Chapter 71: Delayed Justice
There, hundreds of Dementors were gathering.
They sensed the intense emotional fluctuations here.
"The Dementors are here." Black transformed back into his human form, clutching his injured ribs, and looked at the sky in despair.
The temperature plummeted.
The swarming mass of Dementors descended like dark clouds.
Their targets were Sirius and Harry.
Harry tried to raise his wand: "Expecto Patronum..."
Only a thin wisp of silver mist appeared. He was too afraid.
A Dementor dove down and seized Harry by the throat. Harry felt his happiness fading and his consciousness blurring.
"Is this the end?" Harry thought.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A dazzling, solid-looking silver light suddenly erupted.
It did not come from Harry.
Nor did it come from Moen, who was preparing something else.
It was from the opposite bank.
On the opposite bank of the Black Lake, a figure had cast a powerful Patronus Charm.
A giant silver stag charged over, scattering the Dementors in all directions.
Before losing consciousness, Harry hazily caught a glimpse of that figure.
"Dad..." he murmured.
But Moen saw it more clearly.
He activated [True Sight].
The person casting the spell on the opposite bank was not James Potter.
It was the future Harry Potter.
It was Harry who had returned using a Time-Turner.
"A time loop." Moen's lips curled slightly.
Since the future Harry had saved the present Harry, it meant the present Harry could not die.
In that case, Moen could free up his hands to do something else.
He looked in the direction Peter was fleeing.
That rat was frantically trying to avoid the Dementors.
Moen's figure vanished instantly.
[Half-Giant Speed]
The next second, he appeared by the bushes and stepped on the rat's tail.
"Squeak—!"
Moen bent down and grabbed Scabbers.
At this moment, the Dementors had been driven away by the Patronus Charm, and the scene was extremely chaotic. No one noticed Moen's actions.
"Game over, Peter."
Moen looked at the desperate rat in his hand.
"Although I wanted to hand you over to the Ministry of Magic to clear Sirius's name immediately, I suddenly realized that if I 'turned you in,' I wouldn't be able to extract any surplus value from you."
Moen pulled an alchemical metal box covered in seal runes from his pocket.
"Compared to Azkaban, my laboratory is more suitable for you."
He stuffed Peter into the box and sealed it shut.
Then, Moen took out his wand, sliced his arm, squeezed out a few drops of blood onto the grass, and used [Gate of Truth] to forge some minced meat and bloodstains to make it look like "the rat had been torn apart by Dementors."
"Done."
Moen stood up, looking at the perfectly forged crime scene.
"Tomorrow's news will be: Peter Pettigrew has faked his death again, or was eaten as a snack by the Dementors, leaving no evidence."
"As for Sirius... although there are no living witnesses, I can use my 'influence' and this rat's 'recorded confession' (which I'll slowly record in the lab) to gradually clear his name."
"Most importantly..."
Moen patted the metal box containing Peter.
"...I have the living Peter in my hands. This is equivalent to holding the lifeline of Dumbledore, Sirius, and even Voldemort."
At this moment, Dumbledore arrived in a hurry with Fudge.
What they saw was a mess: the unconscious trio of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the fallen Werewolf Lupin, the injured Black, and...
Moen White, who stood in the moonlight looking "exhausted" and "sad."
"Professor." Moen leaned "weakly" against a tree, pointing at the blood on the ground.
"The Dementors lost control... they ate that rat. I couldn't stop them."
Moen's acting was impeccable.
That night, although chaotic, the biggest winner was still the Slytherin standing in the shadows.
June, Hospital Wing.
The morning sun shone on the white sheets.
Harry and Hermione were lying in the hospital beds; although physically weak, their spirits were unusually high.
Ron had one leg in a cast and was animatedly describing to Madam Pomfrey how he had "heroically fought the Werewolf" last night, when in reality, he had just been bitten and then passed out.
The door to the ward was pushed open.
There was no waiting for Fudge to arrive to announce Sirius's death sentence.
In walked Moen White.
He had changed into a clean silver-gray suit, carrying the alchemical metal box covered in runes, followed by a somber-looking Dumbledore and a sweating, terrified Cornelius Fudge.
"Good morning, everyone."
Moen walked to the center of the ward and placed the metal box heavily on the bedside table, making a dull thud.
"I believe we have an ad-hoc hearing regarding 'judicial justice' to hold here."
"Mr. White..." Fudge wiped the sweat from his forehead, "Are you sure... are you sure what's inside is..."
"Open it and see for yourself, Minister."
Moen reached out and pressed the box.
The runes flickered, and the lid popped open.
A missing-fingered, trembling rat was trapped in the box by invisible magic. Beside it was a [Confession] that Moen had made it sign overnight, which carried the force of a magical contract.
"Revealed." Moen waved his wand.
In that confined space, the rat twisted and deformed, turning into that wretched, terrified, short, fat man—Peter Pettigrew.
"He... he is really alive!" Fudge stepped back in fright, nearly knocking over a medicine tray, "Merlin's beard! If this is true, then Black..."
"Black is innocent." Harry sat up abruptly and shouted, "Minister! You saw it too! Peter is the real traitor!"
Fudge's face turned pale. This was a huge political scandal.
The Ministry of Magic had imprisoned an innocent man for twelve years right under the noses of the Dementors, while awarding the Order of Merlin to the real culprit.
"Mr. Minister."
Moen walked over to Fudge, helped him straighten his crooked tie, his tone as gentle as a devil's:
"This is a crisis, but it is also an opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Fudge was stunned.
"If you announce now that you 'wisely' discovered the doubts from back then and personally supervised the capture of the real culprit..." Moen smiled and hinted, "Then you will be the hero who corrected the previous Minister's mistake, a defender of judicial justice."
"As for The Daily Prophet..." Moen patted Fudge on the shoulder, "I have already had Rita Skeeter write the manuscript, filled with praise for your decisiveness and wisdom."
Fudge's eyes lit up.
He was a politician; he weighed the pros and cons in an instant.
"Ahem! That's right!" Fudge straightened his back and pointed at Peter, "Arrest him! Notify the Dementors! We are going to clear Mr. Black's name!"
Chapter 72: Time Characteristics and the Triwizard Tournament
Peter Pettigrew had been taken away by the Aurors; Moenhad already squeezed him dry of all value.
Sirius Black was declared innocent and released.
A few hours later, outside the Hospital Wing.
Sirius, now washed clean and wearing new robes, was hugging Harry tightly.
"Do you want to live with me, Harry?" Sirius asked excitedly. "I am your godfather, I have the right..."
"Of course!" Harry agreed without hesitation.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the corridor.
Moen was leaning against the window, watching this touching reunion.
"The deal is done, Mr. Black." Moen held a freshly signed 'Asset Entrustment Management Agreement' in his hand.
Sirius let go of Harry, walked over, and looked at Moenwith a complex expression.
