Chapter 31: Extracting Philosopher's Stone Properties
Although the roar emitted from Moen's mouth was human, to the ears of Quirrell and even Voldemort, it was clearly a deafening dragon's roar!
This fear, originating from the apex of the food chain, caused a fatal stiffness in Quirrell's movements.
His pupils contracted violently, and his body instinctively wanted to tremble, just like a mouse encountering a giant python.
"What is that?!" Voldemort also felt a tremor from the soul level.
Taking advantage of this 0.5-second stiffness from Quirrell, Moen had already rushed in front of him.
The power of the [Half-Giant Bloodline] infused his entire body, and the Black Ironwood Cane, carrying a whistling wind, struck fiercely against Quirrell's outstretched arm.
Crack!
The sound of bone breaking was crisp and pleasant.
Quirrell screamed, his arm bending unnaturally.
"Harry! Run!" Moen roared, kicking Quirrell in the stomach and knocking him back a few steps.
But Quirrell was, after all, a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
Instead of being deterred, he was enraged by the intense pain, and Voldemort's power took control of his body.
"Go to hell!"
Quirrell no longer paid attention to Moen, but instead lunged directly at Harry, who was holding the Philosopher's Stone.
His intact hand tightly gripped Harry's neck.
Harry was pressed to the ground, the feeling of suffocation making his vision turn black.
He instinctively reached out, grabbed Quirrell's wrist, and tried to pry the hand away.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!" A shrill scream instantly resounded throughout the room.
Quirrell recoiled as if electrocuted, looking at his hand in horror.
His palm was smoking, blistering, and turning charred, as if he had grabbed a red-hot branding iron.
"What is going on?!" Quirrell rolled on the ground in pain.
"It's love." Moen stood to the side, calmly watching this scene. "Lily Potter's ancient magic. You cannot touch him."
"Kill him! Use your wand to kill him!" Voldemort roared frantically from the back of his head.
Quirrell struggled to stand up, raised his wand, and prepared to cast the Killing Curse on Harry.
Harry was already exhausted by this time; he lay on the ground, and the bright red Philosopher's Stone slid out of his pocket and rolled to the center of the floor.
At this very moment, time seemed to slow down in Moen's eyes.
That was the Philosopher's Stone.
That was the ultimate mystery of Alchemy.
That was the goal he had been saving up for a whole year for the "hundred-draw pity" system.
Moen no longer cared about the life or death of Quirrelland Harry; anyway, Harry had the protagonist's halo and probably wouldn't die.
He lunged out like a cheetah, before Quirrell could cast the spell, and before Harry lost consciousness.
Moen's hand, covered in a dragon-hide glove, firmly pressed down on the Philosopher's Stone, which was emitting an alluring red light.
[Contact successful!]
[Myth-level item detected: Philosopher's Stone]
[Energy Level]: Gold (Mythic · Complete Form)
[Current draw count balance: 100]
[Activate "hundred-draw pity" mechanism?]
"All in!" Moen roared in his heart.
[Consumed draw counts x 100]
[Forced judgment... Success!]
[Parsing core laws...]
Boom!!! An immense energy that could not be described in words rushed into his soul along Moen's arm.
It was not magic.
It was the truth of the conversion between "life" and "death", "matter" and "energy".
Moen felt his brain being forcibly expanded at this moment, with countless golden runes washing over his cognition like a waterfall.
[Mind Palace] upgraded.
[Congratulations on obtaining the unique trait]: Gate of Truth (Alchemy Ultimate · Gold)
[Effect 1 - Breaking of Equivalent Exchange]: You have mastered the underlying code of matter conversion. With sufficient magic, you can perform cross-matter conversion (e.g., turning stone into bread, turning water into oil). Although you cannot create something from nothing yet, this is already the realm of gods.
[Effect 2 - Life Essence Extraction]: You do not need the Elixir of Life; you can directly extract life force from high-energy matter to repair yourself or others. (Used in conjunction with [Pure Blood], the effect is outstanding).
[Effect 3 - Magic Power Furnace]: Your body has been transformed into a natural Alchemy reactor. magic recovery speed increased by 500%, and the upper limit of magicincreases infinitely with the accumulation of knowledge.
"This is... the power of gold..." Moen felt as if he were holding a sun.
Meanwhile, over there, Quirrell's face had been tightly grabbed by Harry, and his entire body turned to ash in agony.
Voldemort's remnant soul let out one last unwilling shriek, turned into a wisp of black smoke, passed through Harry's body, slammed hard into Moen, and then fled.
"Ugh..." Hit by Voldemort's soul, plus the massive load of just fusing the golden trait, Moen felt his vision go black.
He saw the familiar figure of Dumbledore rushing in from the doorway.
"Looks like... this is in the bag."
A satisfied smile curled at the corners of Moen's mouth as he tightly clutched the Philosopher's Stone, then rolled his eyes back and fainted.
...
After an unknown amount of time, Moen woke up on the white sheets of the Hospital Wing.
The sunlight was a bit dazzling.
He felt sore all over, but his mind was clearer than ever before.
The whole world had changed in his eyes—the vase on the windowsill was no longer ceramic, but a "solidified silicate structure"; the bed sheet was no longer cotton, but a "woven plant fiber body".
As long as he was willing and injected magic, he could turn that vase into a pile of sand, or turn the bed sheet into a suit of steel wire armor.
"Awake?" A gentle voice sounded.
Dumbledore was sitting in a chair by the bed, peeling a Sherbet Lemon.
"Good afternoon, Professor." Moen wanted to sit up but found himself weak all over.
"Don't move, Mr. White." Dumbledore smiled and pressed him back down. "Although your physical fitness is as strong as a little Troll, the impact on the soul level is not so easy to recover from."
Dumbledore's azure blue eyes looked at Moen through his half-moon spectacles, with a hint of inquiry in his gaze, but more of a complex admiration.
"How is Harry?" Moen asked.
"He is very well. Still sleeping." Dumbledore pointed to the bed next to him, which was piled high with snacks.
"Then, what about that stone?" Moen went straight to the point.
"It was destroyed." Dumbledore said calmly. "I discussed it with Nicolas Flamel, and we decided this was the best outcome."
"Destroyed?" Moen raised an eyebrow. "What a waste."
"For those who do not know how to restrain their desires, it is a disaster." Dumbledore said meaningfully. "But for you, Mr. White... I am curious. At that last moment, when you lunged at the Philosopher's Stone, was it to protect it, or to... possess it?"
Moen looked at Dumbledore.
He knew that his actions at that moment could not deceive this old fox.
Therefore, Moen smiled frankly.
"Professor, I am a businessman."
Moen raised his right hand, watching the sunlight pass through his fingers.
"I do not need to possess that stone. Because I have already obtained the 'profit' I wanted."
"As for whether it was to protect or to possess..."
Moen turned his head, a golden shimmer flickering in his deep black eyes:
"That shall be left for school history to judge."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then smiled.
He stood up and patted Moen on the shoulder.
"Get some good rest, Moen. I think you will like tomorrow's year-end feast."
After saying this, Dumbledore turned and left.
Moen lay back on the pillow and opened the system panel.
[Host]: Moen White
[Current Status]: Magic Power Furnace (Running)
[Core Traits]: Gate of Truth (Gold), Half-Giant Bloodline(Red), Pure Blood (Red · Cursed)...
"The first school year, a perfect finale."
Moen closed his eyes, feeling the massive, surging power within his body.
"Next, it's time to consider how to turn that Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets... into my private property."
Chapter 32: The Defense of the House Cup
June 20, End-of-Year Feast.
When Moen White walked out of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey was still marveling at his medical report.
"Incredible recovery speed." The head nurse looked at Moen, who was adjusting his cufflinks, as if looking at some kind of magical creature. "To have suffered such a severe soul shock and to have fully recovered after sleeping for only two days? Mr. White, your physique is even stronger than that Troll."
"It's a family trait, Madam."
Moen nodded politely, not explaining that this was the perverted self-healing power resulting from the superposition of the [Half-Giant Bloodline] and the [Pure Blood (Curse/Red)].
He walked out of the medical wing, sunlight spilling onto him through the corridor windows.
Under the perspective of the [Gate of Truth (Gold)], this sunlight was no longer just warmth, but a collection of photon streams. He reached out and grabbed at the air, his fingertips moving slightly. The water molecules in the air quickly condensed under his will, turning into a crystal-clear ice rose, which then dissipated into a wisp of white mist as he let go.
"Material reconstruction." Moen felt the magic surging within him like a furnace. "This feeling of controlling everything is truly addictive."
...
In the Great Hall, the end-of-year feast had already begun.
It was drowned in green and silver decorations. A huge banner representing Slytherin hung on the wall behind the head table, depicting a giant serpent.
This year, thanks to Moen's "capital operations" to upgrade team equipment, the monopoly on Potions Class bonus points, and his near-perfect performance in class, Slytherin's score was far ahead.
Slytherin: 472 points.
