Chapter 51: Heading to the Chamber of Secrets to Harvest
The next morning.
Hogwarts was plunged into chaos once again.
When Moen walked into the Great Hall, he found Harryand Ron sitting there, their faces pale. Professor McGonagall's voice echoed throughout the school via a magical amplifier:
"All exams are cancelled."
If Hermione had been awake, she surely would have shouted, "Oh, no!"
The students now were not cheering, but whispering in fear.
"All students are to return to their dormitories immediately. All teachers are to assemble in the staff room."
"Something has happened." Moen set down his black coffee.
He did not return to the Slytherin dungeon; instead, taking advantage of the chaos, he followed silently behind the teachers to the staff room.
He cast a highly advanced Disillusionment Charm on himself and stood quietly in the corner.
The teachers were all there: Professor McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout.
And there was also Lockhart, who was deathly pale and trying to sneak away.
"A kidnapping has occurred." Professor McGonagall's voice trembled. "The Heir left a message. Right below the last one."
"What does it say?" Professor Sprout covered her mouth.
"Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever."
"Who is it?" Snape asked, his voice unusually calm.
"Ginny Weasley."
At that moment, Moen clearly saw the shadows in the corner twist. It was a slight fluctuation of magic caused by his reaction to hearing this expected yet cruel name.
Although it was inevitable for the plot, but...
"A little girl." Moen gripped his Black Ironwood Canetightly. "Tom, you truly have no bottom line."
"We must do something!" Professor McGonagall said desperately. "But we don't even know where the Chamber of Secrets is, or what kind of monster is inside!"
"I have a way!"
Snape suddenly spoke up. In that instant, a vicious light flickered in his black eyes as he looked at Lockhart, who was cowering by the door.
"Do we not have a 'Defense Master' here? Professor Lockhart."
Snape sneered as he approached Lockhart:
"Didn't you say last night that you had long known where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was, and that if it were you, you would have already taken care of that monster?"
"I... well... I just..." Lockhart's face turned green with fear.
"It is decided." Professor McGonagall also looked coldly at Lockhart. "Since you have a way, you will be the one to deal with that monster tonight. We will support you from behind."
"O-okay! I'll go prepare right away!"
Lockhart rushed out of the staff room like a frightened rabbit, clearly intending to return to his office to pack his bags and run.
The teachers also dispersed, preparing to evacuate the students.
The staff room was empty.
Moen dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and emerged from the shadows.
He walked to the window and looked at the gloomy sky outside.
"Alright, the stage is set."
Moen took out a bottle of golden potion—the [MandrakeReviving Potion (Special Edition)] he had prepared.
"Harry and Ron will go find Lockhart, then discover the true face of that fraud, and finally jump into the Chamber of Secrets together."
"And I..."
Moen put the potion away and turned to walk towards the second-floor girls' bathroom.
"...I should go to the finish line and wait to harvest."
He didn't need to find Lockhart.
Because he already knew the entrance.
[Task Update: Chamber of Secrets Endgame]
[Objective: Kill/Subdue the Basilisk]
[Objective: Destroy the diary]
[Objective: Ensure Harry Potter survives (he is the only Parseltongue key)]
Moen's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor, leaving behind only the crisp echo of his Black Ironwood Cane tapping on the ground, like the countdown of the Grim Reaper.
On the second floor,
in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
It was dark and damp as always, with faucets still dripping. Myrtle was floating above the innermost toilet, weeping and complaining about someone throwing a book at her.
"Good evening, Myrtle."
A calm voice interrupted her weeping.
Moen White leaned against the faucet engraved with a small snake, holding a pocket watch in his hand, checking the time by the faint moonlight.
"It's you?" Myrtle floated over, took off her glasses, and wiped away her tears. "That scary Slytherin boy. Are you here to mock me?"
"I am here to wait for someone." Moen put away his pocket watch. "And to see the place where you died. Fifty years ago, those yellow eyes took your life right here, didn't they?"
Myrtle shivered, her body becoming even more transparent. "Don't mention that! That was a nightmare! Those huge, terrifying eyes..."
Just then, a flurry of noisy footsteps came from outside the corridor.
The door was pushed open.
Harry and Ron rushed in, escorting a deathly pale Gilderoy Lockhart. Lockhart's wand had already been confiscated by Harry; he now looked like a prisoner about to head to the execution ground, his legs still shaking.
"Moen?!" Harry looked surprised at the figure standing by the sink. "Why are you here?"
"I told you, I am waiting for someone."
Moen straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the disheveled trio.
"It seems you have successfully exposed the true face of this 'Legendary Wizard'?" Moen looked at Lockhart, a mocking smile curling on his lips. "I assume his excuse now is that he actually doesn't know how to do anything, and that everything in those books was done by others?"
"How did you know?" Ron's eyes widened.
"Business intuition." Moen said calmly. "Someone who only knows how to flaunt a smile and sell hair potion usually doesn't have time to fight werewolves."
"Alright, don't waste time." Moen pointed to the faucet. "Harry, open it using Parseltongue."
Harry nodded and walked to the sink. He stared at the small snake engraving, imagining it was a living snake.
"Open."
A hissing sound came from his mouth.
The next second, the faucet emitted a dazzling white light and began to spin rapidly. Then, the entire sink slowly separated, revealing a very large pipe that led into bottomless darkness.
"I... I won't go, will I?" Lockhart tried to back away. "Since the entrance has been found, you guys can just..."
"Go down."
Ron jabbed Lockhart's back hard with his wand.
"You go first."
Lockhart's face was deathly pale as he was forced to the mouth of the pipe by Ron. He closed his eyes, kicked his legs, and slid down.
"We're going too." Harry glanced at Moen and jumped down as well.
Ron followed closely behind.
Moen stood at the mouth of the pipe and glanced at the pipe wall below, which was full of slime and grime.
He frowned.
"As the Heir of Slytherin, to actually use this kind of sewer as a secret passage—Salazar's taste is truly worrying."
Moen waved his Black Ironwood Cane.
"Scourgify."
"Friction reduction."
After doing all this, he elegantly adjusted the hem of his trench coat and jumped down like he was taking a slide.
...
The dark slide lasted for a long time.
Finally, the ground appeared ahead.
"Thump, thump."
Lockhart, Harry, and Ron fell onto a pile of rat bones one after another, letting out cries of pain.
And Moen.
The moment before landing, the wand in his hand tapped lightly against the pipe wall.
[Alchemy: Gravity Reversal].
He landed lightly on the ground like a feather, not even kicking up a speck of dust.
"Where is this?" Harry climbed up and lit his wand. "Lumos."
This was a dark stone tunnel, with the ground full of small animal skeletons.
"Over there." Harry pointed ahead. "Is that... snake skin?"
Not far away, a huge, bright green snake skin lay on the ground, a full twenty feet long.
"My God..." Ron swallowed hard. "How big must this monster be?"
Lockhart looked at the snake skin, his knees weak, almost kneeling on the ground.
But at this very moment, a flash of madness suddenly crossed his eyes.
Harry and Ron were looking at the snake skin with their backs to him. Ron's hand was hanging at his side, holding his wand.
It was his own wand, not the broken one Ron had.
Lockhart lunged at Ron.
"Give it to me!"
Although he was a fool, as an adult Wizard, he still had physical strength.
He snatched back his wand and quickly retreated, his face once again wearing that disgusting, triumphant smile.
Chapter 52 Tom Riddle.
"You are still too young, children!" Lockhart laughed. "Now, this is the end! I will peel off your skin and take it back, claiming it is the skin of the Basilisk!"
"I am going to cast a Memory Charm on you both, making you go insane. I will tell everyone that you were scared silly after seeing the monster!"
He raised his wand and aimed it at Harry and Ron.
"Farewell!" "Obliviate!"
Harry and Ron widened their eyes in terror, completely unable to react in time.
However, the white light they expected did not hit them.
Moen White, standing in the shadows, just watched this scene quietly, without even lifting a hand.
Because he knew the plot.
Wait... something is wrong!
Moen's pupils constricted sharply.
In the original story, Lockhart snatched Ron's broken wand, so the spell backfired.
But now! Because Moen had not helped Ron fix his wandearlier, Ron was carrying Harry's spare wand today.
This was a perfectly intact wand!
Harry had two, because Moen had given him one for practice earlier.