"You saved me, White. Although your methods... are very Slytherin."
"The result is good, isn't it?" Moen flicked the parchment. "From today on, the House of Black's vaults 711 through 715 at Gringotts, as well as the property management rights to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, belong to the White Investment Company."
"Of course, we will pay you dividends regularly, enough for you to buy Harry ten thousand Firebolts."
Sirius didn't care about the money. He only cared about freedom and Harry.
"As long as you can help me handle those annoying family affairs, you can take whatever money you want."
Moen nodded with satisfaction. This was what he wanted.
The House of Black's millennium of Dark Arts collections and vaults were now his.
"Right, one more thing."
Moen turned around and looked at Hermione, who had just come out of the Hospital Wing.
She was preparing to take off the golden hourglass hanging around her neck to return it to Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Granger." Moen called out to her.
"Moen?" Hermione stopped in her tracks.
"You've worked hard this year." Moen walked up to her, his gaze falling on the gold chain. "About this Time-Turner... before you hand it in, do you mind letting me 'admire' it one last time?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, but still took it off and handed it to him: "Be careful, Moen. This thing is very dangerous. Professor McGonagall said I have to return it to the Ministry of Magic to be destroyed."
"Of course."
Moen took the tiny hourglass. This was his ultimate goal for this semester.
[Contact Successful!]
[Detected Law-level Item: Time-Turner]
[Current Extraction Count: 25]
"I don't need the entire law." Moen silently recited in his heart. "I only need the core logic of 'reversion'."
[Consumed Extraction Count x 20]
[Probability Stacking Judgment... Success!]
[Congratulations on obtaining the Trait]: Sand of Time(Gold · Law Fragment)
[Description]: You cannot travel through time for hours at will like the Time-Turner, but you have mastered "Micro-Time Reversion".
[Skill]: Time 0.5 Seconds. You can make the time around you revert by 0.5 seconds. In a duel, this means—absolute evasion and counter-kill.
Moen's fingers gently brushed over the hourglass, feeling the power of the law that had been stripped away by the system merging into his body.
That feeling was wonderful, as if the world now had a "replay" button in his eyes.
"A very exquisite toy."
Moen returned the Time-Turner to Hermione, a sincere smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Hermione. This has been very... enlightening to me."
The end of the semester, the day of departure. The Hogwarts Express started up again.
This time, Professor Lupin was also sitting on the train.
He had resigned because his identity as a Werewolf had been "accidentally" leaked by Snape.
But he was not dejected, because he had already received an offer from "White Alchemy Industries" to serve as Chief Security Consultant.
In the Slytherin compartment. Moen sat by the window, watching the distant Hogwarts castle.
This year, he had gained a great deal. He had controlled the Werewolf market, cleared Sirius's name, annexed the House of Black's assets, analyzed the Dementors, and obtained the law of time.
"Next semester..."
Malfoy was excitedly reading the newspaper nearby: "Moen! Look! The Ministry of Magic has announced that the Quidditch Quidditch World Cup will be held next year! And... the Triwizard Tournament is restarting!"
"The Triwizard Tournament." A glint flashed in Moen's eyes.
That meant other magic schools, and it meant a broader international market. It also meant the resurrection of Voldemort.
"That noseless guy is coming back." Moen touched his chest.
He needed to make some preparations for that "resurrection night." Since Voldemort wanted to reshape his body, Moen wouldn't mind adding some special ingredients to his "resurrection Potion."
"Alfred." Moen said to the air, though he was actually speaking to the Two-Way Mirror.
"Yes, young master."
"Notify the factory and start researching 'Anti-Dark ArtsArmor'."
Moen looked at the fields flying past the window, a wild, arrogant smile curling the corners of his lips.
Mid-June, Hogwarts Hospital Wing. The day after Peter Pettigrew was taken away by the Aurors.
Although the truth had come to light, the atmosphere in the castle did not immediately become relaxed and cheerful. On the contrary, a more subtle atmosphere, filled with political calculations, hung over the place.
Inside the isolation ward of the Hospital Wing. Sirius Blackhad changed into a clean striped hospital gown.
After a night of rest and Madam Pomfrey's Potiontreatment, he didn't look quite as much like a skeleton, but those deep-set eyes still revealed a wildness that was hard to tame.
Harry sat by the bed, gripping his godfather's hand tightly, as if he would disappear the moment he let go.
"We are going to leave this place, Harry." Sirius's voice was hoarse but full of hope. "I have a house. Although it hasn't been lived in for a long time, as long as we clean it up a bit... you won't ever have to go back to the Dursley house again."
Harry's eyes lit up: "Really? Can I move in with you?"
"Of course! I am your guardian!"
"Ahem."
An untimely cough interrupted this heartwarming moment. In the shadows of the corner of the ward, Moen White was sitting on a high-backed chair, flipping through the newly released The Daily Prophet.
"Sorry to interrupt you two, but regarding this 'moving' matter, I think we need to look at a document first."
"It's you again, White." Sirius frowned. Although Moen had saved him, he instinctively disliked this youth who was full of Slytherin aura and spoke like a Gringotts Goblin.
"That is for your own good, Mr. Black." Moen stood up and handed a thick piece of parchment to Sirius.
"What is this?"
"The housing renovation and asset freeze assessment report for Number 12, Grimmauld Place." Moen said calmly.
Sirius glanced at it, and his expression changed.
"Simply put," Moen explained, "that house has been abandoned for twelve years, and it is filled with out-of-control Dark Arts creatures like Doxies, Boggarts, and powerful curses left by your mother. According to the Ministry of Magic's 'Dangerous Housing Management Regulations,' it is currently in an 'uninhabitable' state."
"I can clean it up!" Sirius retorted.
Chapter 73: Sirius Black's Cooperation
"You don't have a wand," Moen pointed out the harsh reality. "Your wand was broken twelve years ago. And as someone just released from prison, buying a new wandfrom Ollivander's at this sensitive time would require extremely tedious approval processes."
"And..." Moen pointed to the end of the document, "You have no money."
"I have vaults at Gringotts!"
"Those vaults are currently under the trusteeship of White Investment Company." Moen displayed a standard business smile. "According to the agreement we signed, to prevent you from engaging in retaliatory spending due to your long imprisonment, your assets are currently in a 'lock-up period.' You can only receive a fixed monthly living allowance."
"How much?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
"50 Galleons."
"What?!" Sirius Black jumped up. "That's my money! You robber!"
"This is financial management, sir," Moen said without changing his expression. "This money is enough for you and Harry to eat and dress warmly. As for repairing the house, buying a new wand, and bribing Ministry of Magicofficials to completely clear your record... these all require additional expenses and need my approval."
Sirius Black's chest heaved with anger, but he looked at Harry's eyes, longing for a home, and finally slumped back like a deflated ball.
He understood.
Although he was free, he wasn't truly free.