Gryffindor: 312 points.
Ravenclaw: 350 points.
Hufflepuff: 330 points.
When Moen walked into the Great Hall, the entire Slytherin table erupted in thunderous cheers, and quite a few people even tapped the floor with their wands.
This was imitating Moen's habit.
"Our King is back!" Draco Malfoy shouted excitedly, giving up the most central seat for Moen.
Moen sat down with a smile and nodded at Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. The trio looked a bit dejected; after all, the point gap was too large.
"Another year gone."
Dumbledore stood up, and the hall quieted down.
"Before we enjoy the delicious food, I must trouble everyone to listen to an old man's clichés. We have had a wonderful year..."
Dumbledore's gaze swept across the hall and finally landed on Harry and Moen.
"Now, as far as I know, we must perform the final scoring for the House Cup."
"The current ranking is: Slytherin first, 472 points..."
The Slytherin table erupted into noise again, and Draco Malfoy clinked his goblet.
"Yes, yes, very well done." Dumbledore raised his voice. "However, a few recent events must also be taken into account."
The hall went so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Harry's heart was in his throat.
"First item—Mr. Ron Weasley." Dumbledore said with a smile, "He won the most brilliant chess game Hogwartshas seen in many years. For this, I award Gryffindor—fifty points."
The cheers from Gryffindor almost blew the roof off.
"Second item—Miss Hermione Granger. She faced the fire and calmly performed logical deduction. I award Gryffindor—fifty points."
Another fifty points. Slytherin...
"Third item—Mr. Harry Potter." Dumbledore's voice became serious. "He displayed fearless gall and extraordinary courage. For this, I award Gryffindor—sixty points."
Now even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff started cheering.
Current scores:
Gryffindor: 472 points.
Slytherin: 472 points.
A tie!
"This is unfair!" Draco Malfoy's face turned white with anger. "This is favoritism!"
"Quiet." Moen tapped the table lightly. The sound was not loud, but it made the little snakes around him calm down instantly. He continued to cut the roast chicken on his plate elegantly, as if he didn't care about the change in scores at all.
"It's not over yet." Moen said lightly.
Sure enough, Dumbledore raised a hand.
"There are many kinds of courage." Dumbledore looked at Neville Longbottom. "It takes superhuman gall to face enemies, but it takes just as much courage to stand your ground in front of friends. Therefore, I award Mr. Neville Longbottom—ten points."
Boom!
Gryffindor was completely boiling. 482 points! They had surpassed Slytherin!
Harry and Ron hugged each other, and Hermione was screaming. The Slytherin table was silent, and many people already had expressions of despair and anger.
"We lost..." Flint covered his face in pain.
"Moen..." Draco Malfoy looked at Moen with tears in his eyes.
Moen put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He raised his head, his deep eyes staring straight at Dumbledore on the stage.
He was gambling.
Gambling on Dumbledore's fairness as Headmaster, and whether his performance in the Forbidden Forest and the basement had caught the eye of this white Wizard.
"Finally."
Dumbledore's voice sounded again, and this time, he looked at the Slytherin table.
"In the face of a huge crisis, being able to maintain absolute reason. In the face of the temptation of power, being able to hold the bottom line. And, at the most dangerous moment, stepping forward to protect classmates."
The hall was quiet.
"Mr. Moen White." Dumbledore said slowly, "For the wisdom and responsibility he displayed deep underground that exceeded his age. I award Slytherin—sixty points."
Sixty points!
At this moment, time seemed to freeze.
Immediately after, the Slytherin table erupted with an unprecedented wild roar. Not cheers, but roars!
Draco Malfoy jumped directly onto his chair and threw his pointed hat toward the ceiling.
Flint hugged the nearby Warrington and wept bitterly.
Slytherin: 532 points.
Gryffindor: 482 points.
"This means," Dumbledore had to shout, and had to wave his wand to change the decorations that had turned red back to green and silver, "that we need to make a small change here."
The huge Slytherin Basilisk banner regained its place of honor.
Moen leaned back in his chair, watching Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor table across from him, who were still applauding him despite losing the match, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.
"Transaction complete, Professor." Moen said to Dumbledore in his heart.
He kept the secret of the Philosopher's Stone, and Dumbledore kept his House Cup.
This was a win-win.
...
The next day, Hogwarts Express.
The return journey was always faster than the journey there.
Moen occupied a compartment alone. He needed to quietly organize the gains of this year.
[Host]: Moen White
[Core Assets]:
Gate of Truth (Gold · Alchemy)
Half-Giant Bloodline (Red)
Pure Blood (Red · Curse)
Black Ironwood Wand (Purple · Exclusive)
Black Swan broom (Purple · Custom)
Multiple Mind Core (Purple)
Primary Fire Immunity (Purple)
...
[Remaining Draws]: 0
[Cash Flow]: Abundant
"Not bad for this year." Moen nodded with satisfaction.
The compartment door was knocked on.
Hermione pushed the door open and looked at him somewhat nervously: "Um... Moen. We're almost there."
"I know, Miss Granger." Moen pointed to the familiar Muggle buildings outside the window.
"Thank you." Hermione said suddenly, "This semester... if it weren't for you, we would have been dead."
"That's because you guys are lucky." Moen stood up and straightened his robes, "Any plans for the summer vacation? If you don't want to be bored at home memorizing books, you can write to me. I recently acquired a bookstore in Knockturn Alley, and I might need someone to help organize those... not-so-legal catalogs."
Hermione's eyes widened: "Knockturn Alley? That's dangerous!"
"Profit is often accompanied by risk." Moen picked up his suitcase, "Think about it, this is a paid internship."
Chapter 33: Lucius's Confrontation and The Daily Prophet
King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The train came to a steady halt. Students swarmed out of the platform, passing through the barrier and returning to the Muggle world.
Moen pushed his luggage trolley. Just as he stepped out of the ticket gate, he spotted a familiar figure.
No, two.
One was the old butler, Alfred, waiting beside that newly restored Rolls-Royce.
The other was a middle-aged man with long, pale blond hair, holding a snake-headed cane, with an arrogant expression.
Lucius Malfoy.
Draco was standing beside his father, looking somewhat constrained, whispering something while occasionally pointing in Moen's direction.
Seeing Moen emerge, Lucius narrowed his gray eyes and strode over.
"So, this is the famous Mr. White." Lucius's voice was like a slick snake's tongue, carrying a hypocritical politeness. "Draco has mentioned you quite often in his letters. He said you... sponsored the entire team?"
"Small business, Mr. Malfoy." Moen stopped in his tracks. He didn't bow like a junior; instead, he looked Luciusstraight in the eye. "For the honor of the House, this small investment is worth it. You see, didn't Slytherin win the House Cup this year?"
Lucius gave a cold snort. "Honor? Hmph. I heard you've become quite familiar with some... unsavory characters at school. Mr. White, as a Slytherin, choosing your friends is very important."
The "unsavory characters" referred to Hagrid and Hermione.
Moen smiled.
He felt the nauseating arrogance emanating from Lucius.
"Regarding the choice of friends, Mr. Malfoy." Moen took a step forward, a faint hint of [Dragon's Might] radiating from him, causing Lucius to instinctively tighten his grip on his cane.
"I never choose friends based on bloodline, only on value."
Moen lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear:
"By the way, a word of advice: Arthur Weasley from the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office has been working overtime lately. If you have any... 'diaries' or 'poisons' at home that shouldn't be there, you'd better clean them out."
Lucius's pupils contracted sharply.
He looked at this twelve-year-old child in shock. How could he know about the diary? That was a top secret entrusted to him by the Dark Lord!
"Are you... are you threatening me?" Lucius hissed through gritted teeth.
"No, this is a business consultation." Moen took a step back, resuming his elegant aristocratic air. "If you require asset transfer services, the White Family is always at your service. We can offer a twenty percent discount on the processing fees."
With that, Moen ignored the ashen-faced Lucius and turned toward his Rolls-Royce.
"Master, shall we head home?" Alfred opened the car door.
"Home, Alfred."
Moen climbed into the car and watched the bustling crowd on the platform through the window. Harry was being shoved by his pig-like uncle, and Ron was fighting over luggage with his sister, Ginny.
Second year.
The Chamber of Secrets.
The Basilisk.
Dobby the House-elf.
And that young version of Voldemort—Tom Riddle.
Moen rubbed his chin.
"Have a pleasant summer break, everyone."
A cold, expectant smirk curled at the corner of Moen's mouth.
"Especially you, Tom. I can't wait to discuss the acquisition price for 'soul slices' with you."
The window rolled up, and the Rolls-Royce glided into the busy streets of London, disappearing into the afterglow of the setting sun.
July 15th, summer break.
The top-floor office of the White Family headquarters in the City of London.
Moen White, wearing a silk shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stood before a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking all of London. The liquid swirling in his goblet wasn't red wine, but chilled cherry juice.
Although it was summer break, he was even busier than he had been at Hogwarts.