"Damn it!"
Moen reacted instantly.
The butterfly effect.
Because of his intervention, Ron did not use the broken wand, and Lockhart had grabbed a good wand!
If this Memory Charm connected, Savior would truly become an idiot!
[Dragon Might] — Burst!
[Half-Giant Speed] — Activate!
In the 0.01 seconds after the spell beam was fired.
Moen's figure disappeared from where he stood like a ghost.
Boom!
A dazzling white light hit the tunnel wall.
It did not hit Harry.
Instead, it was blocked by a black iron wall that rose out of thin air.
That was Moen.
At the critical moment, he rushed in front of Harry. He didn't use a magic shield as there was no time to chant, but instead, he directly swung that indestructible Black Ironwood Cane and, just like playing baseball, swatted the beam of the Obliviate away!
"What?!" Lockhart was stunned.
Is he still human? Blocking a spell with bare hands?
The swatted spell beam hit the ceiling, blasting away a large patch of rock. Huge boulders came crashing down with a roar.
"It's collapsing!" Ron shouted.
"Get out of the way!" Moen kicked Harry and Ron toward a safe area.
But he himself did not dodge.
Facing the tons of rock crashing down from above, Moensnorted coldly and thrust his left hand upward.
[Alchemy Ultimate · Gate of Truth] — Material Solidification · Support.
Golden alchemical radiance erupted from his palm.
Those falling rocks, the moment they touched the golden light, strangely stopped and fused in mid-air, then transformed into a huge stone pillar, like one from an ancient Greek temple, steadily propping up the crumbling tunnel ceiling.
The dust settled.
Lockhart stood on the other side of the stone pillar, looking at the boy who was holding up the sky with one hand, completely scared out of his wits.
"You... you are a monster..." Lockhart was so scared he dropped his wand.
Moen brushed the dust off his hands, walked out from under the stone pillar, and approached Lockhart step by step.
"Professor Lockhart." Moen's voice was terrifyingly calm. "I originally intended to let you make a dignified exit. But you shouldn't have, you absolutely shouldn't have, touched my 'assets'."
Moen picked up Lockhart's wand from the ground and walked up to him.
"Since you like Memory Charm so much..."
Moen pressed the wand against Lockhart's forehead.
[Memory Scalpel (Purple · From Lockhart himself)] — Activate.
"...then you should just forget everything completely."
"Obliviate."
A soft white light flashed by.
Lockhart's eyes instantly became unfocused; the shrewd look that was there before vanished, replaced by an infant-like innocence and confusion.
"Who are you?" Lockhart asked with a silly smile, "Do I live here?"
"Yes." Moen threw the wand on the ground, "You are a happy prince living in the sewer. Someone will come to pick you up later."
Moen turned around and looked at the shaken Harry and Ron.
"Ron, you stay here and watch him." Moen ordered, "Don't let him run around, and don't let him get hit by falling rocks."
"Harry, come with me."
Moen looked into the darkness deep within the tunnel, his wand tapping gently on the ground.
"The Basilisk is waiting for us."
"And... Tom Riddle."
Harry swallowed, gripped his wand tightly, and followed in Moen's footsteps.
He looked at Moen's upright back, and a sudden, inexplicable sense of security welled up in his heart.
With this Slytherin devil here, it seemed that even that millennial monster... was not so scary anymore.
Deep in the Chamber of Secrets.
Passing through that long, dark tunnel, Moen and Harrystood before a huge stone wall. Carved on the wall were two intertwined stone snakes, their eyes inlaid with huge emeralds, flickering with an eerie light in the darkness.
"We've arrived."
Moen adjusted his tie, which hadn't even been messed up during the slide, and looked up to examine this door, which was full of Slytherin's personal bad taste.
[Ding!]
[Core node detected: Chamber of Secrets]
[Check-in successful!]
[Reward obtained: Draw count + 3]
[Passive trait obtained: Parseltongue Comprehension (Although you cannot speak it, you can understand what snakes are cursing about)]
"Better than nothing." Moen evaluated in his heart. Now he held 4 draw chances; although not many, at a critical moment, he might be able to bet on turning a bicycle into a motorcycle.
"Open it, Harry." Moen signaled.
Harry swallowed, stared at those emerald eyes, and hissed: "Open."
The two stone snakes separated, the stone wall split from the middle and slowly slid to the sides.
The two walked in.
This was a huge stone chamber that seemed to stretch on forever. Dim green light shone through high stone pillars, and on both sides stood pillars carved with coiled, tangled snakes, leading all the way to the end of the room.
And at the end, there was a huge statue, pressed against the pitch-black wall behind it.
It was a statue of a Wizard who looked decrepit, with a monkey-like face and sparse long beard.
Salazar Slytherin.
"I have to say," Moen walked on the damp floor, his wandtapping out hollow echoes, "As a student of Slytherin, I feel sorry for the founder's aesthetic. Carving himself so large, and with a monkey face at that, is a display of extreme narcissism and a lack of artistic cultivation."
Harry was in no mood to listen to Moen's art critique.
He saw the small figure lying motionless on the cold floor at the foot of the statue.
"Ginny!"
Harry dropped his wand and rushed over, kneeling beside Ginny.
"Ginny! Don't die! Please, don't die!"
Ginny's face was as white as marble, and her body was as cold as an ice cube, but this just proved she was still alive—only her life force was extremely weak.
"She won't wake up."
A soft voice came from the shadows.
Harry turned his head sharply.
A tall, dark-haired boy was leaning against a stone pillar watching them. His outline was somewhat blurry, with a strange halo around his edges, just like looking at things through a layer of heat haze.
Tom Riddle.
Chapter 53: Tom's "Stage Name," Voldemort
"Tom? Tom Riddle?" Harry recognized him. "How did you... How are you here?"
"It is a long story." Riddle walked over slowly, not looking at Harry, but instead turning his gaze toward Moen, who was standing not far away. "I think this friend from Slytherin should be able to guess who I am."
Moen leaned on his cane, watching this ghost from fifty years ago quietly.
[Scan Target]: Tom Marvolo Riddle (Memory/HorcruxProjection)
[Status]: Materialization Progress 90% (Draining Ginny Weasley's life force)
[Danger Level]: High (Possesses advanced Dark Artsknowledge)
"Good evening, senior Riddle." Moen nodded slightly, his tone as if he had encountered an acquaintance at a social banquet. "Or should I address you as—that wordplay enthusiast who rearranged his own name?"
The smile on Riddle's face stiffened for a moment.
"You know a lot." Riddle said softly. "Harry showed you the diary, didn't he? I can feel it; you have touched me. There is a power on you... a power that I find both repulsive and desirable."
"Likewise," Moen said indifferently. "I am also very interested in your soul-slicing technique."
"Save Ginny!" Harry interrupted their conversation. "We have to take her away! There's a Basilisk here!"
"I won't let you leave." Riddle said with a smile. "You see, Harry. The reason Ginny has become like this is because she opened her heart to me. She fed her soul to me, bit by bit. Now, as soon as she is dead, I will be able to fully revive."
"As for the Basilisk..." Riddle turned to look at the huge statue. "It only obeys my commands."
"Who are you?" Harry finally realized something was wrong. "Are you a ghost?"
"I am a memory." Riddle said. "A memory preserved in a diary for fifty years."
He picked up the wand Harry had just dropped on the ground.
"Now, I am going to tell you a secret."
Riddle waved his wand and wrote his full name in the air: Tom Marvolo Riddle
Then he waved his wand, and the letters rearranged: I am Voldemort
"Look." Riddle said in a low voice. "I knew one day I would become the greatest Wizard. How could I possibly spend my whole life using the name of that filthy Muggle father?"
Harry's eyes widened in horror: "You are... Voldemort?"
Riddle looked at Harry triumphantly, waiting for the other's fear.
But he discovered that the boy named Moen was not only unafraid, but instead revealed a look... as if he were looking at a terminal patient with middle-school syndrome.
"This is your secret?"
Moen sighed and shook his head.
"Giving yourself a stage name in an attempt to escape the inferiority of your background. This is a very common technique in commercial branding. For example, many third-rate singers will give themselves a catchy pseudonym."
"You!" Riddle's expression became ferocious.