His life, his money, and even his and Harry's future were all in the hands of this twelve-year-old Slytherin.
"What do you want, White?" Sirius Black gritted his teeth.
"It's simple."
Moen snapped his fingers.
Outside the door, Alfred walked in, carrying a brand new leather suitcase full of daily necessities, and an unregistered Black market wand.
"You can borrow this wand; it has no Trace," Moen threw the wand onto the bed. "Also, a professional cleaning team from the White Family has moved into Number 12, Grimmauld Place. As long as you cooperate with my 'publicity work,' you can move in with Harry in a week."
"Publicity work?"
Moen unfolded The Daily Prophet.
The front page headline was a huge moving photo: "Justice Delayed, Justice Served: Minister Fudge Personally Uncovers the Truth, Vindicating a Hero!"
In the photo, Fudge was solemnly shaking "air," which was actually digitally composited, pretending to shake hands, accompanied by a handsome photo of a young Sirius Black.
"Fudge needs face, you need freedom, and I need stability."
Moen looked at Sirius Black:
"Reporters will be here for an interview later. You just need to say to the camera: 'I thank the Ministry of Magic for not giving up on finding the truth, and I thank Minister Fudgefor his wise leadership.' That's enough."
"You want me to thank that idiot who locked me up for twelve years?" Sirius Black felt insulted. "I'd rather kiss a Dementor!"
"If you don't cooperate," Moen said coldly, "Fudge, to keep his position, might drag out your case for three to five years. By then, Harry will probably be an adult."
Harry looked at his godfather, his eyes full of worry. He didn't want to go back to the Dursleys'.
Sirius Black looked at Harry and remained silent for a long time.
The Gryffindor pride finally bent under the gravity of reality.
"Alright," Sirius Black's voice was hoarse. "I'll do it."
"A wise choice."
Moen nodded with satisfaction.
He not only controlled Black's money but was also gradually taming this unruly "mad dog"... In the afternoon, at the Hogwarts Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, holding a letter from the Ministry of Magic.
Moen White sat opposite him, sipping a Fizzing Whizbee.
"Fudge is very pleased," Dumbledore put down the letter, his sky-blue eyes looking at Moen through his half-moon spectacles. "He kept his job, and his approval ratings even went up. You turned a political disaster into a public relations victory, Mr. White."
"Win-win, Professor," Moen put down his teacup. "A stable Ministry of Magic is good for everyone. If Fudge fell, and someone as radical as Crouch took over, Hogwarts' days wouldn't be easy either."
"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed. "But, regarding Peter Pettigrew..."
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened:
"The Ministry of Magic says he 'accidentally' died during transport? Killed by a Dementor's misfire?"
Moen met Dumbledore's gaze without any guilt.
"Yes, unfortunately," Moen calmly lied. "That rat was too cunning and tried to escape, crashing into a Dementor's mouth. Not even a body was left."
Dumbledore fell silent.
Of course, he didn't believe it.
But he had no evidence.
Moreover, a "dead" criminal seemed to stabilize the situation more than a living rat.
"Alright," Dumbledore stopped pressing. "So, about Professor Lupin..."
"He resigned," Moen said. "Parents couldn't accept a Werewolf teaching their children. It's a shame because he was a good teacher."
"But he won't be jobless."
Moen pulled out a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table: [White Security Company · Special Operations Consultant].
"I hired him. High salary, room and board included, and..." Moen smiled meaningfully, "unlimited Wolfsbane Potionprovided."
Dumbledore looked at the business card, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
He found that he understood this student less and less.
Moen seemed to be weaving everyone around him, whether members of the Order of the Phoenix or descendants of Death Eaters, into a vast network of interests in a way he couldn't comprehend.
"What exactly do you want, Moen?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Is it just wealth?"
Moen stood up and walked to the window, looking at the setting sun outside.
"Professor, do you believe in 'order'?"
Moen stood with his back to Dumbledore:
"Voldemort wants an order based on terror and bloodline. You want an order based on love and inclusion."
"And I..."
Moen turned around, standing against the light, his face blurred in shadow:
"...I want an order based on rules and contracts."
"In this order, there is no baseless hatred, only deals that haven't been struck. Werewolves can work, fugitives can be vindicated, as long as they can pay the price."
"That sounds very ruthless," Dumbledore said.
"But it's effective."
Moen picked up his cane and bowed slightly.
"Have a good summer, Headmaster. I hope next semester's Triwizard Tournament brings enough... profit to the school."
Moen walked out of the Headmaster's office.
The spiral staircase slowly descended.
Moen touched the metal box in his pocket containing Peter Pettigrew, then touched the bottle on the other side containing Dementor slices.
A cold smile played on his lips.
"Next, it's time to prepare to welcome our international friends and that... resurrected Dark Lord."
Chapter 74: Paid Monsters and the Temptation of the Silver Collar
July, London suburbs, White Industrial Park.
This place was once an abandoned Muggle heavy industrial zone, now shrouded by towering walls and powerful Muggle-repelling charms.
The massive chimneys no longer belched black smoke; instead, they emitted colorful steam from alchemical laboratories.
Zone C, underground warehouse.
The air was filled with a damp, musty smell, the scent of cheap tobacco, and the distinct sweat odor of dozens of adult males who hadn't bathed in a long time.
Remus Lupin stood in the center of the warehouse on an iron platform, wearing a brand-new gray suit that was well-tailored but still felt somewhat restrictive to him.
His expression was complex as he looked at the ragged, fierce-eyed crowd below.
These people were all Werewolves.
They were not like Lupin, the 'civilized Werewolves' trying to integrate into society; they were wanderers who hung around Knockturn Alley or even worked under Fenrir Greyback.
They were the trash discarded by wizarding society—hungry, angry, and dangerous.
"Are they all here?"
A cold voice came from the iron railing on the second floor.
The Werewolves looked up, letting out a restless low growl.
Moen White stood high above, looking down at the beasts.
He wore a white alchemical lab coat, dragon-hide gloves on his hands, and was fiddling with an injection gun filled with blue liquid.
"Forty-three in total, Boss." Lupin looked back, his tone tinged with worry, "They... are not easy to manage. They only believe in teeth and flesh."
"That was the past, Remus."
Moen walked slowly down the iron staircase.
As he approached, an invisible pressure enveloped the entire warehouse.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)].
To these Werewolves with keen senses, what walked down was not a human teenager, but a dragon restraining its claws.
The commotion subsided instantly, and the Werewolves instinctively tucked their tails.
"Let me introduce myself."
Moen walked to the center of the venue, and Alfredimmediately brought over a chair. Moen sat down, crossed his legs, his Black Ironwood Cane standing in front of him.
"I am Moen White. Your future keeper, or rather, employer."
"We are not pets!" roared a burly Werewolf with three scratch marks on his face, "We are Werewolves! We are loyal to Greyback! If you just want to humiliate us—"
"What can Greyback give you?"