"Master, the final settlement in the Soviet Union has been completed."
The old butler, Alfred, respectfully placed a thick file on the desk, his voice trembling with an irrepressible awe—an awe for the staggering amount of money. "As per your instructions, all profits from shorting the Ruble have been laundered through offshore accounts and converted into gold and Gringotts Galleons. The current exchange rate is very favorable."
"The specific figure?" Moen asked without turning around.
"Converted into Galleons... it's approximately thirty-five million."
This figure, if placed in the wizarding world, would be enough to buy all the land Hogwarts sat on, or bankrupt the Malfoy family ten times over.
"Very good." Moen turned, walked to the desk, and picked up the file. "This money will be the lever we use to pry open that archaic wizarding world."
He took a pre-drafted acquisition proposal from the drawer; the cover was stamped with an emblem of an owl clutching a newspaper.
The Daily Prophet.
"Prepare the car, Alfred." Moen straightened his collar, the Black Ironwood Cane appearing in his hand once more. "We're going to Diagon Alley. Today, I'm going to meet an 'old fogey' and teach him the survival laws of modern media."
...Diagon Alley, The Daily Prophet headquarters.
This building wasn't as grand as Gringotts; instead, it appeared somewhat cramped and dated. The hall was filled with paper airplanes flying everywhere.
Editor-in-chief Barnabas Cuffe sat behind his desk piled with scrap paper, frantically reviewing tomorrow's layout.
"Is the scandal about those damned Weird Sisters still not written?" Cuffe roared. "If there's no big news, tomorrow's sales will drop again!"
"Sir, someone is here to see you." The secretary entered, looking nervous. "He says he's the... owner of the White Investment Company."
"White? Never heard of him. Tell him I'm busy!" Cuffewaved his hand impatiently.
"I'm afraid your current busyness is meaningless, Mr. Cuffe."
The door was pushed open.
Moen White walked in, leaning on his cane. The elite aura he carried from the upper echelons of Muggle society was completely out of place in this messy editorial office.
"Because if you don't talk to me, perhaps by next month, The Daily Prophet won't be able to pay its salaries."
Moen walked straight across from Cuffe, used his cane to push aside a pile of old newspapers on the chair, and sat down elegantly.
"Who is this arrogant brat?" Cuffe's eyes widened. "This is the office of the wizarding world's mouthpiece, not a playground for children!"
"I am Moen White." Moen pulled a Gringotts contract from his coat and tapped it lightly on the desk. "In other words, the creditor currently holding forty percent of your newspaper's debt."
Cuffe's expression froze.
"Your business situation is dire, Mr. Cuffe," Moen analyzed unhurriedly.
"What... what do you want?"
"Capital injection."
Moen snapped his fingers. Alfred placed a heavy chest on the desk.
A chest full of Galleons shimmered with an enticing glow in the dim office.
"There are fifty thousand Galleons here," Moen said flatly. "I want to acquire fifty-one percent of the shares in The Daily Prophet."
"Impossible!" Cuffe jumped up. "This is the mouthpiece of the wizarding world! It cannot be controlled by a... a child! And you're that Slytherin freshman, aren't you? Dumbledore would never agree!"
"Don't get excited." Moen waved his hand. "I don't need to interfere with daily operations, nor do I want to be the editor-in-chief. You will remain in this position and enjoy your reputation."
"I only want two things."
Moen held up two fingers.
"First, the final right of approval for the newspaper's'Special Report' section."
"Second, I want a person."
"Who?" Cuffe asked warily.
"Your ace reporter, Rita Skeeter."
Chapter 34: Rita Skeeter's Secret
Just then, Moen suddenly turned his head, his gaze like lightning, locking onto a beetle on the windowsill.
The beetle had prominent antennae, much like Skeeter's jewel-encrusted glasses. It was perched there, seemingly eavesdropping on this shocking business negotiation.
"Since you're here, don't hide, Miss Skeeter."
Moen suddenly struck.
His movements were startlingly fast. The explosive power brought by his [Half-Giant Bloodline] allowed him to snatch the beetle in an instant.
"Squeak!" The beetle struggled desperately.
"What? Where is anyone?" Cuffe looked bewildered.
Moen looked at the plump beetle in his hand, a cold sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.
"This is the second thing I mentioned—leverage."
Moen pulled a pre-prepared Reinforced Glass Bottlecovered in alchemical runes from his pocket, stuffed the beetle inside, and tightened the lid.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Cuffe, I'd like to borrow your office. I need to have a 'private' interview with my new employee."
Cuffe looked at the chest of gold, then at Moen's unquestionable gaze. Finally, he swallowed hard and scurried out clutching a pile of documents.
The office door closed.
Moen placed the glass bottle in the center of the desk. The beetle inside was frantically slamming against the glass walls.
"Don't bother," Moen tapped the glass. "This is explosion-proof glass, reinforced with Anti-Animagus Charms. Unless I open it, you'll be a bug for the rest of your life."
"Change back, Rita. Let's talk."
The moment Moen unscrewed the cap, the beetle flew out, twisting in mid-air before transforming into a witch with heavily applied makeup and a crocodile-skin handbag.
Rita Skeeter irritably straightened her curly hair, her jewel-encrusted glasses sitting crookedly on her nose.
"You barbaric boy! How dare you! I'll expose you! I'll write in the papers about your animal abuse! Write that you're a Dark Wizard!" Rita shrieked, her Quick-Quotes Quillfrantically scribbling vicious sentences on parchment.
"Unregistered Animagus."
Moen said only those two words, and Rita's shrieking stopped abruptly.
"If I recall correctly, the Ministry of Magic's penalties for unregistered Animagi are quite severe," Moen leaned back in his chair, playing with the glass bottle. "Azkaban? Or a massive fine and a lifetime ban from the journalism industry?"
Rita Skeeter's face instantly turned deathly pale, her thick layer of foundation unable to hide her fear.
This was her greatest secret, her ultimate weapon for getting scoops. How could a twelve-year-old child have discovered it?
"You... what exactly do you want?" Rita's voice trembled.
"Simple." Moen stood up and walked toward her. The sense of pressure made Rita instinctively step back.
"I want you to become my mouthpiece."
Moen looked at this woman who, despite her poor character, was indeed formidable with a pen.
"I want you to use that pen of yours, which can turn black into white and bring the dead back to life, to serve me."
"For example?" Rita asked cautiously.
"For example, in the upcoming new school year, if some... unsettling things happen at Hogwarts," Moen said pointedly, "I want you to write reports according to my outline. I want you to guide public opinion, pointing fingers at those I wish to target and protecting those I wish to protect."
"Of course, I won't have you working for nothing."
Moen grabbed a handful of gold from the chest and stuffed it into Rita's handbag.
"This is a down payment. As long as you listen—"
"But if you dare to smuggle in your own agenda or try to betray me..."
Moen held up the glass bottle and shook it gently.
"I'll turn you back into a bug and feed you to Hagrid's Three-headed dog. I think it would enjoy such a crunchy snack."
Rita looked at the bottle, then felt the heavy gold coins in her bag.
As a refined egoist, she made her choice almost instantly.
"Boss," Rita flashed a fawning smile, her row of gold teeth glittering. "What would you like tomorrow's headline to be? Praising the rising star of Slytherin, or attacking the incompetence of the Ministry of Magic?"
"No rush."
Moen nodded with satisfaction.
"First, help me write an in-depth analysis of 'Gilderoy Lockhart.' Build him up high—the higher, the better."
"Lockhart?" Rita was taken aback. "That talentless hack who writes books? Why build him up?"
"Because the higher they are, the harder they fall." A cold light flashed in Moen's eyes. "Besides, he's our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor next term. I need him to be... sufficiently inflated at school."
...Half an hour later.
Moen walked out of the newspaper building.
Cuffe had already signed the equity transfer agreement. From this day forward, Moen White was the invisible emperor of the wizarding world's largest media outlet.
"Where to next, Young Master?" Alfred asked.
"Knockturn Alley." Moen glanced at the sky; the sunset was as red as blood. "I heard Borgin and Burkes has received a batch of new stock. I need to see if there are any Dark Arts items I can use against a 'Basilisk'."
"Also..."
Moen touched his chest, where he had placed the manual for the [Gate of Truth (Gold)] he had obtained at the end of the term.
"I need to find a quiet place and try to turn this stone into gold. Since I've mastered the ultimate secrets of Alchemy, I should first solve the problem of pocket money, right?"
Even though he was very wealthy, no one would complain about having more money.
Especially when that money was created out of thin air.
This summer vacation was calm for the wizarding world.
But beneath the surface, a vast web woven of capital, public opinion, and Dark Arts was quietly spreading through the hands of Moen White.
August, a gloomy afternoon.
Knockturn Alley.
This was the dark side of the wizarding world, forever shrouded in mist and cold. The shop windows on either side were filled with shrunken heads, giant black spiders, unknown poison bottles, and Dark Arts objects emitting ominous auras.