"'Voldemort.'" Moen tapped the letters in the air with his cane. "The name is not bad; it's quite intimidating. But in essence, you are just a pathetic wretch who refuses to acknowledge your half-blood status and has developed an antisocial personality because of a lack of love in your childhood."
"Shut up!"
Riddle was enraged. He had spent fifty years in the diaryand had never seen such a sharp-tongued brat.
"How dare you speak to the Heir of Slytherin in such a tone!"
"Heir?" Moen sneered. "If you really were the Heir, you shouldn't be hiding in a diary, sucking the blood of a little girl. A true Slytherin rules everything with power and authority, not like a parasite."
"Enough!"
Riddle shrieked: "I will show you what true power is! What the legacy of Slytherin truly is!"
He turned to face the statue, opened his mouth, and let out a terrifying hiss: "Speak to me, Slytherin—the greatest of the four founders of Hogwarts."
Rumble— The huge, monkey-like face of the statue moved.
Its mouth opened, revealing a pitch-black abyss. A foul wind blew out from the hole. The monster that had been sleeping for a thousand years had awakened.
"Harry, close your eyes!" Moen roared. Harry immediately squeezed his eyes shut and turned his back to the statue.
"Hiss—hiss—" The sound of huge scales rubbing against the ground. A behemoth slid out from the statue's mouth and landed heavily on the floor, shaking the entire Chamber of Secrets. The Basilisk.
Over fifty feet long, its body covered in shimmering green scales, those huge yellow eyes could instantly kill any creature that met its gaze.
"Kill that boy!" Riddle pointed at Harry. "As for that arrogant Slytherin... leave him to me; I want to torture him myself!"
The Basilisk obeyed the command, raised its massive head, and lunged at Harry. Harry stumbled, trying to escape, but with his eyes closed, he couldn't run fast at all.
"Hiss—" The Basilisk opened its blood-red maw, its two fangs longer than scimitars. Just as it was about to bite Harry— Boom! A thunderous sound like a war drum.
Moen White stepped forward, blocking the path in front of Harry. He did not close his eyes.
He held a huge silver mirror, its back engraved with runes, blocking his front. It was the same type he had given Hermione, just a larger version.
[Gate of Truth]—Material Reinforcement. The mirror surface instantly became harder than diamond.
"Clang!" The Basilisk's head slammed hard into the mirror, making Moen's arm numb and shattering the stone floor beneath his feet. But he did not take a single step back.
"Look at me!" Moen suddenly roared at the Basilisk. He did not look into the Basilisk's eyes—that would be suicide—but instead locked onto the Basilisk's position through the reflection in the mirror.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)]—Extreme Overclocking! [Half-Giant Bloodline]—Boiling! [Magical Creature Affinity (Purple)]—Reverse Suppression!
A visible dark red ripple erupted from Moen's body! Behind him, the air seemed to twist into a ferocious Norwegian Ridgeback, roaring a challenge at that serpent.
"ROAR—!!!" The Basilisk's movements stalled. As the King of Serpents, it had never been challenged in terms of biological hierarchy. But the aura radiating from this tiny human before it actually made it feel a hint of... dread?
That was the aura of a dragon. It was the look of a sky sovereign looking down upon a ground-crawling worm.
"Just a larger earthworm." Moen threw away the slightly deformed mirror, gripped his Black Ironwood Cane with one hand, and pointed the tip at the Basilisk's massive head.
"Want to eat Savior?" The golden light in Moen's eyes flared intensely: "First, ask whether my 'investment' agrees!"
Chapter 54: The Thousand-Year Fang, the Phoenix's Elegy, and Violent Dismantling
Deep within the Chamber of Secrets, life and death hung by a thread.
The Basilisk's bloody maw lunged forward with a gust of stench, its two scimitar-like fangs dripping with lethal venom.
Moen did not retreat.
The Black Ironwood Cane in his hand wasn't meant for parrying; that would be too passive.
He was here to attack.
At the moment the Basilisk bit down, Moen exerted sudden force through his feet, causing the stone floor to shatter instantly.
"Rise!"
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Terrain Reconstruction.
With a low shout, the once-level stone slabs surged like waves, instantly transforming into three sharp stone spikes that stabbed fiercely into the Basilisk's lower jaw in a triangular formation!
*Bang!*
A massive sound of impact.
Although the Basilisk had thick skin and tough flesh, the sudden "Earth Spikes" still struck its jaw with agonizing pain, throwing its attack off course. The massive serpent head grazed Moen's body and slammed into a nearby stone pillar.
The stone pillar collapsed with a crash, sending rubble flying everywhere.
"Hiss—!!!"
The Basilisk roared in fury, swinging its massive tail like a whip in a horizontal sweep.
"Harry! Get back!" Moen roared, leaping backward onto another intact stone pillar.
Just then, an ethereal and sacred music echoed from the dome of the Chamber of Secrets.
A burst of flame-like red light pierced through the darkness.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, flew in carrying the Sorting Hat.
"That damned bird!" Riddle shrieked. "Kill it!"
Fawkes dove down, heading straight for the Basilisk's eyes.
The Basilisk thrashed its head wildly, trying to snap at the Phoenix, but Fawkes was too agile. Its golden beak pecked out both of the Basilisk's eyes with vicious precision.
Black blood splattered.
The Basilisk writhed in agony, its tail thrashing the ground so violently that the entire Chamber of Secrets shook.
"Nicely done, big bird," Moen said from the top of the stone pillar, watching the scene. "Now it's a fair fight."
To Moen, the Basilisk—now blinded and its instant-death gaze neutralized—was merely a pile of mobile, high-value protein and Alchemy materials.
"Kill him! You can still smell him even if you're blind!" Riddle ordered frantically.
Relying on its sense of smell and hearing, the Basilisklocked onto Moen's position once more. It lunged at the stone pillar with its jaws wide open in a frenzy.
"Hmph."
Moen gave a cold snort. He didn't use his wand again.
Stowing his wand, he slammed his palms together.
[Half-Giant Bloodline (Red)] — Full Power.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Material Hardening.
He didn't dodge.
Under Harry's terrified gaze, Moen actually jumped straight off the pillar and landed right on the Basilisk's massive head!
He straddled the Basilisk's neck like he was riding a dragon, his legs gripping the slippery scales tightly.
Gripping a spike on the Basilisk's head with his left hand, he balled his right hand into a fist, which was now coated in a golden, metallic luster reinforced by Alchemy.
"Get—down!"
*Boom!*
This punch, carrying the monstrous strength of a Half-Giant and the enhancement of Alchemy, slammed ruthlessly onto the crown of the Basilisk's head.
The Basilisk let out a shrill wail of agony. It felt as if its head had been struck by a meteorite.
Its massive body plummeted uncontrollably, crashing heavily onto the floor and smashing a large crater.
But he wasn't finished.
Moen didn't stop.
Like a violent demolition worker, he rained punch after punch onto the Basilisk's head. Every strike was accompanied by the sound of shattering bone and splattering black blood.
"This is for Mrs. Norris!"
*Bang!*
"This is for Hermione!"
*Bang!*
"This is for my lost break time!"
*Bang!*
Harry watched, dumbfounded.
Was... was this Alchemy? Wasn't this just a straight-up beating?
Riddle was also stunned. His proud Slytherin monster was being sat upon and pummeled?
"Use your fangs! You idiot! Bite him!" Riddle screamed in exasperation.
The Basilisk thrashed wildly in its intense pain, trying to shake Moen off.
Its long tail coiled around, attempting to strangle Moen.
Moen's gaze turned cold.
He pulled out the copy of advanced potion-making from his robes; the book was thick and hard enough.
He shoved the book into the Basilisk's wide-open maw, wedging it between the upper and lower jaws so it couldn't close its mouth or bite down.
Then, Moen jumped down.
He walked over to the Basilisk's longest fang.
"Lend me a light."
Moen grabbed the fang and snapped it with a powerful twist.
*Crack!*
The venomous fang, a full foot long, was snapped off by his raw strength.
Black venom dripped onto the ground, making a sizzling, corrosive sound.
"No—!!!" Riddle shrieked.
Holding the dripping fang, Moen turned to look at Harry, who was standing nearby, paralyzed with shock.
"Catch, Potter!"
Moen tossed the fang to Harry.
"That diary! It's his core! Destroy it!"
Harry snapped out of it. He caught the fang and looked at the diary lying to the side.