Moen interrupted him, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.
"Raw meat? Living in a cave? Or the pain of tearing your own skin apart every full moon?"
Moen snapped his fingers.
Several security guards in black uniforms pushed a dining cart inside.
On the cart were not raw meat, but rows of exquisite blue potion bottles exuding a cold aura, as well as a small mountain of Galleons.
The Werewolves' eyes widened.
More than the gold, the scent emitted by the potion made them even crazier; it was the instinctual craving for peace from the depths of their souls.
"This is [White No. 2 · Improved Wolfsbane Potion]."
Moen picked up a bottle of potion and shook it gently:
"Drink it, and you will no longer feel bone-chilling pain on the night of the full moon. You will retain your sanity, and you can choose to sleep, or... follow orders to fight."
"And this..." Moen pointed to the gold coins, "is your salary."
"I am hiring you."
Moen stood up, his gaze sweeping across every greedy and fearful face:
"I am not asking you to bite children, nor am I asking you to be cannon fodder. I want to build the most efficient security force in the entire wizarding world."
"Job description: Protect my assets, strike at my competitors, and when necessary, dispose of some 'trash'."
"Benefits: Room and board included, living in heated dormitories, 50 Galleons per month, and—unlimited potion supply."
The whole place was deathly silent.
For these Werewolves struggling at the bottom of society and spurned by Wizards, these conditions were so good it was like a dream.
"What's the cost?" the leader of the Werewolves asked vigilantly, "There is no such thing as a free lunch."
"Smart."
Moen nodded appreciatively.
"The cost is the collar."
Moen flipped his palm and produced a silver metal neck ring.
It was very similar to the one Peter Pettigrew wore, but rougher, engraved with complex alchemical runes.
"To prevent you from 'losing control' while working, or betraying me and running away with the potion." Moen's voice turned cold, "All employees must wear this."
"It will monitor your location. If you try to attack me, or fail to inject the potion on time..."
Moen tapped his finger lightly.
A blue arc of electricity flashed across the neck ring, making a crackling sound.
"...It will instantly release a high-voltage current sufficient to paralyze an elephant and inject a neutralizer into your blood vessels, making you instantly..."
"This is not just a shackle; it is also protection."
Moen threw the neck ring at the feet of the leading Werewolf.
"Put it on, and you are a formal employee of 'White Security Company', enjoying benefits that even Ministry of Magic Aurors wouldn't dare to imagine."
"Refuse it, the door is that way. You can roll back to your cave and continue being Greyback's wild dog."
"You have three minutes to consider."
Moen sat back down in the chair, picked up the injection gun, and began checking the scale.
Lupin stood to one side with a complex expression.
He watched those Werewolves.
As one of them, he knew how they would choose.
Dignity? In the face of hunger and pain, dignity is worthless.
What Moen gave, although it was a collar of enslavement...
"I'll do it!"
The leading Werewolf did not hesitate, picked up the collar, and clicked it onto his neck.
"As long as I can get the potion, let alone a collar, I'd even bite Greyback to death!"
With the first one, there was a second.
Soon, all forty-three Werewolves had put on the silver collars.
"Very good."
Moen stood up with satisfaction.
"Director Lupin." He looked at Lupin.
"Yes, Boss." Lupin sighed, accepting his new identity.
"Take them to bathe and change into uniforms. I don't want my private army looking like a bunch of beggars."
Moen handed the injection gun to Lupin:
"Then, give each of them a shot of 'enhancer'. The Quidditch Quidditch World Cup is next month."
Moen walked to the window, looking at the busy London in the distance.
"That idiot Barty Crouch at the Ministry of Magic actually refused the security plan I offered. He said Dementors and Aurors were enough."
Moen sneered:
"When the Death Eaters set fire to the camp and march, when the Dark Mark rises into the sky..."
"This Werewolf troop will be my 'trump card to save the day'."
"It will also be my first formal'show of force' on the international stage."
Lupin looked at Moen's back, a chill rising in his heart.
He realized that the teenager in front of him was using the fear left by Voldemort to build his own, larger, and tighter empire.
Voldemort ruled with fear.
And Moen White, he...
August.
One week until the Quidditch Quidditch World Cup.
Moen sat in the manor's study, a huge map laid out in front of him.
It was the security layout of the Quidditch World Cupcamp, obtained through money.
"Harry Potter will go."
"the Weasleys will go."
"Sirius will also go as a guardian."
"Of course, those lurking Death Eaters will also go."
Moen took out a black chess piece and placed it in the center of the map.
"System, sign in."
[Ding!]
[Detected the eve of a special time node: Prelude to the Quidditch World Cup]
[Reward obtained: Draw count + 1]
[Current count: 15]
The count was barely saved up during the summer vacation through factory R&D and signing in at Diagon Alley.
"This count is not enough." Moen shook his head.
He needed more chips.
Because at the Quidditch World Cup, he had his eyes on a special target.
Not the Death Eaters, nor the House-elf Winky.
But Barty Crouch Jr.
The genius Death Eater controlled by his father with Imperius Curse and hidden under an Invisibility Cloak.
"A master of disguise who could deceive the Goblet of Fire and deceive Dumbledore."
Moen's fingers slid across the desktop.
"If I could extract the [Advanced Transfiguration] and [Mastery of Dark Arts] from him..."
"Also, that missing wand of Voldemort..."
Moen stood up and rolled up the map.
"Get the car ready, Alfred."
"We are going to the camp. Remember to bring the ticket for that 'top-tier box'."
"I think, when Minister Fudge sees me sitting next to him with a team of Werewolf bodyguards, his expression will definitely be wonderful."
Chapter 75: Golden Tent, Omniculars, and the Invisible VIP
August 22nd, Dartmoor Moors.
The morning mist had not yet dispersed, and this usually desolate highland had already transformed into a bustling magical city.
Thousands of tents covered the hillside like colorful mushrooms, the air thick with the smell of grilled sausages and excited shouts.
In the core of the campsite, Area A, which had the best view, stood a Black-and-gold building that was less a tent and more a small palace.
Golden cordons were drawn around the tent, and every ten meters stood a burly man in a Black uniform wearing a silver neck collar.
Their cold gazes and the fangs they occasionally bared revealed their identity: the Werewolf Guard of White Security Company.
Inside the tent.
Moen White sat on a luxurious velvet sofa, holding a special edition of The Daily Prophet.
"Sales are good." Moen put down the newspaper and looked at Lupin, who was reporting nearby. "Have the sales figures for the Omniculars been tallied?"
"They're astonishing, boss." Lupin wore a crisp tactical trench coat and looked radiant; the Wolfsbane Potion had freed him from his sickly state. "We added 'Instant Replay' and'Slow Motion Analysis' features to the Omniculars. Even though they're priced at 20 Galleons, they've been snatched up. We're currently running low on stock."