This place usually welcomed only two kinds of people: Dark Wizards, or those looking for trouble with Dark Wizards.
Moen White, wearing a deep grey bespoke trench coat and carrying his signature Black Ironwood Cane, strolled through this malice-filled street as if he were walking in his own back garden.
The old butler, Alfred, had not come along. Such a place was not suitable for a Muggle.
Several ill-intentioned hags had originally wanted to approach him to hawk some 'Powerful Love Potions' or 'Human Fingernails,' but after being swept by Moen's cold black eyes, they all retreated into the shadows like startled rats.
The chilling aura brought by his [Half-Giant Bloodline] and [Pure Blood (Curse)] made Moen feel right at home in this gathering place for Dark Wizards.
He looked more like a villain than anyone else here.
Moen stopped in front of a dilapidated sign.
Borgin and Burkes.
"This is the place."
The shop was large, somewhat dim, and filled with dust and the smell of mildew. Various Dark Arts items were displayed in glass cases: a withered human hand, a cursed opal necklace, and a Vanishing Cabinet leading to who-knows-where.
[Ding!]
[Special Node Detected: Borgin and Burkes (Dark ArtsDistribution Center)]
[Check-in Successful!]
[Reward Gained: Draw Count +1]
[Trait Gained: Dark Arts Item Appreciation (Blue)]
[Description]: You can now tell at a glance which antique will bite your hand off and which will suck your soul dry.
"Welcome..."
A smooth, oily voice came from behind the counter. Mr. Borgin was a stooping man with greasy hair, sizing up Moen's expensive clothing with a greedy look in his eyes.
"Oh, a new face. Young gentleman, looking to buy something? We have the best self-defense items here—"
"I don't buy trash, Borgin."
Moen walked to the counter, his wand lightly tapping the glass surface with a crisp, dangerous sound.
"I heard you've acquired a batch of 'things Arthur Weasleyhates most'? I'm here to hunt for treasures."
Borgin's expression shifted slightly, then he broke into an even more fawning smile. "You are well-informed. But those good things aren't cheap..."
"Money is not an issue."
Just then, the bell at the door rang again.
Moen didn't turn around, as his [True Sight] had already told him who the newcomers were.
The arrogantly radiating Lucius Malfoy, and Draco, who was touching things here and there with a look of disdain.
"Don't touch anything, Draco," Lucius said coldly.
"I thought you were going to buy me a present," Dracocomplained. "What about that Hand of Glory?"
"If you fail your exams, I'll have you become a thief; I'll buy it for you then," Lucius mocked.
Mr. Borgin immediately left Moen and hurried over. "Ah! Mr. Malfoy! What an honor to see you again."
Chapter 35: Cooperation? Allies?
Lucius was about to speak when he suddenly spotted Moen standing in the shadows on the other side of the counter.
"White?" Draco cried out in surprise, "What are you doing here?"
Lucius narrowed his eyes, a flicker of wariness flashing in his gray orbs. The 'business threat' at the platform last time had left him both impressed and wary of this young man.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy." Moen turned around and gave a slight nod. "What a coincidence. It seems we both have a soft spot for these 'specialty shops.'"
"This is business for adults, Mr. White," Lucius said coldly. "I don't think this is an appropriate place for students."
"Business doesn't distinguish between ages, only between profit and loss," Moen countered calmly.
Just then, Moen's gaze suddenly swept over the massive black cabinet in the corner—the Vanishing Cabinet.
Through True Sight, he saw that the cabinet door wasn't fully closed. Inside was a messy life-force field filled with panic.
Harry Potter.
"Did this guy still end up here because he mispronounced the name with Floo Powder?" Moen sighed inwardly. The corrective force of the plot was indeed powerful.
He didn't expose him; instead, he watched the scene play out with great interest.
Lucius began to haggle with Borgin. He pulled out a list filled with various contraband: poisons, Dark Arts books, and even some cursed jewelry.
"That madman Weasley is conducting searches everywhere," Lucius said with loathing. "I need to get rid of these things. But I expect a fair price."
"That's difficult, Mr. Malfoy." Borgin put on his monocle and looked at the list. "These items are too hot right now; the price will definitely have to be lowered..."
The two began to bicker. Meanwhile, Draco wandered around the shop, nearly pulling open the cabinet hiding Harry several times.
"Don't touch that, Draco," Moen suddenly spoke up. "That's a Vanishing Cabinet. Unless you want your upper body to appear at Hogwarts while your lower half stays in Knockturn Alley."
Draco jerked his hand back in fright.
Inside the cabinet, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, looking at Moen's back through the crack with gratitude.
"Fine, Borgin." Lucius seemed to lose his patience. "That price then. I still need to go to Diagon Alley to buy Draco's new textbooks."
"Wait."
Moen suddenly interjected. He pointed to an item Luciushad brought out—an unremarkable-looking black metal ingot.
"How much is Mr. Borgin offering for that?"
"This piece of Black-Sere Gold?" Borgin glanced at it. "It has too many impurities and is difficult to refine. I'll offer 50 Galleons at most."
"I'll offer 500 Galleons," Moen said calmly.
Dead silence filled the room.
Both Lucius and Borgin were stunned.
"500?!" Borgin's voice cracked. "Mr. White, are you joking? Although this material is rare, this piece is of extremely low purity..."
"In my eyes, it's worth that price." Moen stepped forward and picked up the heavy black metal. "With just a bit of... processing."
Moen leaned his wand against the counter and took off his dragon-hide glove, revealing long, fair fingers.
[Ultimate Alchemy · Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Activate!
[Equivalent Exchange · Break]
Moen pressed his finger against the black metal.
A surge of golden magic, filled with divine radiance, erupted instantly!
Under the shocked gazes of Borgin, Lucius, and Draco, that originally dull and impurity-laden Black-Sere Goldsuddenly began to squirm as if it were alive. The black outer skin peeled away, and its internal molecular structure was forcibly reorganized.
In just three seconds.
That piece of black iron had turned into a piece of dazzling, high-purity—Mithril.
No, it wasn't just Mithril.
Natural magical patterns had surfaced on the Mithril's exterior.
"Now, how much is it worth?" Moen picked up the still-hot silver ingot and tossed it casually onto the counter, where it landed with a heavy 'clatter.'
Borgin tremblingly picked up the Mithril, his monocle nearly falling off.
"This... this is Mithril of the highest purity! And it's been magically tempered! My god... this is worth at least five thousand Galleons!"
Lucius Malfoy stared fixedly at Moen's hand.
His breathing grew rapid, and the contempt in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by an ill-concealed greed and a deep-seated fear.
Turning stone into gold?
Matter transmutation?
This was Alchemy on the level of Nicolas Flamel!
"Mr. White..." Lucius's voice sounded a bit dry. "How... how did you do that?"
"Just a small hobby, Mr. Malfoy." Moen unhurriedly put his glove back on. "As I said before, the White Familypossesses capital beyond your imagination."
"If I wish, I can turn Galleons into scrap iron, and I can turn scrap iron into Galleons."
Moen turned his head, his deep eyes looking at Lucius:
"So, Mr. Malfoy. Regarding our previous proposal... do you now feel that the White Family is an ally worthy of 'deep cooperation'?"
Lucius remained silent for a long time.
As a shrewd Slytherin, he knew better than anyone what this meant.
A person possessing this kind of Alchemy was a walking mint.
"...Of course." Lucius bowed his head, his tone now carrying a genuine sense of respect—or perhaps, a submission to wealth. "I will reconsider your suggestion. Draco, let's go."
Lucius left with Draco, even forgetting to take the transmuted Mithril.
Because he knew it was Moen's display piece, and also a warning.
"This Mithril is yours, Borgin," Moen said to the still-shaking shopkeeper. "In exchange, wrap up that copy of advanced potion-making in your shop for me."
"Yes! Yes! No problem!" Borgin scrambled to get the book, terrified that this little ancestor who could turn stone into gold might change his mind.
Moen got the book and walked to the door, suddenly stopping in his tracks.
He glanced back at the black cabinet and said in a voice only he could hear:
"Come out, Potter. Everyone's gone now."
The cabinet door was pushed open cautiously.
Harry, his face covered in soot and his glasses half-broken, crawled out, coughing violently.
"Moen! *Cough cough*... thank you!" Harry was moved to tears of gratitude. "If you hadn't gotten rid of Malfoy..."
"You would have been discovered, then Hagrid's contraband would have been found, and Mr. Weasleywould have been investigated." Moen handed Harry a handkerchief. "That would not have served my interests."
"Go on now." Moen pushed open the shop door. "Hagrid is looking for you outside."
The two stepped out of the dark shop and back onto the streets of Knockturn Alley.
They had barely walked two steps when several ragged old hags with long fingernails surrounded them. They stared at Harry's clothes, which, though dirty, were clearly of good quality.
"Lost, are we? Dearie?" An old hag reached out a withered hand to grab Harry.
Harry backed away in fear.
"Get lost."