Riddle's expression changed drastically. He lunged desperately at Harry, trying to reclaim the diary.
But Harry was faster.
Raising the fang, he plunged it into the center of the diarywith all his might!
"Aaaaah—!!!"
Riddle let out a shrill, inhuman scream of absolute agony.
His body began to twist and burn. Black ink gushed from a hole in his chest like blood.
"You destroyed me! You destroyed..."
As the diary was pierced, Riddle's figure exploded in golden flames, eventually fading into nothingness.
Simultaneously, the Basilisk—beaten half to death by Moen—let out a final wail as its master vanished, collapsing completely onto the floor, motionless.
The Chamber of Secrets returned to a deathly silence.
Only Fawkes circled in the air, letting out a cry of victory.
Panting, Harry threw down the fang and looked at the ink-soaked holes in the diary, letting out a long sigh of relief.
"It's over..."
"It's not quite over, Harry."
Moen walked over to the Basilisk's corpse. He looked a bit disheveled, his trench coat covered in dust and black blood, but his spirit was exceptionally high.
He pulled a specialized skinning knife and several large Alchemy bottles from his pocket.
[Ding!]
[Detected High-Level Legendary Creature: Basilisk(Dead)]
[Perform extraction?]
"Extract," Moen thought to himself.
[Consuming extraction attempt x 1]
[Extraction successful!]
[Congratulations! You have obtained the trait: Petrifying Mystic Eyes (Purple · Downgraded Version / Paralyzing Gaze)]
[Description]: Your direct gaze will exert immense mental pressure on your opponent; those with weak wills will fall into a brief state of paralysis.
"This is just the appetizer."
Moen crouched down and began his true "harvest."
"Two intact fangs, market price: five thousand Galleons."
"The snake skin, complete..."
"The snake gall, a holy grail for detoxification."
"And these eyes..."
Moen dissected the Basilisk with practiced skill, like a chef preparing a Thanksgiving turkey.
Watching this, Harry felt his stomach churn.
Chapter 55: The "Clean" Death of the Basilisk
"Moen... what are you doing?"
"Recovering costs, Harry," Moen said without looking up, bottling the Basilisk venom. "This is a once-in-a-millennium trophy. Leaving it here to rot would be a crime against resources."
Just then, a groan came from over there.
Ginny Weasley woke up.
"Harry..." Ginny sat up, looking around blankly. Then she saw the dead Basilisk and Moen, who was busy "dismembering" it, and was so frightened she almost fainted again.
"Don't faint, Miss Weasley."
Moen wiped the blood off his hands and stood up.
"Now that you're awake, prepare your lines. You'll need to explain your year of'sleepwalking' to Dumbledore later."
Moen walked over to Ginny and handed her a bottle of golden potion.
"Drink it. This is high-purity Mandrake Essence; it can repair your damaged soul."
Ginny took the potion with trembling hands and drank it. The hollow feeling of weakness vanished significantly in an instant.
"Thank you... thank you, Moen," Ginny said, weeping. "I thought I was going to die."
"You indeed almost did," Moen said flatly. "Remember this feeling. Don't go trusting any talking diaries ever again."
Just then, Fawkes flew over, gesturing for them to grab his tail feathers.
"Are we flying up?" Harry asked.
"I believe so." Moen stuffed the bottles and jars filled with loot into his pocket, which was enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
He took one last look at the massive Chamber of Secretsand the statue of Salazar.
"Goodbye, old monkey."
Moen grabbed Fawkes's feathers.
Three people and one bird flew up through the pipes... A few minutes later, they were in Professor McGonagall's office.
The room was crowded. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Dumbledore who had finally returned, Professor McGonagall, and Snape, who had been waiting there for a long time.
When the three of them, covered in grime, emerged from the fireplace, Molly Weasley let out a scream and rushed forward to embrace Ginny.
The next half hour was spent in emotional reunions and explanations.
Harry placed the diary on the desk and told the story of Riddle.
After hearing it, Dumbledore looked at Moen with deep, searching eyes.
"It seems you have once again appeared in the right place at the right time, Mr. White."
"Simply to maintain campus safety, Headmaster," Moenreplied calmly, though his blood-spattered appearance made him look more like a butcher who had just finished a slaughter.
"Regarding the Basilisk..." Dumbledore asked.
"Dead," Moen answered succinctly. "Physically dead."
Snape's nose twitched; he caught the strong scent of extremely precious Basilisk venom and blood on Moen. A flash of shock and... jealousy flickered in his eyes.
This kid actually dismantled the entire snake?
"Very well," Dumbledore smiled. "It seems we have not only resolved a great trouble but also reaped a bountiful harvest."
"Lucius Malfoy is outside," Professor McGonagall said suddenly. "He looks very angry."
The door was burst open.
Lucius charged in, fuming with rage, followed by Dobby, the house-elf wrapped in bandages.
"Dumbledore!" Lucius roared. "You're back?! The Board of Governors clearly had—"
"This is thanks to Mr. White's'suggestion'." Dumbledorewaved several letters in his hand. "The other governors heard that Arthur's daughter had been taken and felt that changing Headmasters at such a time was not a good idea. Furthermore..."
Dumbledore looked at Moen.
"The White Family seems to have just acquired the assets of three of those governors. They now place great value on Mr. White's opinions."
Lucius snapped his head toward Moen, his face turning incredibly pale.
He had lost again.
And to a twelve-year-old child, no less.
"This isn't over," Lucius gritted his teeth. "Let's go, Dobby!"
He turned to leave.
"Wait, Mr. Malfoy."
Moen suddenly called out to him.
"Take this with you."
Moen took the tattered diary from Harry and shoved it into Lucius's hand.
"This is yours, isn't it? Though it's nothing but scrap paper now, I'm sure you'll want to keep it as a memento."
Lucius took the diary, his hands trembling.
He knew it was all over.
The secret weapon was destroyed, and it had been lost under his watch.
"You will regret this, White," Lucius threatened in a low voice.
"I never have regrets, Malfoy," Moen smiled, helping him close the door. "Just as I never make a losing deal."
Outside the door, Harry seemed to remember something; he pulled off a smelly sock, stuffed it into the diary, and chased after him... It was the classic scene of freeing Dobby. Moen didn't interfere because Dobby was a good source of free labor that he could hire later... The term ended.
The Hogwarts Express set off once again.
This time, Harry and Ron sat in Moen's compartment, enjoying a lavish lunch on Moen's treat.
"This year has been absolutely crazy," Ron said, chewing on a chicken leg. "But thank you, Moen. If it weren't for you, Ginny might have..."
"Don't mention it," Moen said, looking at the scenery flying past the window. "Just remember to pay back the loan for your new wand."
Ron choked.
Harry watched the scene with a smile.
Moen leaned back against his seat and felt the bottle of purple Basilisk venom in his pocket.
The second school year was over.
Not only had he harvested a large amount of rare materials, but he had also completely suppressed the arrogance of the Pure-blood faction and solidified his position in Slytherin and the entire school.
More importantly, he had verified the power of the [Gate of Truth].
"Next term."
The image of a massive black dog and the terrifying Azkaban prison surfaced in Moen's mind.
"Dementors."
Moen licked his lips.
"I've heard those creatures are the banes of souls... I wonder if I can extract a trait related to 'Soul Extraction'?"
The train sped toward London.
Far away in Azkaban, Sirius Black stared at a photo of the Weasleys in Egypt in the newspaper, the flames of revenge igniting in his eyes.
Inside the Hogwarts Express.
In this Slytherin-exclusive carriage, the atmosphere was heavier than the storm outside.
This solemnity stemmed from a copy of The Daily Prophetthat had just been delivered.
While the front-page headline was still reporting on Lockhart's "amnesia tragedy," in the financial column on the third page, Rita Skeeter (at Moen's suggestion) had written an in-depth report:
Hogwarts' Rising Star: Unveiling the Prodigy Controlling a Ten-Billion-Dollar Muggle Financial Empire — Moen White.
The article detailed the White Family's industries in the Muggle world: steel, energy, multinational banks... and, most crucially, the fact that there was no record of any wizarding blood in the White Family.
Chapter 56: The Definition of Mudblood and the 'Asset Restructuring' of the Snake House
There was a deathly silence in the carriage.