"Then raise the price," Moen said indifferently. "Tell the staff that the last thousand units are to be sold as 'Limited Collector's Editions' at double the price."
"Yes." Lupin nodded, then looked outside the tent with some concern. "Minister Fudge just sent someone to ask if we could remove the Werewolf Guards outside. He says they're making the foreign guests uneasy."
"Uneasy?" Moen sneered. "Tell the Minister that if he'd prefer Dementors on patrol, I don't mind withdrawing them. But if trouble breaks out—like a Death Eater parade or something—White Security won't be held responsible."
"Understood." Lupin withdrew.
Moen stood up, adjusted his Black robe embroidered with silver alchemical runes, and picked up his cane.
"Let's go, Alfred. The match is about to start. It's time for us to head to the Top Box and meet those 'important people'."
...The Top Box.
This was the best vantage point in the entire stadium, carpeted in purple, accessible only to the privileged.
When Moen walked in with Alfred, many people were already seated in the box.
Cornelius Fudge was gesturing loudly to the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, Obalonsk, though the latter didn't understand a word of English.
Lucius Malfoy, along with Narcissa and Draco, occupied the best front-row seats.
Arthur Weasley's family, along with Harry and Hermione, were squeezed into the back row, clearly having used Ludo Bagman's connections.
There was also a surprising person: Sirius Black.
The recently exonerated godfather, now wearing a brand-new leather jacket, sat next to Harry with his legs crossed, looking provocatively at Malfoy opposite him.
"It seems everyone is here."
Moen's entrance broke the delicate balance.
Fudge immediately abandoned the uncomprehending Bulgarian and approached with a beaming smile. "Ah! Mr. White! I believe I must thank you for the'special security' you provided. A Dark Wizard trying to hawk fake wands was just... er, very 'efficiently' thrown out by your men."
"It is my honor to ease your burdens, Minister," Moen said with a polite handshake.
He walked over to Harry and Sirius.
"Is life treating you well, Mr. Black?" Moen glanced at Sirius's designer outfit, bought with the "allowance" Moenprovided.
"Not bad, as long as I don't look at the monthly bills," Siriusshrugged. "Harry loves the new house."
"Moen!" Harry saw Moen, his feelings somewhat complicated.
Although Moen had saved his godfather, Harry was still somewhat repelled by Moen's "everything is business" attitude.
Still, he held up the high-end Omniculars hanging around his neck. "Thanks for the tickets, and for this."
"That's an advertising sample," Moen corrected. "Remember to show off the 'W' logo to the people around you while watching the match."
Moen turned around, his gaze sweeping across the corner of the box.
There sat Winky, a House-elf who looked nervous and was shaking constantly.
She covered her eyes with her hands, and an Invisibility Cloak lay on the empty seat beside her, seemingly saving it for her master.
That was Barty Crouch's seat.
But he himself was not there.
Moen's eyes narrowed.
True Sight—Activate.
In his vision, that seemingly empty seat was not empty.
A twisted Black humanoid magnetic field, filled with madness and repression, was huddled under that Invisibility Cloak.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The Death Eater genius who had been controlled by his father's Imperius Curse for over a decade, yet was gradually awakening in this noisy environment.
Moen could see the Black magnetic field fluctuating violently.
He was resisting the control of the Imperius Curse, attempting to steal Harry Potter's wand.
"This is the person I'm looking for."
Moen did not expose him.
He walked over nonchalantly, pretending he was going to greet Lucius.
As he passed the empty seat, the Black Ironwood Cane in Moen's hand "accidentally" slipped, striking the floor in front of the empty seat with a heavy thud.
Thud!
An extremely faint but highly penetrative alchemical ripple traveled down the wand into the ground, then accurately pierced the sole of the invisible person's foot.
[Mental Mark: Implantation Successful]
The person under the Invisibility Cloak shuddered violently, but he didn't dare make a sound, only biting his lip hard.
Winky shrieked in fright. "Sir! Be careful!"
"Apologies." Moen elegantly withdrew his wand, giving the empty space a meaningful smile. "The floor is a bit slippery. I hope I didn't step on anything... invisible."
He sat down next to the Malfoy family.
"What were you doing just now?" Draco whispered. "Talking to the air?"
"I was greeting a future 'business partner'." Moen looked at the center of the pitch.
The match began.
The Bulgarian Team's mascots, the Veela, glided onto the field.
They began to dance, and every man in the stadium instantly became dazed.
Harry wanted to jump from the box, and Ron was tearing at his shamrock hat.
Moen sat there calmly; although he hadn't drawn the skill, he relied on the Multiple Mind Core's automatic simulation to block the Veela's mental charm.
Occlumency.
He activated the system.
[Target Detected: Barty Crouch Jr. (Invisibility state)]
[Traits Found]:
[Gold] Ultimate Disguise: He can fool the Goblet of Fire, fool Dumbledore, and even fool himself. He can perfectly mimic anyone's behavior, tone, and magical fluctuations.
[Purple] Dark Arts Genius: He is more insane than Snape and more rational than Bellatrix Lestrange.
[Current Extraction Count: 16]
"16 times..." Moen's finger tapped the armrest. "Not enough to stack for a gold trait. But..."
He looked at Viktor Krum flying on the pitch.
The best Seeker in the world.
"If tonight's riot is big enough, if the chaos can cover everything..."
Moen's plan took shape in his mind.
The match was intense.
In the end, just as in the original plot, the Ireland teamwon, but Krum caught the Snitch.
"A brilliant match."
Moen stood up, ignoring the still-celebrating crowd.
He looked at Alfred and Lupin.
"Pass the word down." Moen's voice sounded exceptionally calm amidst the noise. "Put the Werewolf Guard on high alert."
"Should we stop the riot?" Lupin asked.
"No."
Moen watched the fireworks rising in the night sky, a cold light flashing in his eyes.
"Let them cause trouble. Only when things are chaotic is it easy to fish in troubled waters."
"Our mission is—to prey on the predators."
"The fellow under the Invisibility Cloak will launch the Dark Mark tonight. I want to 'kidnap' him the moment he launches it."
"A living, conscious Barty Crouch Jr. is worth more than a hundred Death Eaters."
Moen adjusted his gloves and walked out of the box.
Night fell.
The bonfires in the camp were still burning, but in the shadows, masked Death Eaters had already begun to gather.
And Moen White, like a more patient oriole, was quietly watching the mantises about to catch their cicadas.
Chapter 76: Burning Camp, Master of Disguise
August 22, late at night.
The revelry turned into terrified screams.
The colorful campsite was now being swallowed by towering flames.
A group of hooded Wizards holding torches were rampaging through the camp, using wands to torment the Muggle Roberts family with floating spells, like a morbid parade.
"Truly lacking in any aesthetic sense."