Moen's wand swung out sharply.
He didn't use magic; it was a purely physical strike.
Thwack!
The Black Ironwood Cane slammed hard against the old hag's wrist. She let out a shriek, the sound of bone snapping clearly audible.
Moen stood in front of Harry, and Dragon Fear was instantly released.
That aura of an apex predator caused the surrounding Dark Wizards' faces to pale as they scrambled back.
"In Knockturn Alley, never show weakness," Moen lectured Harry coldly. "If you act like a sheep, the wolves will pounce. You must act like a lion... or like a venomous snake."
Just then, a familiar booming voice came from the distance.
"Harry! Harry! Where are yeh?"
Hagrid, like a moving small mountain, was searching through the crowd anxiously, holding a massive crossbow.
"Hagrid!" Harry shouted.
Hagrid rushed over, scaring the hags into fleeing in all directions.
"Blimey, Harry! What are yeh doin' in a place like this!" Hagrid picked Harry up and patted the dust off him. "And Moen? What are you two doin' together?"
"I came to buy some reference books and happened to run into the lost Mr. Potter." Moen waved the copy of advanced potion-making in his hand, its title obscured.
"Let's go, let's go, this place ain't safe." Hagrid shielded the two of them as they walked toward Diagon Alley.
Stepping out of Knockturn Alley, sunlight spilled over them once more.
Harry let out a long breath, feeling as if he had come back to life.
Moen looked back at the dark alleyway.
Today's 'transaction' was very profitable.
He had not only intimidated Lucius and obtained a forbidden book but also further increased Savior's favorability toward him.
More importantly, he had verified the deterrent power of the Gate of Truth in a practical situation.
"Next term." Moen rubbed his chin. "Perhaps I could consider turning that Basilisk at Hogwarts... into a pile of high-grade alchemical materials?"
"After all, snakeskin wallets have been quite trendy lately."
Chapter 36: The Peacock in the Bookstore and the "Trojan Horse"
Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley was packed to the point of being impassable today.
A massive banner hung outside: "Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography, 'Magical Me' — Today, 12:30 PM — 4:30 PM."
Groups of middle-aged witches crowded the entrance, screaming in excitement, a scene comparable to the idol meet-and-greets Moen had seen in his previous life.
"This is simply a disaster."
Malfoy stood by the railing on the second floor of the bookstore, looking down at the swarming crowd with a face full of disdain. "That buffoon wrote a pile of nonsense, yet these people are still scrambling to buy it. Has the aesthetic of the Wizarding World fallen to such a state?"
"It's called the 'fan economy,' Draco."
Moen White stood beside him, wearing a well-tailored black velvet robe and leaning on his Black Ironwood Cane, his gaze scanning the floor below through [True Sight].
"Lockhart may be a buffoon, but he knows how to package himself. In this age where looks are everything, the truth is often less important than a retouched photo."
Moen glanced at Rita Skeeter standing beside him.
The star reporter had dressed up specially today, and the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand was already itching for action.
"Boss," Rita leaned in flatteringly, "I've already thought of today's headline: 'The Meeting of the Century between Lockhart and Savior — Who is the Real Smiling Assassin?'. What do you think?"
"Not bad," Moen nodded faintly. "But remember, make Lockhart look even more like a clown — use a tone that seems like praise but is actually ironic. I want intelligent people to see through his hypocrisy at a glance, while making the fools worship him even more fanatically."
"Brilliant." Rita's eyes lit up.
Just then, a commotion broke out downstairs.
Gilderoy Lockhart made his entrance. He wore robes of forget-me-not blue with a matching pointed hat, and his golden curls shone brilliantly under the camera flashes.
He flashed that smile which had supposedly won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, waving to the crowd.
"Thank you! Thank you everyone!" Lockhart said loudly, like a peacock spreading its tail.
Suddenly, his gaze locked onto the bespectacled boy trying to hide in the crowd.
"Is that not Harry Potter?!"
Lockhart rushed into the crowd, grabbed Harry's arm, and dragged him to the front. Harry's face turned as red as a ripe tomato as he struggled desperately to get away.
"Smile, Harry! We'll make the front page together!" Lockhart whispered.
At that moment, Lockhart happened to look up and saw Moen standing by the second-floor railing, looking down at him coldly.
Lockhart's smile froze for a split second.
As the current darling of The Daily Prophet, he naturally knew who the real owner of the newspaper was. That Slytherin boy who supposedly controlled vast capital and could ruin him at any moment.
"Oh! My goodness!"
Lockhart suddenly let go of Harry and shouted toward the second floor with an even more exaggerated enthusiasm:
"Is that Mr. Moen White? My dear... er, young friend! Come down! The three of us should take a photo together! This will definitely double the sales!"
Moen raised an eyebrow.
This buffoon might be incompetent, but his situational awareness wasn't bad.
"Let's go, Draco." Moen straightened his cufflinks. "Let's go meet our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."
The two of them walked down the stairs. The crowd automatically parted for Moen — mainly because of the cold 'keep-away' aura he projected, and that wand which looked like it could crush a skull.
Moen walked up to Lockhart and took the initiative to extend his hand.
"Good afternoon, Professor Lockhart. Your smile is indeed as legendary as they say."
"Not at all, not at all!" Lockhart gripped Moen's hand tightly and lowered his voice. "Mr. White, regarding next week's exclusive interview... could you have Ms. Skeeterretouch my hairline to be a bit more perfect?"
[Contact Successful!]
[Scanning Target]: Gilderoy Lockhart
[Discovered Traits]:
[Purple] Master of Memory Charms: Though he is terrible at all other spells, in the field of erasing memories, he is an undisputed master. He can precisely delete your thoughts from the previous second, or wash a great archmage into an idiot.
[Blue] Marketing Genius: He is a natural liar and orator.
[White] Extreme Narcissism:..."Master of Memory Charms?" Moen's heart stirred.
This was a good thing. Whether used for keeping secrets or dealing with certain "disobedient" enemies, it was very practical.
[Consume Extraction x 10]
[Probability Stacking Initiated...]
[Extraction Successful!]
[Congratulations! Obtained Trait]: Memory Scalpel(Purple)
[Description]: You have a thorough understanding of the structure of memory. You can delete, modify, or even forge the memories of others as if editing film footage.
Moen smiled and let go of the hand, feeling a precise map of the brain's memory zones appear in his mind.
"Of course, no problem, Professor," Moen said meaningfully. "I'll make sure she writes you as... impeccable."
Lockhart went off satisfied to sign books for his fans, even generously giving Harry a full set of his works.
Harry dumped the heavy books into Ginny Weasley's new cauldron and grumbled under his breath, "I really don't want to be famous."
"Are you humble-bragging, Potter?" Draco Malfoy walked over, wearing his signature sneer. "This will probably make your pathetic friend Weasley die of jealousy, won't it?"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron squeezed through, followed by Mr. Weasley.
"Look who it is." Lucius Malfoy also approached, a hand resting on Draco's shoulder, his face wearing its habitual arrogance. "Arthur Weasley... I heard the Ministry of Magichas been very busy lately? With all those raids, I didn't see them paying you any overtime."
"We have different views on honor, Malfoy," Mr. Weasleysaid coldly.
"Honor?" Lucius looked contemptuously at the second-hand textbooks in Ginny's cauldron. "Look at the friends you keep... if you can't even afford textbooks for your family, what honor is there to talk about? I feel embarrassed for you."
"How dare you insult my family!"
Mr. Weasley finally snapped.
He lunged at Lucius, slamming him into a bookshelf.
At that moment, pure-blood decorum vanished, replaced by a Muggle-style street brawl. Books flew everywhere, and the crowd screamed.
Hagrid tried to rush over to break up the fight.
But Moen moved first.
He didn't go to pull them apart, but instead lightly tapped the ground with his wand.
Boom!
An invisible wave of gravity spread out with him at the center.
The two adult Wizards locked in combat were instantly separated as if pressed by a giant invisible hand, each stumbling back a few steps and hitting the bookshelves.
"Enough."
Moen stood between the two, his expression cold.
"This is a bookstore, not an arena. If you two wish to fight, I can sponsor a ring. But brawling like barbarians in a public place..."
Moen looked at Lucius, a hint of warning in his eyes:
"This is beneath your status, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius straightened his disheveled robes, his face ashen. He had suffered at Moen's hands before and knew the depth of the boy's power.
"You are right, Mr. White." Lucius picked up a tattered copy of 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration' from the floor.
It was Ginny Weasley's book.
His gaze shifted between Moen and Harry, a flash of malice crossing his eyes.
"This book is yours, little girl." Lucius shoved the book back into Ginny's cauldron with excessive force. "I hope this rag of a book can bring some honor to your penniless father."
Moen's [True Sight] clearly captured that moment.
As he shoved the book back, a thin, black diary was skillfully slipped into the old book by Lucius.
The Trojan Horse was in place.
Chapter 37: Opening a New Hunting Season
Moen did not stop him.