Draco Malfoy held the newspaper in his hand, his face pale as he looked at Moen, who was sitting opposite him with his eyes closed, resting.
Sitting around them were Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and several upper-year students.
"So..."
Theodore Nott, a thin, gloomy boy, was the first to break the silence. His father was an old-school Death Eater and a die-hard believer in pure-blood theory.
"Is what the newspaper says true? White." Nott's voice carried a hint of a tremor—it was anger, but also a kind of hysteria after his beliefs had collapsed. "You... your parents, they're all Muggles?"
Moen slowly opened his eyes. Those black eyes were as calm as water, showing not a single ripple.
"The layout of this edition isn't very good," Moencommented indifferently. "I told Rita that financial news should be on the second page."
"Answer me!" Nott suddenly stood up, his wand pointed at Moen. "You're a... Mudblood?!"
As soon as those two words were uttered, the temperature in the carriage seemed to drop to the freezing point instantly.
Pansy covered her mouth, and Zabini shrank back. Malfoy's face was a mess of conflict; he both admired Moen's power and found it impossible to accept this fact—the "Boss" he had followed for an entire year was actually the "Mudblood" he looked down upon most?
"Mudblood."
Moen wasn't angry; he didn't even draw his wand. He just chewed on the word as if he were tasting a glass of spoiled red wine.
"Is that how you define others? Theodore."
"Don't call my name!" Nott roared. "You're not worthy! How can Slytherin let a Mudblood lead? It's a disgrace! You deceived us! You've tainted Salazar's glory with that filthy bloodline!"
Several upper-year students also stood up. Although they feared Moen's martial prowess, "bloodline" was their last shred of dignity. Now that it had been stripped away, their sense of shame made them want to resist.
"Filthy?"
Moen suddenly laughed.
He stood up and tapped his Black Ironwood Cane lightly on the floor.
Thud.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)]—Full-coverage release.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)]—Aura suppression.
A terrifying, almost tangible pressure instantly filled the entire carriage. It was the absolute superiority of an apex predator looking down on a lower being.
Nott felt his knees go weak, nearly kneeling. But he gritted his teeth and held on: "Do you want to use violence to shut us up? Even if you kill us, you can't change your lowly birth!"
"Sit down," Moen said softly.
He used no spell, yet everyone felt an irresistible will. They were forced back into their seats, except for Nott, who remained standing.
Moen walked up to Nott, reached out, and caught Nott's wand between two fingers. With a light flick, the wand fell to the floor.
"If it were yesterday, I would have knocked your teeth out one by one." Moen straightened Nott's tie for him, his tone so gentle it was hair-raising. "But today, I want to talk business with you all."
Moen turned, his gaze sweeping over all the Slytherinelites present.
"What do you mean by your so-called 'nobility'?"
Moen pointed at Nott's refined but somewhat worn robes:
"Does it mean guarding a pile of moldy gold coins left by your ancestors, living in a dark, drafty manor, worrying all day about the Ministry of Magic's tax audits, and relying on selling off Dark Arts items to maintain appearances?"
He then pointed at Malfoy:
"Or does it mean being like Uncle Lucius, who clearly has decent political resources but, because of that outdated bloodline theory, makes himself look like a rat crossing the street, unable to even take down a Headmaster?"
"This is what you call nobility?"
Moen sneered, a disdain that came from his very core:
"In my eyes, this is called—distressed assets."
"What do you know!" Nott's eyes were red. "Bloodline is the root of magic!"
"Wrong."
Moen interrupted him, his voice turning cold:
"The root of magic is power. And the root of society is capital."
Moen pulled a Galleon from his pocket. It was one he had created in Knockturn Alley using the [Gate of Truth] for alchemy; its purity was extremely high, dazzling in the sunlight.
"I, Moen White. I have no wizarding bloodline. But I possess the wealth to buy half the wizarding world. I have the power to solo a Basilisk. I can even decide whether The Daily Prophet praises you or destroys you tomorrow."
Moen flipped the gold coin into the air; it spun, making a pleasant sound.
"And you, the so-called 'pure-bloods'."
"Aside from that surname, what else do you have? Without my'sponsorship' this year, Slytherin would still be losing to Gryffindor on broken broomsticks. Without my 'protection', you would have been so scared by the panic of the Chamber of Secrets that you'd have wet your pants."
Moen caught the coin and slammed it onto the table.
Bang!
The gold coin was deeply embedded into the oak tabletop.
"Listen, from today on, the rules in Slytherin have changed."
Moen looked around at everyone, his gaze like a blade:
"I don't care if your bloodline is pure or mixed. Even if you were born of a Troll, as long as you have value, I will use you."
"From now on in Slytherin, we don't rank by seniority or look at family trees."
"We will implement a 'Performance Appraisal System'."
"Whoever can bring me profit, whoever can show excellent magical talent, whoever can contribute strength to this group... they are the 'nobility'."
"Conversely, those useless wastes who only know how to cling to their ancestors' tablets while waiting to die, with 'Mudblood' constantly in their mouths..."
Moen looked at the deathly pale Nott:
"...I will personally 'liquidate' them out of the game."
The carriage was dead silent.
These words completely overturned the education they had received since childhood.
But looking at the young man standing in the light and shadow, as powerful as a monarch, and looking at the gold coin embedded in the table, a new, more fanatical desire sprouted in their hearts.
Compared to an ethereal bloodline, this tangible, visible'strength' Moen displayed seemed... more attractive?
"I..." Malfoy swallowed hard, the first to break the silence.
He looked at Moen, his gaze shifting from conflict to determination. He remembered his father's wariness of Moen, the broomsticks Moen had given him, and the victories of this year.
"I think Moen is right." Malfoy stood up and positioned himself behind Moen. "Bloodline... really can't put food on the table. I want to win, and I want to follow a winner."
With Malfoy taking the lead, Zabini also shrugged: "My mother often says that beauty and wealth are eternal. I'm in too."
Pansy followed immediately after.
Finally, only Nott was left. He stood there alone, his expression shifting uncertainly.
Moen didn't pressure him; he just took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands.
"It's okay if you can't figure it out, Theodore. You can go home and ask your father whether he'd rather starve to death guarding pure-blood glory, or follow me and increase the Nott family's assets tenfold."
The train began to slow down.
The announcement for the arrival at King's Cross Stationcame over the broadcast.
"Let's get off." Moen picked up his wand and led the way to the door. "No matter what you choose, as long as I am here, I have the final say in Slytherin."
The platform.
Steam drifted everywhere. Students rushed into their parents' arms.
Nott got off the train and saw his gloomy father standing by a pillar. He opened his mouth, wanting to complain, wanting to say that White was a Mudblood.
But before he could speak, he saw a shocking scene.
At the exit of the platform.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom, even grander than the Minister for Magic's car, was parked there.
The old butler, Alfred, wearing white gloves, respectfully pulled open the car door.
Beside the car stood two rows of bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses.
Though they were Muggles, their well-trained murderous intent made the surrounding Wizards afraid to approach.
Moen White walked over.
The bodyguards bowed in unison: "Young Master."
That kind of display, that kind of aura, instantly outshone all the pure-blood families present.
Chapter 57: The White Industrial Revolution and the Escapee from Azkaban
Lucius Malfoy was waiting for Draco with his wife, Narcissa.
Seeing this scene, the corner of Lucius's eye twitched, but he still gave a slight nod to Moen—a greeting between equals.
Nott shut his mouth.
He suddenly felt that his previous persistence was simply a joke.
In the face of a true capital tycoon, so-called "pure-blood glory" was like a beggar in tattered clothes bragging about how his ancestors were once wealthy.
Moen stood in front of the car door and looked back at the Slytherin students behind him.
He saw the shock, envy, and... submission in their eyes.
"Retrofitting complete."
Moen's lips curled slightly, and he climbed into the car.
"Home, Alfred. Also, notify the finance department to prepare for the acquisition of those herb plantations under the Nott family name. I think they will need cash flow very soon."
The car window rolled up, shutting out the hustle and bustle of the Wizarding World.
Moen closed his eyes and began to plan his "hunting list" for the third academic year.
[Target]: Prisoner of Azkaban (Sirius)
[Target]: Dementor (Soul Attribute)
[Target]: Time-Turner (Law Attribute)
...
July, midsummer.
For the British Wizarding World, this summer was hotter than ever before.