Moen White stood at the entrance of his palace-like black ironwood tent, holding a glass of red wine, coldly watching the Death Eaters in the distance in disarray.
Behind him, Alfred was directing the Werewolf Guard to build a defensive line.
"Everyone, listen up!" Lupin's voice was exceptionally clear in the night, "Protect Zone A! Anyone trying to break through the cordon, whether they are Death Eaters or panicked crowds, knock them all out!"
"Young Master." Alfred walked to Moen's side, pushed up his cold-glinting monocle, "Is that Master Lucius? The one leading them."
"Although wearing a mask, that expensive perfume scent he can never get rid of betrayed him." Moen shook his head, took a sip of wine, "Too low-end. Seeking a sense of presence by tormenting a few Muggles? This not only fails to establish authority, but will instead draw a full counterattack from the Ministry of Magic."
"True terror should be silent and irresistible."
Moen put down his wine glass and gripped his Black Ironwood Cane.
"Guard this place, Alfred. Don't let anyone mess up my carpet."
"Where are you going, Young Master?"
"The forest." Moen looked at the pitch-black woods not far away, which was where Harry had fled, and also where Barty Crouch Jr. was hiding.
"I'm going to meet a 'talented actor.' By the way, I'll light a fuse for the coming great era."
...
Deep in the woods.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were stumbling through the tree roots.
All around were panicked Wizards.
"Over there! Hide inside!" Harry pointed to a bush.
Just as they were about to dive in, a drawling voice rang out.
"If I were you, I wouldn't run around like headless chickens, Potter."
Draco Malfoy was leaning against a tree, although his face was a bit pale, he tried to maintain a kind of "I am also very bad" composure.
"If it's for saving your life, you should go find White. His tent is the safest place in the entire camp."
"We won't beg him!" Ron said through gritted teeth, "And those people wearing masks... is your father among them too?"
"How dare you—" Malfoy was about to flare up.
Rustle.
An extremely faint sound of footsteps rang out in the clearing behind them.
There was no one there.
But the dead branches on the ground were snapped.
"Who's there?" Hermione raised her wand, "Revelio!"
No one responded.
That invisible existence was standing there, suppressing frantic panting.
"He is looking for a wand."
A cold voice suddenly came from the treetops.
Everyone looked up sharply.
Moen White was standing on a thick tree branch, looking down at the clearing below.
He jumped down lightly, like a black feather landing, without making any sound.
"Go quickly, Draco." Moen didn't look at Malfoy, "Go back to the tent. What happens here next is not suitable for children to see."
"But..."
"Get lost."
Malfoy shuddered, took one look at Moen's temperatureless eyes, and immediately turned and ran.
Moen turned around, facing the seemingly empty clearing.
The Harry trio was not far behind him.
"Harry, check your pockets." Moen said lightly.
"What?" Harry was stunned, felt his pockets, "My wand! My wand is gone!"
"Of course it's gone."
Moen raised his wand, pointing straight at the void in front.
"Because someone borrowed it. In order to set off a big firework on this beautiful night."
"Come out, Mr. Crouch. Or should I call you, the most loyal servant?"
The air froze.
Under the Invisibility Cloak, Barty Crouch Jr.'s heart hammered wildly.
He was discovered? How could this Slytherin brat possibly discover him?
"Not coming out?"
Moen sneered.
[Gate of Truth] — Magical Oscillation.
The wand in his hand slammed against the ground.
A golden ripple spread along the ground.
"Morsmordre!"
The invisible person suddenly roared. This was not only a response, but also because he felt a fatal threat and had to create chaos to escape.
A green light shot from the void into the sky.
A huge skull made of emerald green stars bloomed in the night sky, and a large python crawled out from the skull's mouth.
Dark Mark.
The surrounding screams instantly went up an octave.
"Now!"
The moment Harry and the others were stunned by the mark, Moen moved.
[Half-Giant Speed]
He instantly rushed into that void, his left hand accurately grabbing something in the void, which was the corner of the Invisibility Cloak.
"Caught you."
Moen gave a sharp tug.
The Invisibility Cloak was pulled off, revealing the young man underneath with straw-like yellow hair, a face as pale as paper, but eyes as crazy as fire.
Barty Crouch Jr.
"Stupefy—" Barty raised Harry's wand wanting to fight back.
But Moen was faster than him.
[Time 0.5 Seconds]
A feature from the Time-Turner.
In Moen's perception, time flowed back by half a second.
He anticipated Barty's arm-raising movement.
The Black Ironwood Cane struck Barty's wrist fiercely like a viper striking.
"Crack!"
The wand was knocked out of his hand.
Moen grabbed Barty's throat and slammed him against the tree trunk.
"Cough, cough..." Barty struggled desperately, but he found that this teenager's strength was as great as a Giant.
"Don't move."
Moen leaned close to Barty's face, the distance between them only a few centimeters.
Harry and the others couldn't see the details here from afar, only seeing Moen subduing a stranger.
[Contact Successful!]
[Scanning Target: Barty Crouch Jr.]
[Consume Extraction Count x 16 (All Inventory)]
[Probability Stacking Judgment...]
[Judgment Successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Ultimate Disguise(Gold · Acting & Transformation)
[Description]: You are a natural chameleon. You can perfectly imitate anyone's voice, gait, and micro-expressions. Used in conjunction with Polyjuice Potion, even your own mother wouldn't recognize you.
A strange warm current surged into Moen's throat and facial muscles.
He felt he could now control the direction of every muscle at will.
"Let me go..." Barty said hoarsely, "The Dark Lord will return... He will kill you..."
Chapter 77: The Art of the Front Page Headline
"I know he'll come back."
Moen's voice was so low that only Barty could hear it.
"Not only will he come back, I want him to come back."
Moen's fingers loosened slightly, allowing Barty to breathe.
"Listen, Crouch. I could hand you over to the Ministry of Magic, and you'd be finished."
"But I plan to let you go."
Barty was stunned, his crazed eyes filled with disbelief: "Why?"
"Because we need a war."
A fanatical golden light flickered in Moen's eyes, an ambition even crazier than that of a Death Eater:
"If your master doesn't return, who will I sell my Dark Artsdefense equipment to? Where will my Werewolfmercenaries find work?"
"Go back, find that noseless master of yours."
Moen stuffed Harry's wand back into Barty's hand and helped him put the Invisibility Cloak back on.
"Tell him the gates of Hogwarts are always open to him. The Triwizard Tournament... makes for a fine resurrection party."
"Get out."
Moen let go and took a step back.
Barty Crouch Jr. took a long, deep look at Moen.
He couldn't understand this Slytherin's way of thinking, but he knew he had just regained his life.
He donned the Invisibility Cloak again and vanished into the darkness.
"Pop! Pop! Pop!"
Just then, dense cracking sounds echoed from the surroundings.
Over twenty Wizards from the Ministry of MagicApparated in.