Because he needed that Horcrux to enter Hogwarts. He needed the Basilisk to wake up.
That thousand-year-old Basilisk was his pre-ordered "high-grade alchemy material."
"Let's go, Draco." Lucius led his son out of the bookstore.
Mr. Weasley's face was flushed with anger, while Harryand Hermione comforted Ginny.
Moen looked at Ginny's battered old cauldron, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
"Take good care of your book, Miss Weasley," Moensuddenly spoke up, addressing the little red-haired girl.
Ginny jumped in surprise, her face turning red all the way to her ears as she stammered, unable to speak.
"A book may hold a house of gold... or it might hide a demon."
Moen left behind a baffling sentence, then turned and left the bookstore with Alfred... September 1st.
King's Cross Station.
Moen was already sitting comfortably in a Slytherincompartment.
Opposite him, Malfoy was complaining, "That Potter and Weasley actually didn't get on the train! I just went on a patrol, and they're not on board! They must have been scared off by the start of term!"
"Perhaps they chose a more... exciting mode of transport." Moen looked at the scenery receding rapidly outside the window, flipping through the pages of advanced potion-making.
He knew that at this moment, that blue Ford car was tumbling through the sky.
"This school year will be very interesting, Draco." Moenclosed the book, his fingers lightly stroking his Black Ironwood Cane. "Have you heard the legends of the Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets?"
"The Chamber of Secrets?" Malfoy's eyes lit up. "Of course! My father said it's a legacy left by Salazar Slytherin, one that only the true Heir can open to purge those filthy Mudbloods!"
Speaking of this, Malfoy got a bit excited. "Moen, do you think... could it be you? You're so strong, and you hate those idiots too."
Moen smiled and didn't give a direct answer.
"It doesn't matter who the Heir is."
Moen looked at the sky gradually darkening outside the window, the light of a hunter flickering in his eyes.
"What matters is the thing inside the Chamber... and who it belongs to."
[Remaining Extractions: 0]
Target: Basilisk, Tom Riddle's Diary (Horcrux)
"System," Moen thought silently, "get ready to open a new hunting season."
The train gave a long whistle as it drove into the mist of the Scottish Highlands.
And deep within Hogwarts castle, that monster that had slept for a thousand years seemed to sense some kind of summons, slowly opening its yellow vertical pupils in the darkness.
Evening.
The Hogwarts Express sped across the moors of the Scottish Highlands. Outside, a rainstorm had broken out, and raindrops hammered against the windows like bullets.
The sky was terrifyingly gloomy, as if portending an ominous school year.
In the exclusive Slytherin compartment, a warm fire burned in the fireplace.
This was an alchemy device Moen had paid to have installed.
"This rain is really annoying." Malfoy played idly with his wand. "And Potter and Weasley really didn't come. I just heard that buck-toothed Granger looking for them everywhere, as anxious as an ant on a hot pan."
"Perhaps they chose to 'fly' over." Moen held a cup of hot black tea, his gaze piercing through the rain curtain to see a tiny blue speck tumbling through the clouds in the sky.
That was the Weasleys' Ford Anglia.
"Fly?" Malfoy snorted. "Unless they've grown wings."
"I'm going to get some fresh air."
Moen set down his teacup, picked up his Black Ironwood Cane, and stood up.
"Want me to come with you?" Malfoy asked.
"No need. Some'scenery' is best enjoyed alone."
Moen pushed open the compartment door and stepped into the noisy corridor.
The corridor was crowded with students; since they couldn't go out to buy snacks and the rain was too heavy, everyone was huddled in the passageway chatting.
The cold aura Moen carried gave him a natural "clearing" halo; wherever he went, the crowd parted automatically.
He walked aimlessly until he reached a carriage near the end of the train.
This area was relatively secluded, usually with few people.
But he heard several harsh sounds of mocking laughter.
"Give that back to me!" an ethereal, dreamy voice said.
"You want it, Loony? Go ask the Dementors over there!" a senior Ravenclaw girl's voice rang out shrilly.
"Look at this trashy magazine, The Quibbler? You call this a book? It should be used to wipe windows!"
Moen stopped in his tracks.
His brow furrowed slightly, and in those originally calm black eyes, a heart-stopping cold light flashed for an instant.
In the memories of his past life, Luna Lovegood was one of his favorite characters.
In this world full of bloodline theories, exchange of interests, and Dark Arts conspiracies, she was the only one who lived transparently and purely, even being able to see through the essence of things.
"Such a clean soul cannot be soiled by you vulgar pieces of trash."
Moen turned around, his wand lightly tapping the floor with a crisp "clack"... at the end of the carriage.
Three Ravenclaw second-years were surrounding a little blonde girl. They had snatched her magazine and hidden her shoes on top of the luggage rack.
The little girl stood barefoot on the carpet, with messy, waist-length dirty blonde hair. She wore a necklace made of corks and those iconic radish earrings hanging from her ears.
Facing the bullying, she didn't cry or get angry. Her silvery-grey, protuberant eyes just quietly watched them, as if looking at some strange creatures.
"Give it back to me," Luna said softly. "It has an article my father wrote about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."
"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?" the leading boy laughed loudly, preparing to tear the magazine to shreds. "There's no such thing in this world, you loon—"
A hand wearing a black leather glove suddenly reached out from behind, firmly grabbing the boy's wrist.
"Who—" The boy turned around angrily.
Then, he saw Moen White.
He saw those abyss-like black eyes and that green Slytherin badge.
"Mo... Moen White?!"
The boy's face instantly lost all color. In Hogwarts, no one didn't know this first-year (now second-year) demon king who could "physically exorcise even a Troll."
"Bullying a new student?"
Moen's voice was very soft, yet it carried a bone-chilling coldness.
"And not even a new student from your own house. Does Ravenclaw's wisdom teach you how to use your position to bully others?"
"We... we were just joking..." The girl stepped back in fear, the shoes in her hand falling to the floor.
"A joke?"
Moen's fingers tightened slightly.
Half-Giant Strength activated.
"Argh!" the boy screamed in pain, feeling as if his wrist was being crushed by iron pincers. The magazine slipped from his hand and was caught steadily by Moen's other hand.
"Pick them up." Moen pointed at the shoes on the floor and spoke to the girl.
Chapter 38 Luna Lovegood
The girl crouched down, trembling, picked up the shoes, and handed them to Luna with both hands.
"Get lost."
Moen let go.
The three Ravenclaw students, as if granted an amnesty, scrambled away, not even daring to look back once.
The corridor fell silent.
Moen turned around and looked at the little girl standing before him, who only reached his chest.
Luna was putting on her shoes.
Once she was done, she looked up, her large, dreamy eyes staring at Moen for a long time.
"Thank you." Luna's voice was airy. "You chased away the Wrackspurts. They were swarming around those people's heads just now, buzzing incessantly."
Wrackspurts.
That was Luna's unique "perspective," used to describe those creatures of chaos and negative emotions.
Moen looked at her, and the cold, hard line of his mouth softened unconsciously.
He handed over the copy of The Quibbler he was holding.
"This magazine is quite interesting," Moen said. "I've read a few issues. Although some of the viewpoints are very bold, the discussion regarding the 'Rotfang Conspiracy,' viewed from the perspective of political metaphor, is quite profound."
Luna's eyes brightened: "You believe in the Rotfang Conspiracy too? Daddy says the Minister is a Vampire who wants to take all the gold from Gringotts to make pies."
"In a sense, he is right." Moen smiled.
Fudge was indeed a greedy politician.
At this moment, the system interface expanded automatically.
[Scan Target]: Luna Lovegood
[Discovered Traits]:
[Gold] Spirit Seer (Prophet of Truth): She can see things that ordinary people cannot. Her intuition can pierce through lies and fog, reaching the very essence. In this world filled with deception, she is the only one who is truly awake.
[Purple] Absolute Purity: Any mental Dark Arts (such as Imperius Curse) have their effects halved on her. She lives in her own world, unbreakable.
"Gold..."
Moen's heart stirred.
But he had no intention of "extracting" it.
This kind of pure trait was like fine porcelain; once touched, it might shatter.
"My name is Moen. Moen White." Moen extended his hand.
"I know you." Luna extended her slightly cool little hand to shake his. "You're the one who 'played ball with a Troll.' Ginny told me about you; she said that although you look cold, you are actually a good person."
"A good person?" Moen raised an eyebrow. "That is a dangerous evaluation, Miss Lovegood."
"Just call me Luna."
"Very well, Luna." Moen glanced at the empty carriage. "If you don't mind, you can come sit in my compartment. There is freshly brewed black tea, and... I believe there is pudding that you will like."
Luna tilted her head and thought for a moment: "Will there be a Naga? My daddy says people in Slytherin like to keep snakes."
"No Nagas." Moen opened the mechanism of his Black Ironwood Cane, produced an ice-blue alchemical rose from within, and handed it to Luna. "Only some 'peacocks' who don't know their manners, but I think you can handle them."