This heat did not just stem from the weather, but more from a "golden storm" that was quietly sweeping through Diagon Alley, Gringotts, and even the Ministry of Magic.
If you walked into Diagon Alley now, you would find that the biggest change was not which shop had released a new product, but that everyone was discussing the same name—"White Alchemy Industries."
...
On the outskirts of London,
inside an abandoned factory protected by powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms.
This place used to be a Muggle textile mill; now it had been bought by Moen White and transformed into the Wizarding World's first true "modern Potion factory."
Inside the massive factory floor, dozens of giant alchemical cauldrons over two meters in diameter were stirring automatically.
There were no Wizards waving wands nearby; instead, there were automated mechanical arms covered in runes that precisely controlled the number of rotations for stirring.
The air was filled with a refreshing scent of mint.
"Is this... the future?"
Lucius Malfoy stood on the high observation deck, clutching his snake-head cane, looking at the shocking assembly line below, his voice dry.
Beside him stood Professor Snape, equally dumbfounded.
"This is not the future, Lucius."
Moen White was wearing a white Alchemy lab coat, holding a pocket watch, and calculating the output rate.
"This is efficiency."
Moen pointed to the rows of Potions being automatically bottled below:
"These are 'Cold Potions.' Previously, a skilled Potionmaster could brew at most 20 bottles a day. And the quality was uneven. But here..."
Moen pressed the pocket watch:
"...we produce 50 bottles every minute. The purity standard deviation is controlled within 0.1%."
"The cost has been reduced by 80%, and I have only lowered the selling price by 20%." Moen turned his head and looked at the two.
On Snape's perpetually gloomy face, an extremely complex expression appeared at this moment.
As a Potion master, he instinctively rejected this kind of mass production without a "soul," but looking at the flawless quality of the Potions, he had to admit—in the field of basic Potions, manual labor had already been rendered obsolete.
"You have broken the monopoly of the Potion Association, White," Snape said in a low voice. "Those old guys like Slughorn will go crazy."
"Let them go crazy," Moen said indifferently. "When they find out they don't even have the money to buy raw materials, they will obediently sell me their patents."
Moen walked over to Lucius.
"Mr. Malfoy, how is the acquisition of the 'Nimbus Racing Broom Company' going?"
Lucius took a deep breath, forcing himself to snap out of the shocking profit figures.
"They are still resisting," Lucius regained his shrewdness. "They say the 'Black Swan' is just an isolated case and cannot be mass-produced. They still hold the market share."
"Then launch a 'price war.'"
Moen's gaze was cold:
"Announce that 'White Heavy Industries' is about to launch the 'Black Swan - Civilian Version.' Performance is 15% higher than the Nimbus 2001, and the price is only half of it."
"At the same time, have The Daily Prophet publish an article questioning whether the Nimbus company's timber supply chain is contaminated with Dark Arts."
"I want to make their stock price hit rock bottom within a month. Then..." Moen made a grabbing gesture, "acquire them at a low price."
Lucius looked at the twelve-year-old boy in front of him, a chill running down his spine.
These methods... were even more terrifying than the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord killed people, while Moen White destroyed hearts and stole your money as well.
"Understood." Lucius lowered his head; this time, he was truly submitting from the heart.
Not because of fear of violence, but because by following Moen, the Malfoy family's vault had already doubled this summer.
"There is one more thing."
Moen suddenly looked at Snape.
"Severus, how is the progress on the improved version of the 'Wolfsbane Potion'?"
Snape frowned: "That is an extremely advanced Potion. Although I have the Alchemy insights provided by your [Gate of Truth], I still need time. You want to mass-produce that? Werewolves are a marginalized group in the Wizarding World; they don't have money to buy medicine."
"Not having money now does not mean they won't have money in the future."
Moen walked to the window, looking at the outline of London in the distance.
"I want to monopolize the Werewolf market. Not to make money off them, but to... control them."
"When all the werewolves rely on my Potion to maintain their sanity, I will possess the most dangerous and loyal army in this world."
Snape and Lucius exchanged a look, both seeing the horror in the other's eyes.
This boy's plans already stretched far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
...
One week later.
The front page of The Daily Prophet exploded with news.
But this time it wasn't about Moen's business, but a terrifying piece of news.
"Escape!" — Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban!
On the newspaper, that man with matted hair and a haggard face was roaring madly.
He was a recognized madman in the Wizarding World, a die-hard loyalist of Voldemort, and the sinner who betrayed the Potters.
At the breakfast table, Moen put down the newspaper and took a gentle sip of coffee.
"It has finally arrived."
"Young Master, this Black is very dangerous." Alfred stood to the side, cutting ham for Moen. "The Ministry of Magic is already in a state of chaos. Minister Fudge has even proposed letting Dementors station themselves at Hogwarts."
"Dementors..."
Moen's fingers tapped gently on the table.
Creatures that fed on happiness and could consume souls.
On his system hunting list, Dementors had a very high priority.
If he could extract the [Aura of Fear], his strength would take another leap.
"This is an opportunity, Alfred."
Moen picked up a quill and quickly wrote a few lines of instructions on a piece of parchment.
"Notify Rita Skeeter and have her start writing a series of reports."
"The first one:'Security Loopholes in the Ministry of Magic—Is Azkaban Really Impregnable?'"
"The second one: 'Dementors Stationed at School? Is it driving away a tiger to welcome a wolf, or inviting a wolf into the house?'"
"I want to create panic," Moen's eyes flashed with brilliance. "But at the same time, I want to guide this panic toward distrust of the Ministry of Magic."
"When people no longer believe in official institutions, they will seek new protectors."
Moen stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, and adjusted his appearance.
The boy in the mirror was wearing a Black high-end suit, holding the cane that symbolized power, looking like a young godfather controlling everything.
"Prepare the car. I am going to Diagon Alley."
"Is the Young Master going to buy books for the new semester?"
"No."
Moen picked up the newspaper with the photo of Siriusroaring, his lips curling slightly:
"I'm going to buy a 'cat'."
"And... I think I should also go meet that soon-to-be-appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin."
"After all, as the sole manufacturer of the 'Wolfsbane Potion,' it is necessary for me to go pay a visit to my 'potential client.'"
Chapter 58: The Rift at the Leaky Cauldron and a Marked Rat
August 30th.
London, Charing Cross Road, the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry Potter sat in a dim corner of the pub, an untouched breakfast sitting before him. Ever since he had accidentally blown up Aunt Marge and fled the Dursleys, he had been staying here.
Even though Cornelius Fudge hadn't punished him, he hadn't felt at ease over the past few days. He always felt as though the people around him were looking at him with strange, pitying eyes.
"Harry!"
A familiar voice rang out. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley walked in. Hermione was somewhat tanned, while Ron's face had gained quite a few more freckles.
"Thank goodness, you're all right!" Hermione rushed over and gave Harry a hug.
"We heard about Aunt Marge," Ron said with a grin, though he looked slightly nervous. "Dad said the Ministry of Magic was frantic over it, but they didn't even expel you—it's an absolute miracle."
The three sat down and began to share their summer experiences.
However, this warm atmosphere did not last long.
The door of the pub was pushed open.
The bustling tavern fell dead silent in an instant, as if a mute button had been pressed.
Moen White walked in.
He wore a black, sharply tailored high-collared trench coat, still holding that Black Ironwood Cane in his hand.
Yet his entourage this time was grander than ever before.
Four "White Security" personnel wearing matching uniforms—looking very much like former Aurors—flanked him on high alert, guarding him closely.
Even Tom the Innkeeper, the barkeep, immediately dropped what he was doing and scurried over with a bow.
"Mr. White! I'll prepare the best private room for you right away!"
Moen ignored Tom the Innkeeper. His gaze swept across the Great Hall and settled on the trio in the corner. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He waved his hand to dismiss the guards, then walked straight over.
"It seems our 'fugitive' is doing quite well." Moenapproached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, his movements as elegant as if he were in his own living room.
"Moen," Hermione greeted him, feeling a bit stiff.
Over the summer break, she had received dividends from Moen regarding the "Knockturn Alley Bookstore Management." It was a massive sum of money, making her always feel as though she were facing her boss whenever she was in front of Moen.
"Hey, Moen." Ron shifted uneasily in his seat.