"Stupefy!" they roared in unison, dozens of red lights shooting toward where Moen was standing.
"Protego."
Moen flicked his wand nonchalantly, and a transparent iron wall blocked all the spells.
"Stop! Don't attack!" Arthur Weasley rushed out. "That's Moen White! He's a student!"
Barty Crouch walked over, his face ashen, looking at the empty woods.
"Who was here just now? Who conjured the Dark Mark?"
"Someone wearing an Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Crouch."
Moen straightened his somewhat messy trench coat and pointed deep into the woods.
"He ran away. I didn't see his face clearly either. But he left this behind."
Moen handed Harry's wand to Amos Diggory, who had just arrived.
"This is Potter's wand!" Diggory cried. "Harry Potterconjured the Dark Mark?!"
"Don't be stupid, Diggory," Moen said coldly. "Potter's brain capacity isn't enough to support learning such advanced Dark Arts. The wand was stolen."
Just then, the House-elf Winky was discovered, holding an Invisibility Cloak—a scapegoat Barty had intentionally left behind while fleeing.
The farce came to an end... on the way back.
Moen sat in a luxury carriage, feeling quite pleased.
Not only had he obtained [Ultimate Disguise], but he had also successfully allowed a key piece in Voldemort's resurrection to escape.
"Young Master," Lupin sat opposite him, his expression grave. "That mark... was it really done by a Death Eater?"
"Yes, and no."
Moen looked out the window at the sky, which was gradually brightening.
"It's a signal, Remus."
"Tell the factory to increase production."
Moen's fingers tapped a rhythm on his knee.
"The days of peace are over."
"From today on, we're going to start profiting from war."
Fourth year.
Triwizard Tournament.
The fake Mad-Eye Moody.
And... that upcoming night of fire and blood.
Moen touched his cheek. With [Ultimate Disguise], perhaps he could play a few interesting roles this semester?
August 23rd, early morning.
Diagon Alley, Editor-in-Chief's office of The Daily Prophet.
The air was thick with the smell of strong black coffee and an anxious mood.
The printing presses were roaring downstairs, preparing to print a third special edition.
Moen White sat behind the editor-in-chief's large mahogany desk, holding a red quill, reviewing the draft Rita Skeeter had just rushed out.
The original editor-in-chief, Cuffe, stood respectfully to the side.
The original headline of the draft was: "The Dark MarkReappears! A Major Dereliction of Duty by the Ministry of Magic?"
"Too mild, Rita."
Moen shook his head, his red pen drawing a sharp line across the parchment.
"Change 'dereliction of duty' to 'incompetence'," Moen said without looking up. "And add a line to the sub-headline: 'While our Aurors are firing Stupefy spells at thin air in the woods, ordinary Wizarding families are being tormented by Death Eaters.'"
"But boss," Rita Skeeter adjusted her rhinestone-encrusted glasses and said cautiously, "Minister Fudge... he might not be happy. He's been trying to suppress this, calling it the work of a few drunken hooligans."
"Making him unhappy is the goal."
Moen put down his pen, leaned back, and interlaced his fingers:
"Fear is the best salesperson, Rita. If everyone believes this is just drunken trouble, who will buy my 'Home Defense Kit'? Who will place orders with my Werewolf Security Company?"
He pulled a photograph out of a drawer.
It was a photo of Moen standing under the Dark Mark last night, directing the Werewolf Guard to evacuate the crowd—it was actually staged. In the photo, he looked calm and powerful, the only order amidst the chaos.
"Put this photo right in the center of the front page," Moencommanded. "Caption it: 'In this dark night, only White Security Company stands firm on the front line.'"
"Also, go interview those frightened pure-blood families, especially Mrs. Malfoy. Ask her what she thinks of the Ministry's security measures."
Rita's eyes lit up with the excitement of smelling money and scandal: "I understand, boss! I'll get right on it! This will definitely send Fudge's blood pressure through the roof!"
Moen waved his hand, and Rita turned into a beetle and flew away.
He stood up and walked to the window.
The flow of people in Diagon Alley was noticeably thinner than usual, with Wizards hurrying along, faces etched with terror.
"Let it be chaotic," Moen whispered to himself. "The more chaos, the better."
...A week later, September 1st.
The rain at King's Cross Station was even heavier than last year.
The Hogwarts Express hissed steam into the curtain of rain.
In the Slytherin compartment, the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
Draco Malfoy was holding a copy of The Daily Prophet, his face pale.
In the newspaper was the very report Moen had arranged, lambasting the Ministry's incompetence and hinting at the resurgence of the Dark Lord's power.
"My father is furious," Malfoy threw the paper on the table. "The Ministry actually dared to search Malfoy Manor! Claiming they were looking for Dark Arts items... led by that pauper Arthur Weasley!"
"It's a necessary procedure, Draco."
Moen was wiping his Black Ironwood Cane with a silk handkerchief, his tone nonchalant:
"Mr. Weasley needs political achievements, Fudge needs a scapegoat, and your father... he needs to keep a low profile."
Chapter 78: Ghost Ship of the Deep Sea
"Low profile? Why should we keep a low profile!" Malfoygrumbled dissatisfiedly. "Those traitors..."
"Because the bird that sticks its head out gets shot." Moengave him a cold look. "If you don't want your father to actually be locked up in Azkaban, tell him to cooperate. Anyway, the search is just a formality; the truly valuable things have long been transferred to my private vault."
Just then, the compartment door was pulled open.
Ron Weasley stood at the door in a huff, with Harry and Hermione following behind him.
In Ron's hand was a maroon robe that looked extremely old and smelled of mildew, with a ring of moldy-looking lace around the collar and cuffs.
It was the second-hand dress robe Mrs. Weasley had bought for him.
"What? Is this this year's new style, Weasley?" Malfoyinstantly found an outlet for his frustration and laughed loudly. "Are you planning to attend a funeral that only a great-grandmother would go to? That lace is simply the finishing touch!"
The Slytherin students burst into laughter.
Pansy Parkinson laughed so hard she buried her face in Crabbe's back.
Ron's face turned the color of a pig's liver; he tried to hide the robe behind his back, but it was impossible to hide.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry stepped in front of Ron. "This has nothing to do with you!"
"Of course it does." Malfoy stood up and walked to the door. "It seriously affects Hogwarts' appearance. Potter, since you're so rich, why don't you spare a little to buy your poor friend some decent clothes?"
"You!" Ron pulled out his wand.
"Put down your wand, Weasley."
Moen, who hadn't spoken the whole time, suddenly spoke up.
He didn't look at Ron, but at the lace-trimmed cuffs, a hint of speechlessness flashing in his eyes.
"Draco's words were harsh, but he's right about one thing."
Moen stood up and walked to the door.
His well-tailored, expensive bespoke suit formed a brutal contrast with the tattered robe in Ron's hand.