...
Half an hour later.
Inside the Slytherin compartment, the atmosphere had become extremely bizarre.
Malfoy was looking at Luna, who sat opposite him, with a look of utter breakdown.
"You have many Wrackspurts on your head," Luna said earnestly. "They make your brain go fuzzy, which is why you are always angry."
"Wrackspurts? What the hell is that!" Malfoy was exasperated. "Moen, why did you bring a Ravenclawlunatic in here?"
"Watch your language, Draco."
Moen was flipping through that copy of The Quibbler, his expression focused.
"This is no lunatic; this is the daughter of a future media mogul."
Moen closed the magazine, his eyes flashing with a merchant's shrewdness:
"You know that The Daily Prophet is already my mouthpiece now. But that is mainstream media; it cannot cover those fringe groups who enjoy the bizarre. And The Quibbler... it has a unique audience."
"I am going to monopolize the public opinion of the entire magical world, whether it is mainstream or non-mainstream."
Moen pointed at Luna:
"Therefore, Miss Lovegood is my'strategic partner.' Respecting her is respecting Galleons."
Malfoy was speechless.
Since it involved "Galleons" and "strategy," he dared not argue back.
But he still shifted his bottom, moving a little further away from the eccentric girl.
Luna seemed not to have understood what "strategy" Moen was talking about at all. She simply took a bite of the pudding and narrowed her eyes happily: "This pudding is delicious. It doesn't have a bitter taste."
Moen looked at her, his eyes softening for a moment.
Protecting her was not just for the sake of past sentiments.
In this school year, about to be turned into a mess by the Basilisk and Horcruxes, Luna's eyes, which could see through to the essence, might become the turning point at a critical moment.
...
The train finally arrived at Hogsmeade station.
It was still raining, even harder than before.
"Goodbye, Moen." Luna didn't use an umbrella; she just held the magazine over her head. "Thank you for the pudding."
"Wait."
Moen waved his Black Ironwood Cane.
"Water-repelling."
An invisible barrier enveloped Luna, and the rainwater slid off automatically an inch away from her.
"Watch out for slippery paths," Moen instructed softly.
Watching Luna skip towards that group of Ravenclawstudents—those who had bullied her were now keeping their distance—Moen finally turned to walk towards the Slytherin group.
Outside the station, a hundred carriages without horses were waiting in the rain.
"How do these carriages move?" Malfoy climbed into the carriage. "Automatic magic?"
Moen stood in front of the carriage, not in a hurry to get on.
He activated [True Sight].
In his eyes, there was no such thing as "automatic magic."
Pulling the carriages were a group of creatures with black leathery wings, skeletal and thin, looking like a cross between dragons and horses.
Their white eyes glimmered in the darkness.
Thestrals.
Creatures that only those who have witnessed death can see.
Moen not only saw them, but he also reached out and stroked the cold nose of the nearest Thestral.
[Contact Successful!] [Scan Target]: Thestral[Traits]: Death Navigation (Purple), Invisible Flight (Blue)
"Not many people can see them, Draco." Moen withdrew his hand and boarded the carriage, his tone deep. "This usually means... misfortune, or maturity."
"Are you talking to the air?" Malfoy shivered. "Don't scare me, Moen."
Moen smiled and leaned back against the carriage cushions.
Not far away, in another carriage, Luna Lovegood was also reaching out, gently stroking the void—the invisible Thestral—and then she turned her head, just in time to meet Moen's gaze through the carriage window.
The two of them smiled at each other across the curtain of rain.
It was a mutual understanding that only those who had seen death could comprehend.
"This school year." Moen touched the copy of advanced potion-making hidden in his inner pocket.
"The Chamber of Secrets is about to open."
Chapter 39: The Brutal Whomping Willow and the Alchemist's "Repair"
The Sorting Ceremony was underway in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Ginny Weasley, the little red-haired girl, was sorted into Gryffindor before the Sorting Hat even touched her hair. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and Percy Weasleyproudly boasted to those around him that she was his sister.
But at the Slytherin table, Moen White seemed somewhat distracted.
He held the Black Ironwood Wand in his hand, his fingertips gently tracing the intricate alchemical patterns on its shaft.
Inside the school, he usually contracted the outer shell of his cane, revealing the wand core within.
"Potter hasn't arrived yet," Malfoy gloated, cutting into his steak. "I bet he got scared and dropped out."
"In this world, some people are late for a grand entrance, while others are late because they're fools," Moen said flatly, his gaze shifting to the staff table.
That empty seat. Professor Snape was missing.
Professor McGonagall was also absent.
"It seems it's the latter," Moen set down his knife and fork.
Just then, Filch, clutching his cat, rushed into the Great Hallpanting, hurried over to Dumbledore, and whispered a few words.
Dumbledore's expression changed, and he immediately rose and left.
"Something interesting is happening."
Moen stood up, elegantly straightening his robes.
"Where are you going?" Malfoy asked.
"To see if I can salvage any valuable wreckage from this 'traffic accident.'"
...
The dungeons. Snape's office.
The air was so thick you could almost wring water from it.
Harry and Ron stood trembling in the center of the room. They looked a terrible mess—their robes were torn, they were covered in mud and leaves, Harry's glasses were half-shattered, and Ron's wand was broken in two, held together only by a few Unicorn hairs.
Snape stood before them, holding a copy of *The Evening Prophet*, his face wearing a look of vicious glee, like a predator that had caught its prey.
"Seen by Muggles!" Snape roared, slamming the newspaper onto the desk. "You actually flew a car across half of Britain! You've completely exposed the wizarding world! I have the authority to expel you!"
"We... we missed the train..." Harry tried to explain.
"Silence!" Snape brandished his wand, seemingly ready to curse them.
*Tap, tap.*
Two crisp, rhythmic knocks broke through Snape's tirade.
Snape's eyebrow twitched violently. "Enter!"
The door opened. Moen White walked in.
He didn't carry his usual aggressive, business-like aura. Instead, he seemed unusually calm. A faint, almost imperceptible film of magical energy surrounded him.
"White?" Snape narrowed his eyes. "I believe I said I did not wish to be disturbed at this time. Unless the Slytherincommon room has been flooded by the Giant Squid."
"The common room is secure, Professor," Moen entered the room, his deep black eyes sweeping over the disheveled Harry and Ron. "I merely found this at the main gate."
Moen raised his hand. Between his slender fingers was a twisted, still-smoking metal license plate.
It read: Ford Anglia.
"I believe this should be part of Mr. Weasley's 'illegally modified vehicle' that he misplaced," Moen placed the plate on the desk. "As a Slytherin, it is my duty to submit evidence of such contraband."
Ron's face instantly went white. This was irrefutable proof!
Snape took the license plate, his sneer deepening. "Excellent. Material evidence. Weasley, it seems your father's department will be under investigation because of you."
"Wait, Professor."
Moen spoke suddenly. He ignored the despairing Ron, turning instead to look at Harry's shattered glasses and the bleeding scrapes on both boys.
"While they have erred, I believe they should at least look presentable before facing judgment. After all, that is the face of Savior, is it not?"
Before Snape could refuse, Moen raised his wand.
This time, he did not employ the control over the essence of magic granted to him by [Half-Giant Strength] or [Gate of Truth (Golden)].
To physically correct things.
What he intended to demonstrate was "Reparo."
Moen whispered.
But this was no ordinary Mending Charm.
Within his [True Sight], the fracture paths of every glass molecule and every metal atom in Harry's glasses were clearly visible. He did not crudely fuse them together with magic. Instead, through the incantation, he reversed the item's "temporal entropy."
A stream of golden light flowed from the wand tip, enveloping Harry's glasses like liquid gold.
There was no sound.
The shattered spectacles instantly reassembled within the light, the cracks vanishing. Even the years of scratches on the lenses disappeared, leaving them as clear and new as the day they were made.
Immediately after, Moen flicked his wrist, his wand tracing an elegant'S' shape in the air.
"Scourgify."
But this was no ordinary Cleaning Charm either.
A breeze materialized out of thin air within the office, precisely swirling away the mud, leaves, and bloodstains from Harry and Ron's robes. The stains weren't merely "wiped away"; they were directly broken down into their most basic elemental dust, dissipating into the air.
In the blink of an eye, the two boys, who had looked like beggars, were spotlessly clean. Apart from their pale faces, they looked as if they had just stepped out of the Great Hall.
"This..." If Hermione had been present, she would have screamed. Because this level of control surpassed textbook definitions; this was the silent, seamless stripping of elements.
Snape's pupils contracted sharply.
As an expert, he saw the technique.
"Precise magical control, White," Snape's voice was low. "You've achieved an alchemical effect with a simple Mending Charm. It seems you weren't just counting coins all summer."
"One can never have too many skills, Professor," Moen put away his wand, not smiling at the praise.
He walked up to Ron, his gaze falling on the wand broken in two.
Ron looked at him with desperate hope. "Moen! Can you fix this too? Please!"
