron, "Now you are the commander-in-chief. Let me see the tactical literacy of the Weasley family."
"O-okay!" Ron took a deep breath, "White moves first!"
The white pawn on the opposite side moved forward two squares.
The battle began.
It was a brutal slaughter. The sound of stone statues being shattered echoed in the empty room, and stone chips flew everywhere.
Ron was indeed a genius. The layout ability he displayed on the chessboard was amazing. He kept sacrificing pawns and knights to clear the way for Harry and Hermione.
And Moen was an anomaly in this chess game.
[Multiple Mind Core (Purple · Extreme)] activated.
Three logic threads were running simultaneously in Moen's brain.
Thread 1: Calculating whether Ron's instructions were optimal.
Thread 2: Predicting the next twelve possible moves of the White Queen.
Thread 3: Finding the possibility of a direct, violent breakthrough.
"Moen! Advance four squares, take that white knight!" Ronshouted.
Moen didn't waste words and strode over directly.
The white knight raised its stone sword to strike him.
"Get lost."
Moen didn't give the opponent a chance to strike at all. [Half-Giant Bloodline] erupted, and he swung his Black Ironwood Cane like a golf club, slamming it hard into the white knight's knee.
Boom!
The white knight's leg broke, and its massive body collapsed with a crash. Moen kicked it off the board.
"This..." Hermione stared blankly, "Does this count as a foul?"
"As long as the result is winning, it doesn't count," Moensaid calmly.
The chess game neared its end.
The black pieces suffered heavy losses, but the white pieces were also mostly cleared out.
Just then, the White Queen suddenly turned, her pair of hollow eyes locking onto Ron.
Ron's face turned pale as he looked at the state of the board.
"That's right..." he whispered, "There's only one way. I must be taken."
"What?" Harry and Hermione exclaimed.
"If I don't, Harry won't be able to checkmate the king!" Ronyelled, "This is Wizard's Chess! Someone has to sacrifice! I will lure the White Queen away, and then Harry, you go..."
"Shut up, Ron."
A cold voice interrupted his heroic speech.
Moen was standing three squares away from Ron, toying with his wand.
"Sacrifice? That's a choice only an incompetent commander would make." Moen's eyes were cold, "In my team, there is no precedent for letting a technical consultant be cannon fodder."
"But if we don't—"
"Calculate it, Ron." Moen pointed at the White Queen, "Her aggro is on you right now. But what if I create a physical obstacle on her path?"
Before Ron could react, Moen moved.
[Alchemy Origin] activated!
Moen pressed his palm onto the black stone slab beneath his feet.
"Material Reconstruction."
Rumble!
The ground shook violently.
On the path the White Queen had to take to charge at Ron, the floor suddenly bulged, and countless fragments of stone instantly aggregated, forming a stone wall a meter thick!
The White Queen was in the middle of a charge and couldn't stop in time.
Bang—!!!
A loud noise.
The White Queen slammed hard into the stone wall. The huge impact caused the stone wall to crack, but it also caused half of the White Queen's body to be smashed to pieces, and her stone sword flew out of her hand.
"Harry! Now!" Moen roared.
Harry suddenly snapped out of it and, taking advantage of the White Queen's stiffness, moved in front of the King.
"Checkmate!"
The White King took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet.
The white pieces lost.
Ron slumped to the ground, panting heavily, looking at the stone wall that had saved his life, and then at Moen, who was dusting off his hands.
"You... you know Transfiguration?" Ron asked, stuttering.
"A little trick," Moen walked over and pulled Ron up, "Remember, Weasley. Never easily treat yourself as a bargaining chip. Only by living can you get a dividend."
...
Passing through the chessboard room.
A foul stench wafted over.
It was the smell of a Troll.
Only this time, this Troll was already lying on the ground, with a large bump on its head, unconscious.
"Looks like someone saved us the trouble," Harry covered his nose.
"Quirrell, or Snape," Moen glanced at the Troll, "The method was very clean."
Chapter 30: Philosopher's Stone Obtained
[ Ding! ]
[ Special node detected: Troll Guard Room ]
[ Sign-in successful! ]
[ Reward obtained: Draw count + 1 ]
[ Current count: 99 ]
"Ninety-nine."
Moen's fingers trembled slightly.
Only one last step remained.
They pushed open the next door.
Inside was a table with seven bottles of different shapes lined up on it.
There were no monsters, only purple and black flames blocking the front and back doors.
Snape's logic puzzle.
"This is amazing." Hermione stepped forward and picked up the piece of parchment, "This isn't magic, this is logic! Many Wizards, even those with powerful magic, are trapped by logic."
"I'll leave it to you, Hermione." Harry said trustingly.
Moen did not participate in solving the puzzle.
He didn't even need to look at that piece of paper. The intuition of [ Potion Master (Gold · Not fully awakened, but he has Alchemy) ] told him which bottle was poison and which was the antidote.
But he needed Hermione to complete this highlight moment. This was also a cultivation of an "employee's" ability.
A few minutes later, Hermione clapped her hands and said, "Solved! This bottle is for going back, and this one is for moving forward."
There was only a small sip of Potion left in the small bottle for moving forward.
"It's only enough for one person." Hermione's face turned pale.
"I'll go." Harry took the bottle without hesitation, "I have to stop Snape."
"No."
Moen reached out and pressed down on Harry's wrist.
"Harry." Moen looked at him, "You drink half."
"What?"
"This Potion is concentrated." Moen analyzed it using [ Alchemy Origin ], "It only takes two drops of the active ingredient to pass through the wall of fire. The remaining amount is enough for two people."