He caught sight of the glittering new watch on Moen's wrist and subconsciously hid the frayed edges of his own cuffs.
Harry looked at Moen, but unlike in the past, he didn't immediately smile.
For some reason,
"You really seem to enjoy acting like such a big shot," Harrysaid abruptly, his tone somewhat sharp.
Moen raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry.
His [Mind Palace] informed him that the Savior had entered his adolescent rebellious phase; that fragile, sensitive pride was acting up.
"Enjoy?" Moen picked up the teapot on the table and poured himself a cup. "No, Harry. This is a necessary 'deterrent.' The Wizarding World isn't peaceful right now. A display of strength saves a lot of unnecessary trouble."
"You mean Sirius Black?" Ron lowered his voice. "I saw it in Dad's newspaper. He's coming to kill Harry, isn't he?"
"Kill Harry?"
Moen let out a soft chuckle, his eyes turning meaningful.
"Perhaps. That is what public opinion always claims. But the truth is often hidden beneath an apparently lunatic surface."
Moen's gaze suddenly dropped, fixing onto Ron's chest pocket.
Inside, a grey ball of fur was trembling slightly.
Scabbers. That rat who had lived for twelve years.
"Is that the rat?" Moen reached out his hand. "I remember advising you last year to throw it away."
"Scabbers has been sick lately." Ron shielded his pocket. "He's lost a lot of fur, and he won't stop shaking."
"Let me take a look. Maybe I can prescribe some medicine for it." Moen did not pull his hand back, and the compelling authority in his demeanor forced Ron to take the rat out.
Scabbers struggled violently in Moen's palm, his tiny, beady eyes filled with an almost human terror. He recognized this boy; at Hogwarts, he was the only creature capable of sensing the blend of [Pure Blood (Curse)] and [Dragon's Might] radiating from Moen.
He wanted to bite Moen, but Moen tightened his fingers slightly, pinching the scruff of his neck.
[Contact Successful!]
[Scanning Target]: Peter Pettigrew (Animagus Form)
[Current Status]: Extreme Terror / Attempting to Flee
Moen did not crush it to death on the spot.
Before everyone's eyes, he pulled an exquisite silver collar carved with alchemical runes out of his pocket, an accessory perhaps originally intended to decorate a pet.
"Since it's sick, it needs supervision."
With lightning-fast precision, Moen snapped the miniature collar around the rat's neck.
Click.
The collar locked securely into place.
"What is that?" Ron cried out in alarm. "What did you put on him?"
"An alchemical locator, imbued with 'a few' stabilizing runes," Moen bluffed calmly, though it was in fact a powerful tracking and binding device. "This will prevent it from getting lost and also monitor its vital signs. Consider it a back-to-school gift from me, Ron."
Scabbers scratched frantically at the collar around his neck, but it didn't budge an inch.
He fell into despair.
He could feel that his Magic was sealed away—he could no longer revert to his human form!
"You can't just put things on my pet!" Ron said angrily, feeling as though Moen was humiliating him for not even being able to afford a collar.
"I'm doing this for your own good." Moen tossed the rat back into Ron's lap, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. "Some things, if not watched closely, will bite their master to death."
"You're always like this," Harry suddenly stood up, green eyes blazing with fury.
"Like what?" Moen looked at him.
"Always so high and mighty, always acting like you know everything, always making decisions for us." Harry's voice trembled slightly. "You give Ron money, buy him things, and now you put a collar on his rat... What do you take us for? Your... employees?"
The atmosphere at the table froze instantly. Hermionelooked between the two of them anxiously, at a loss as to whose side to take.
Watching the furious Harry, Moen didn't get angry.
In fact, he found it somewhat amusing.
This little lion had finally grown claws and was starting to want to break free from his handler's control.
"Harry."
Moen stood up. Even though he was only half a head taller than Harry, his presence was entirely overwhelming.
"You think of this as charity?"
Moen stepped in front of Harry and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"If not for my 'charity,' Mr. Weasley would currently be under investigation by the Ministry of Magic. If not for my 'charity,' Ginny Weasley might have already died in the Chamber of Secrets."
"In this world, only the weak talk about pride. The strong care only about results."
Moen patted Harry's shoulder, feeling the other's tense muscles.
"You want to get rid of me? Fine."
"Then become stronger, Harry. Strong enough until the day you no longer need me to clean up your messes."
With that, Moen took up his cane, turned, and walked toward the stairs.
Chapter 59: Dementors on the Train
"By the way."
Moen stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back at Ron, who was still in shock, but his gaze was fixed on the rat:
"Keep an eye on your rat, Ron. If it gets lost... you might miss a wonderful 'family drama'."
Moen's figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs.
Harry sat back heavily in his chair, his chest heaving.
"He's changed," Harry whispered, "or rather... he's always been like this. A cold-blooded Slytherin."
"But he did save Ginny," Hermione defended in a low voice.
"I know," Harry clenched his fists, "that's why I feel sick. I owe him, but I hate this feeling."
Ron looked down at Scabbers in his arms; the silver collar glinted with an eerie light in the dim lamp.
For some reason, he felt that the look Moen just gave Scabbers was like looking at a death row inmate... Second floor, luxury suite.
Moen entered the room; Alfred had already brewed the Black tea.
"Young Master, that tracker..."
"That's a 'dog leash' for Peter Pettigrew."
Moen took off his trench coat and walked to the window, looking out at the bustling Diagon Alley.
"Peter can't die for now. He's the 'key' to the House of Black's vast inheritance. Only with this rat alive can I legally help Sirius clear his name, and then through that connection, swallow up those ancient Dark Arts vaults of the House of Black."
Moen picked up his teacup, looking at the red liquid inside with a cold expression.
"As for Harry... he's starting to hate me. That's good."
"Young Master?" Alfred was somewhat worried. "If Saviorstands against you..."
"Then let him stand there."
Moen sneered, a trace of disdain flashing in his eyes:
"He's too conspicuous. Dumbledore is watching him, the Ministry of Magic is watching him, even Voldemort is watching him."
"Since he loves playing the hero so much, let him attract all the attention. Let him fight the Dementors, let him deal with Voldemort."
Moen turned around and walked to a huge safe in the corner of the room.
He reached out, golden alchemical radiance flowing from his fingertips as he broke the complex seals.
The safe opened.
There were no gold coins inside.
Instead, there were several pre-prepared alchemical containers engraved with forbidden runes.
"When everyone is watching Savior, no one will notice what I'm doing."
Moen's fingers gently brushed over those containers.
"The 'soul-devouring' mechanism of the Dementors—I need a live specimen for dissection and research."
"The 'law circuit' of the Time-Turner—I've already submitted a 'sponsorship application' to the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, and I'll have the physical object soon."
"As for the Patronus Charm..."
Moen raised his Black Ironwood Cane and gave it a light tap.
A silver, partially formed mist swirled around him. It wasn't happy emotions; it was a product of pure magic forcibly condensed.
"...That kind of thing relying on something as cheap as 'happiness'—"
Moen closed the safe, the ambition in his eyes no longer concealed.
Afternoon.
The Hogwarts Express sped north through a torrential downpour.
The sky was as Black as ink, the sound of rain drumming against the windows like war drums.
Inside the luxurious Slytherin compartment, it was as warm as spring.
Moen White sat on a velvet sofa, holding a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.
Opposite him, Draco Malfoy was showing off his new broomstick to Pansy, though compared to Moen's "Black Swan," it looked like a toy.
"I heard Sirius Black is still at large," Zabini looked at the curtain of rain outside, his tone somewhat worried. "The Ministry says he might come to Hogwarts to kill Potter."
"Let him kill him then," Malfoy said maliciously. "It would save us the trouble."
"If Potter dies, you'll lose a lot of fun, Draco," Moeninterjected calmly. "Besides, whether Black's target is Potter remains to be seen."
Just then, the train suddenly decelerated without warning, making a piercing screeching sound before coming to a halt.
All the lights went out instantly.
The temperature in the once-warm compartment plummeted.
A thick layer of frost formed on the windows, and even a thin layer of ice condensed on the surface of the tea in Moen's cup.
"What's going on?" Malfoy pulled out his wand in a panic. "A power outage? Or did those Gryffindor idiots break the train again?"
"Quiet."
Moen set down his teacup.