Moen looked down, activating the analytical perspective of [Gate of Truth].
[Scanning Item]: Charlie Weasley's old wand
[Status]: Core severed (Unicorn hair necrotic), wooden structure collapsed.
[Repair Feasibility]: 0% (unless causal-level repair is performed using the Elder Wand).
"This is a hot potato," Moen sneered inwardly.
If he repaired this wand, Lockhart wouldn't later be hit by his own backfired Memory Charm. That fraud *had* to become a fool. It was a rigid requirement of the plot and a key part of Moen's plan to monopolize Lockhart's bookstore shares and reputation.
Thus, Moen shook his head regretfully.
"Apologies, Weasley," Moen's voice was filled with "sincere" regret. "The soul of this wand is dead. Its core is completely severed. Even Ollivander himself couldn't revive it."
"Then... what do I do?" Ron despaired.
"I could lend you some money for a new one," Moenrevealed his capitalist smile, the dagger now unsheathed. "Interest at 20% above Gringotts' base rate. How's that? Considering your credit rating, it's quite a favorable offer."
"No thanks!" Ron gritted his teeth and refused. He'd rather tape it together than owe this Slytherin money.
Just then, the door opened again.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall walked in.
"I believe even the gravest of mistakes do not warrant immediate expulsion," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes sweeping over the clean and tidy Harry before finally resting on Moen.
Chapter 40: Special Challenge and the Mandrake
"Good evening, Mr. White." A strange look flickered in Albus Dumbledore's deep blue eyes. "The magical fluctuation of that Repairing Charm just now... was very unique. It reminded me of an old friend."
"It's just a common family craft, Headmaster." Moen bowed slightly, his expression neither humble nor arrogant.
The subsequent outcome was the same as in the original story: detention and a letter home to the parents.
As the group walked out of the office, Harry looked at Moen gratefully.
"Thank you, Moen." Harry touched his brand-new glasses. "If it weren't for you, I'd have to spend the whole semester wearing broken glasses. Hermione definitely wouldn't have been able to fix such severe damage."
"It was nothing," Moen said indifferently. "However, Harry, as a friend, I have a piece of advice for you."
Moen stopped in his tracks, looking into the darkness within the corridor's shadows.
"This school year, Hogwarts is going to become very unsettled."
Moen's fingers lightly tapped his wand:
"If you hear any strange voices, or see any strange diaries... remember to tell me first. Don't go crashing into trees like a fool as you did today."
Harry was stunned for a moment. "What voices?"
"You'll find out."
Moen didn't explain further.
He turned and walked deeper into the dungeons.
On his system panel, a new mission was flashing.
[Special Challenge: The Basilisk's Gaze]
[Objective 1: Extract the 'Petrifying Evil Eye' trait without killing the Basilisk.]
[Objective 2: Obtain the Legacy of Salazar Slytherin.]
"No using brute force." Moen gripped his wand. "This school year, we're going to play with some technical finesse."
He waved his wand, giving a light flick toward the dark corridor ahead.
"Lumos."
It wasn't an ordinary ball of light.
A sphere of pure white light, like a miniature sun, flew from the tip of his wand and hovered in mid-air, illuminating the entire cold dungeon as bright as day, even making the dust on the spiderwebs in the corners clearly visible.
In the play of light and shadow, Moen White's shadow was stretched very long, like a lurking giant python, preparing to swallow the coming chaos.
September, a sultry morning.
The Hogwarts greenhouses were situated on the grounds behind the castle.
Greenhouse Three was filled with the smell of damp earth and the strong scent of fertilizer.
The glass windows here were covered in condensation, and huge magical plants were stirring in the corners.
Second-year Slytherin and Gryffindor students were gathered here for Herbology.
Professor Sprout, the short, stout witch wearing a heavily patched hat, was standing in the middle of a long trestle table.
In front of her sat a row of deep-bottomed ceramic pots.
"Good morning, everyone!" Professor Sprout said cheerfully. "Today we are going to repot Mandrakes. Who can tell me the properties of a Mandrake?"
Hermione Granger's arm shot up instantly, as if it were on a spring.
This allowed Harry and Ron, standing next to her, to breathe a sigh of relief; at least they didn't have to worry about being called on.
Moen White stood in the Slytherin line, keeping his distance from the soil.
He wore a custom-made waterproof robe, and instead of holding a trowel, he wore a pair of thick dragon-hide gloves.
He observed the plants that hadn't been pulled out yet through his True Sight.
[Scanning Target]: Mandrake
[Attributes]: Magical Plant / Highly Toxic / Hallucinogenic
[Traits]:
[Purple] Death Scream (Juvenile form causes fainting): Its cry can directly attack the soul. An adult's cry is fatal.
[Blue] Powerful Restoration: It is the core material for most antidotes and restorative potions (especially against petrification and curses).
"Another purple trait," Moen calculated internally. "If I can cultivate them in large quantities and extract the essence, this would be hard currency on the black market. Moreover... the Basilisk's petrification..."
"Quite correct, ten points to Gryffindor," Professor Sproutpraised Hermione's answer. "Now, everyone, put on your earmuffs. Make sure they are on tight! No one is to take them off until I give the thumbs up!"
The students donned various colorful earmuffs. Moen put on a pair of black, noise-canceling earmuffs that looked like an Alchemical product.
He had made them himself.
"Pull!" Professor Sprout signaled.
Harry grabbed a tuft of leaves and pulled hard.
A creature that looked like an ugly baby was pulled out; its skin was a mottled pale green, and it was opening its mouth wide, screaming desperately.
Although he couldn't hear the sound, Moen could feel the vibration of magic in the air.
Everyone began scrambling to stuff the Mandrakes into new pots. This was not easy, as these 'babies' were very temperamental, kicking and flailing, not wanting to return to the soil.
Just then, an accident occurred.
Neville Longbottom, standing diagonally opposite Moen, was clearly too nervous. The Mandrake in his hand was exceptionally plump and surprisingly strong.
As Neville tried to press it into the soil, the 'baby' suddenly reached out a hand full of roots and poked Neville hard in the eye.
"Ah!"
Neville let go in pain and fell backward, knocking over the shelf behind him.
A row of empty flower pots on the shelf came crashing down with a clatter.
The Mandrake, having regained its freedom, didn't fall to the ground. It jumped up like an angry monkey, stepped on Neville's face, and lunged directly at the person closest to it.
Draco Malfoy.
"Mmph!!!"
Although Malfoy was wearing earmuffs, he was scared out of his wits when he saw an ugly green monster flying toward his face.
He instinctively waved his arms to block, and the Mandrakebit down hard on his finger!
"Aaaah—" Malfoy let out a scream that could be heard even through earmuffs. He shook his hand frantically, but this Mandrake seemed to have mutated; its bite strength was incredible.
The scene instantly spiraled out of control.
Professor Sprout hurried over, but she was a bit far away, separated by several rows of shelves.
The other students were all fleeing in terror.
"Damn it."
Moen sighed.
If Malfoy's finger got bitten off, Lucius would surely come to the school to cause trouble again, which would interfere with his plans.
Moen stepped forward.
He didn't use his wand, because at such close range, a spell might accidentally cause injury.
He reached out his left hand, clad in a dragon-hide glove, and accurately grabbed the neck of the frantically biting Mandrake—the junction between the stem and leaves.
Half-Giant Strength activated.
[Magical Creature/Plant Affinity (Purple)] activated.
"Let go."
Moen didn't shout, but his voice, transmitted through bone conduction, carried an unquestionable authority.
The temperamental Mandrake felt as if it were being held by a pair of iron pincers.
Even more terrifying, it sensed an aura from this human that made it instinctively fearful, coming from the Pure Blood.
It released its hold and huddled into a ball, shivering.
Malfoy slumped on the ground, took off his earmuffs, and looked at his bleeding finger, tears welling in his eyes. "It... it bit me! It wanted to eat my finger!"
"Shut up, Draco. It's just a flesh wound."
Moen held the Mandrake, which was now as quiet as a mouse, in one hand.
But he didn't rush to plant it back.
Because when Neville knocked over the shelf earlier, he had smashed all the prepared empty flower pots. This plant had nowhere to live now.
"That... Mr. White!" Professor Sprout ran over. "Good heavens, why is this Mandrake so large? Quick, give it to me, I'll go find a new pot—"
"No need for the trouble, Professor."
Moen looked at the pottery shards on the ground, a faint golden glimmer flashing in his eyes.
[Alchemy Ultimate · Gate of Truth] — Microscopic Restoration.
He didn't pull out his wand.
He simply extended his long index finger and lightly touched the pile of broken pottery shards on the ground.
There was no incantation.
The shards seemed to move as if time were reversing, quickly gathering and fusing. The cracks disappeared, and the glaze reappeared.
In the blink of an eye, a perfectly intact—even sturdier than before—dark ceramic pot appeared on the ground.
The entire class, except for the still-dizzy Neville, watched in stunned silence.