Moen took the bottle and, under Harry's surprised gaze, took an empty crystal bottle from his pocket and measured out exactly half.
"Hermione, you go back and take Ron to find Dumbledore. Send an owl, or use Floo Powder." Moen ordered.
"What about you?" Hermione asked.
"I'm going in with Harry." Moen shook the half-bottle of Potion in his hand, his eyes flashing with an unprecedented light.
"I'm going to ensure that—the assets are not stolen."
[ Ding! ]
[ Final level pre-node detected: Snape's Fire Chamber ]
[ Sign-in successful! ]
[ Reward obtained: Draw count + 1 ]
[ Current count: 100 ]
[ Congratulations Host! "100-draw guarantee" mechanism has been activated! ]
[ The next draw for a "Gold/Legendary" item will be forced to be a success! ]
Hearing the wonderful prompt in his mind, Moen tilted his head back and drank the half bottle of cold Potion in one gulp.
It felt like ice cubes were flowing through his veins.
"Let's go, Harry."
Moen gripped his Black Ironwood Cane tightly and stepped towards the black flames.
The black tongues of fire licked his body but could not cause any damage.
Passing through the flames.
This was the final room.
The Mirror of Erised stood quietly in the center.
And standing in front of the mirror was not Snape.
It was a figure wearing a large purple turban, exuding the smell of garlic.
Quirinus Quirrell.
"I knew it." Moen looked at the back of the figure and muttered to himself.
His palm gently rubbed the wand.
One hundred times.
Philosopher's Stone.
And... the Dark Lord parasitic on the back of his head.
"Tonight's feast has begun."
The final room.
This room was large, the ceiling was very high, and torches lit the room brightly. The Mirror of Erised stood alone in the center of the room.
But Harry's attention was not on the mirror at all. He stared fixedly at the person standing in front of the mirror, so shocked that he even forgot to breathe.
"It's you?!" Harry exclaimed, "Not Snape?"
Quirinus Quirrell turned around, his face no longer having that signature nervous twitch, and no longer stuttering. His eyes were cold and sharp, and a mocking smile hung on the corners of his mouth.
"It's me." Quirrell said calmly, "Who did you think it was? Poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell? Except for Snape, no one would suspect me, right?"
"But Snape hates me!"
"That was to protect you, you fool." Moen White's voice came from behind Harry.
Moen leaned on his Black Ironwood Cane and walked slowly to Harry's side. His black eyes watched Quirrellcalmly, just like looking at a bankrupt competitor.
"Snape does hate your father, but he hasn't fallen so low as to steal Dumbledore's things." Moen said coldly, "On the contrary, this Professor Quirrell... If I'm not mistaken, you were also present at Gringotts that day, right? That nauseating smell of garlic was actually to cover up other smells, for example... a certain rotting stench of something that is dead but not stiff."
Quirrell narrowed his eyes and looked at Moen: "That freak from Slytherin. I should have paid attention to you, White. You ruined my good deed in the Forbidden Forest."
"Let him look in the mirror, Quirrell." A sharp, thin voice suddenly came from Quirrell's body, as if there was a third person in the room, "Use the boy."
Quirrell waved his wand, and a magical rope flew out, wrapping Harry in front of the mirror.
"Tell me, what do you see?" Quirrell ordered.
Harry looked into the mirror. He saw himself in the mirror take a bright red stone out of his pocket, then put it back.
At that very moment, he felt his pocket in reality sink.
Philosopher's Stone obtained!
"I... I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore." Harrylied, "I won the House Cup."
"He is lying..." The sharp voice sounded again, "Let me speak to him... face to face..."
Quirrell began to unwrap the large purple turban on his head.
Moen gripped his wand, took a step to the side, and vaguely blocked Harry's flank.
The turban fell to the ground. Quirrell turned around.
On that bald back of his head, there grew a terrifying face. Chalk-white, red eyes, nostrils like a snake with only two slits.
Voldemort.
"Harry Potter..." The face whispered, "Look at what I've become... only shadow and vapor left... I need the Philosopher's Stone..."
Harry retreated in fear.
"And you..." Voldemort's red eyes turned to Moen, "MoenWhite. I remember you. In the Forbidden Forest, you had a disgusting, but also fascinating power on you. Join me, and I can give you everything you want... wealth, power, even immortality."
Moen looked at the ugly face and suddenly laughed.
"Mr. Voldemort." Moen's voice was full of regret, "As an investor, I usually examine the other party's balance sheet before investing."
"Your current state: physical body missing, credit bankrupt, and the only fixed asset is parasitic on the back of the head of a third-rate Professor."
Moen raised his wand, pointing the tip directly at Voldemort:
"This kind of non-performing asset, I wouldn't want it even if it were given to me for free. So—acquisition rejected."
"Kill him!" Voldemort screamed.
Quirrell turned around abruptly and pounced like a predatory vulture.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted, raising his wand.
But this was useless against an adult Wizard. Quirrellflicked his hand and sent Harry's wand flying.
Quirrell stretched out his hands to choke Harry's neck.
"Get lost!"
A roar.
Moen moved. He didn't use a spell because in close-quarters combat, a wand is not as fast as a fist.
[ Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type) ] — Full power burst!
This was not ordinary intimidation; this was the rage of a top-tier magical creature—the Norwegian Ridgeback.
At this moment, the air behind Moen seemed to distort, and the phantom of a giant dragon spreading its wings and roaring vaguely emerged.
A hot, violent, sulfur-filled aura centered on Moen and crashed towards Quirrell!
"Roar—!!!"