His Half-Giant Bloodline's perception allowed him to sense a nauseating aura approaching.
It was a cold, damp, rotting sensation that seemed to suck away all happy emotions.
"Some uninvited guests have boarded," Moen stood up, his Black Ironwood Cane emitting a faint alchemical glow in the darkness.
Chaotic screams and the sound of people falling came from the corridor.
Then, the compartment door was slowly pushed open by a greyish-white, scabbed hand that looked like it had been rotting in water for a long time.
A tall figure draped in a tattered cloak floated in.
It had no face; under the cloak was only a dark, hollow void.
It took a breath, making a wheezing sound like a pair of bellows.
Dementor.
Malfoy let out a girl-like scream and scrambled under the seat.
Pansy and Zabini were also pale with fright, feeling all their happiness being drained away, leaving only endless despair.
The Dementor seemed to be attracted by the unique aura emanating from Moen.
The scent of [Pure Blood (Cursed)].
To a creature that feeds on despair and souls, Moen was like a dark delicacy emitting a strange fragrance.
It floated toward Moen, its invisible mouth seemingly preparing to give the boy a "kiss."
"Entering a private compartment without permission."
Moen didn't go limp with fear like an ordinary Wizard.
On the contrary, a fanaticism like that of an anatomist seeing a rare specimen flickered in his eyes.
"So this is the guardian of Azkaban? The devourer of souls?"
Moen didn't draw his wand to chant "Expecto Patronum."
He reached out his left hand, which wore a specialized Dragonhide Gloves engraved with isolation runes.
Under Malfoy's terrified gaze, Moen actually reached out and grabbed the Dementor by the throat—if it had one.
Sizzle—!
The moment they touched, the Dementor let out an angry hiss. It tried to suck out Moen's soul.
But it failed.
Moen's brain had long been partitioned and managed by a [Multiple Mind Core].
Happiness, sadness, logic, and ambition were strictly isolated in different mind palaces.
All the Dementor managed to suck out was a tiny bit of "dissatisfaction over the tea getting cold" that Moen had intentionally released.
Chapter 60: The "Amputated" Grim Reaper
"Is that all you've got?"
Moen sneered.
The magic within his body roared to life; golden Alchemyradiance surged along his arm, locking onto the Dementor's form with a death grip.
"Since you've come, you might as well leave a toll."
Moen swung his cane sharply with his right hand, and a sharp Alchemy surgical blade made of mithril sprang from the tip.
[Gate of Truth] — — Concept Stripping.
"Cut."
Swish! A silver light flashed.
The Dementor let out an extremely shrill shriek.
A corner of its fluttering black cloak, along with a lump of gray, smoke-like "solid matter" wrapped inside, was forcibly sliced off by Moen!
It was injured!
This monster, which fed on fear, tasted the fear of being preyed upon for the first time.
It struggled frantically, wanting to escape from this terrifying human.
"Get lost."
Moen released his left hand and took the opportunity to kick the Dementor in the chest.
[Half-Giant Strength] erupted.
Bang!
The Dementor was kicked out of the compartment like a torn sack, slammed against the wall across the corridor, and then terror-stricken, it turned into a wisp of black smoke and fled through the gap in the train window.
The compartment returned to a deathly silence.
The temperature began to rise, and the lights came back on.
Malfoy crawled out from under his seat, his teeth still chattering: "That... that was a Dementor? You... you drove it away?"
"Not just drove it away."
Moen bent down and picked up the wriggling, gray-black substance on the floor.
He took out a pre-prepared crystal bottle, stuffed the substance inside, and quickly sealed the bottle mouth with Alchemy sealing wax.
Moen looked at the crystal bottle in his hand, which sealed the gray mist, and the system interface in his mind actually flickered with a momentary greed.
[Target detected: Dementor]
[Extractable Traits]: Soul Siphon (Purple), Fear Aura (Purple), Physical Immunity (Blue)
[Remaining extraction attempts]: 2
[Base success rate]: 0.8%
[System Prompt]: Your attempts are insufficient to activate "Probability Stacking". Proceed with gambling-style extraction?
"No."
Moen decisively refused in his heart.
A probability of less than 1% is something gamblers do, not something a capitalist does.
"Besides..." Moen looked at the twisted, negative-emotion-filled substance in the bottle, a trace of disgust flashing in his eyes, "Directly stuffing this kind of dirty soul garbage into my body carries too much risk. What if I also turn into a monster that only knows how to feed on happiness? Then wouldn't all my 'fun' be gone?"
"It's safer to bring it back and slowly dissect it using the [Gate of Truth]. Alchemy can remove impurities and only preserve the power."
This was the real reason he chose "physical slicing" instead of "system extraction."
...
The corridor in the middle of the train.
When Moen walked over, he happened to see Harry being supported by Hermione and Ron, his face pale as paper.
A man wearing tattered robes, who looked exhausted even while sleeping, was standing beside them, holding a large piece of chocolate.
Remus Lupin.
"That was a Dementor," Lupin was explaining, "A guard of Azkaban. It has already left."
"Was it driven away?" Hermione asked with lingering fear, "What magic did you use? A silver light?"
"The Patronus Charm," Lupin said gently, "It is the only way to repel them."
"The only way?"
An untimely voice interjected.
Moen walked over, his leather shoes making crisp sounds on the floor.
"I think physical expulsion is also an effective method, as long as your strength is sufficient."
Lupin turned around and looked at this Slytherin student with a powerful aura.
A flash of vigilance crossed his tired eyes; it was a Werewolf's intuition toward dangerous creatures.
"Who are you?"
"Moen White," Moen nodded slightly, "The one who provides exclusive sponsorship for the 'Wolfsbane Potion' you take every month."
Lupin's pupils constricted sharply.
He certainly knew that name.
The mysterious tycoon who monopolized the Potionmarket and even provided relief medicine to werewolves.
But he hadn't expected the other party to be a student at Hogwarts.
"So it is Mr. White." Lupin's attitude became complicated, containing both gratitude and caution, "Thank you for your Potion. It... helped a great deal."
"You're welcome, that's business."
Moen's gaze crossed over Lupin and looked at the still-weak Harry.
"It seems our Savior is still so fragile," Moen evaluated indifferently, "Actually fainted from being scared by a watchdog?"
"That's a Dementor! Moen!" Ron shouted angrily, "It sucks away happiness!"
"I know what it is, Ron."
Moen took out the crystal bottle containing the Dementorfragment from his pocket and tossed it in his hand.
"Just a moment ago, one broke into my compartment. I think it probably felt that a Slytherin soul was more delicious."
"And then?" Hermione stared at the bottle, feeling that it contained something terrifying.
"Then I cut off a piece of its flesh and kicked it out."
Moen said nonchalantly, just as if he were talking about swatting a mosquito.
The entire scene fell silent.
Lupin looked at the bottle in shock.
He could feel the pure Dementor aura inside.
Barehanded? Cut off a piece? Kicked it out? What kind of monster is this child?
"Professor Lupin." Moen put away the bottle and gave Lupin a standard business smile, "I think we will have a lot of common ground this semester. For example... regarding the physiological change data of a certain creature on the full moon night, I hope to obtain your first-hand information."
"In return, I can provide you with an 'improved version' of the Potion. The kind that, after drinking, not only allows one to maintain sanity but can even... control the transformation."
Lupin's heart began to beat violently.
This temptation was too...
"I will consider it," Lupin said in a hoarse voice.
"Very good."
Moen nodded and turned to leave.
Harry watched Moen's back and clenched his fists.
It was like this again.
When he was scared unconscious by the Dementor and could only rely on eating chocolate to recover, Moen had already treated that monster as experimental material.
This gap made him feel a deep sense of powerlessness, as well as an even stronger... unwillingness.
"I want to learn that," Harry suddenly said to Lupin.
"What?"
"The Patronus Charm," Harry said firmly, "I want to learn how to drive them away. I can't always... always be protected, or be mocked."
Lupin looked at Harry's eyes, which were so like Lily's, and nodded gently.
"I will teach you, Harry."
And at the end of the corridor, Moen did not turn back.
He had heard Harry's request.
"Very good," Moen's lips curled up slightly, "Go learn, Harry. Go create that silver radiance."
"When you use that radiance to attract the hatred of all the Dementors..."
"... That will be the best time for me to capture the 'leader'."