"Poverty is not a sin, but a lack of aesthetics is."
Moen extended his cane and lifted a corner of the robe:
"Such an outdated design, even a House-elf wouldn't wear it. Mr. Weasley, if you wear this to... certain formal occasions, you will become the laughingstock of the whole school."
"None of your business!" Ron yanked the robe back, his eyes turning red. "Let's go, Harry!"
"Wait."
Hermione suddenly stopped Ron. She looked up, her brown eyes staring straight at Moen.
"Moen, about that night at the World Cup..." Hermione's voice trembled slightly, but she was firm. "That House-elfWinky... she was framed, wasn't she? I saw you nearby at the time."
"Framed?" Moen raised an eyebrow. "She was holding Harry's wand, and the Dark Mark was cast from it. The evidence is conclusive."
"But she was fired by Mr. Crouch!" Hermione said angrily. "Just because she ran a few steps in fear! It's unfair! It's slavery!"
"Those are the rules of the wizarding world, Miss Granger."
Moen looked at Hermione, without a hint of sympathy in his eyes:
"House-elves are property, not employees. A master has the right to dispose of their property."
"And..." Moen stepped closer and whispered, "Instead of worrying about the life and death of an elf, you should worry more about your classes this semester. Or... your nerves, which are about to collapse."
"I heard you dropped Divination? A wise choice. But if I were you, I would focus my energy on something more valuable instead of starting some'Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare'."
Hermione was stunned.
She hadn't even founded S.P.E.W. (Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) yet; how did Moen know her thoughts?
"Move aside." Moen didn't want to say more.
He lightly waved his cane, and an invisible force pushed the trio aside, clearing a path.
"I'm going to the prefects' carriage for a meeting. Draco, keep an eye on the compartment."
As Moen walked past Ron, he didn't mock him, but simply dropped a sentence:
"If you really don't want to wear that piece of trash, Weasley, you can work part-time at my factory. Peeling Mandrakes, five Sickles an hour. It'll be enough to buy a new one before Christmas."
Ron stared blankly at Moen's departing back.
Was that an insult?
Or... a kind of charity?
"I'm not going!" Ron shouted at Moen's back. "I wouldn't work for you if I were dying!"
Harry patted Ron on the shoulder, his heart heavy.
He felt that Moen was drifting further and further away from them.
It wasn't just an opposition of stances, but a class divide.
Moen stood above the clouds, looking down at them struggling in the mud.
The train continued to speed through the rain.
And at the end of that curtain of rain, Hogwarts castle was waiting to welcome guests from two other wizarding schools in Europe.
The Triwizard Tournament.
The stage for this game of death was finally about to be completed.
October 30th, evening.
The Hogwarts grounds shivered in the cold wind.
It was already pitch black, but the lawn in front of the castle was crowded with students.
They were all looking forward with anticipation, waiting for the two guests from overseas.
The rain was heavy, but it didn't dampen the students' enthusiasm in the slightest.
Moen White stood at the very front of the Slytherin line.
He didn't use an umbrella, nor did he hunch his shoulders like the others.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Molecular Repulsion Field.
Rain was bounced away by an invisible force three inches above his head, forming a dry vacuum zone.
He even had the leisure to block the rain for Luna next to him, who hadn't brought an umbrella either.
"They're here," Moen suddenly said.
There was no sound, but a faint vibration came from the ground beneath his feet.
It was the signal of something massive landing.
A huge roar came from the sky.
A powder-blue carriage as large as a house, pulled by twelve flying horses as big as elephants (Abraxan), dove down from the clouds.
Boom!
The carriage landed, its wheels splashing up huge amounts of mud.
The door opened, and a woman in magnificent black robes, whose size was breathtakingly massive, stepped down.
Madame Maxime.
"Half-Giant." Moen narrowed his eyes, [True Sight] instantly analyzing the other's bloodline. "And the bloodline purity is very high. Unfortunately, this size is a burden in modern commercial society; just custom-making clothes is a fortune."
Behind her, a group of shivering Beauxbatons students walked out.
One of them, a girl with long silvery hair, caused a stir among the surrounding boys.
Fleur Delacour.
"Veela half-blood." Moen glanced over. "A good prospect for public relations, but too arrogant."
Dumbledore went up to meet them and began exchanging pleasantries.
Chapter 79: "Mad-Eye" Alastor Moody
"It's not over yet." Moen turned around and looked at the pitch-black Black Lake.
The surface of the lake began to churn, and huge bubbles rose to the surface.
Immediately after, a mast pierced the surface like a spear.
A strange-looking ship, as eerie as a skeleton, rose slowly from the bottom of the lake, shimmering with a ghostly luster under the moonlight.
The Durmstrang ship.
"A submersible structure... very crude Alchemy," Moencommented. "If I were to modify it, I would add a turbocharger and a sonar system."
The ship docked.
A group of people wearing heavy fur cloaks stepped down.
Leading them was a tall, thin man with a goatee, Igor Karkaroff.
And beside him was a teenage boy with a hooked nose and thick eyebrows.
"Krum! It's Viktor Krum!"
Ron Weasley screamed from the Gryffindor ranks like a fanatical fan.
Draco was also nearby, trembling with excitement: "It's really him! The best Seeker in the world!"
Karkaroff led the students toward the castle.
As they passed the Slytherin ranks, his gaze lingered on Moen for a moment.
Lucius Malfoy had already greeted this old friend.
Karkaroff knew that the boy before him was now the most powerful 'financial backer' behind the scenes of the British wizarding world.
"Good evening, Mr. White." Karkaroff stopped and even bowed slightly, revealing his smoke-stained—
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Headmaster Karkaroff."
Moen nodded politely, but his tone sounded as if he were welcoming a subordinate for an interview.
"I hear it's very cold at Durmstrang in the winter? If your school needs to upgrade its heating system, White Heavy Industries can provide a full range of Alchemy solutions. I'll give you a twenty percent discount."
Karkaroff froze for a moment, then gave a dry laugh: "We'll consider it."
Behind him, Viktor Krum also looked at Moen.
As a top Seeker, Krum was very sensitive to the aura of the powerful.
He smelled a scent on Moen that was even more dangerous than the night of the Quidditch World Cup final.
"Let's go." Moen waved his cane. "We should head inside too. Don't keep the guests waiting too long."
...The Great Hall.
The hall was exceptionally magnificent tonight. The students from the other two schools were arranged around the four long tables.
Interestingly, the Durmstrang students chose the Slytherintable without hesitation.
Krum sat right next to Draco, making Draco feel like he had reached the peak of his life. He desperately handed Krumfood, trying to start a conversation.
But Krum's attention was on Moen.
"You..." Krum said in broken English, watching Moenelegantly cut his steak, "I saw your... broom... at the Quidditch World Cup."
"The Black Swan?" Moen didn't even look up. "That was just a prototype. If you're interested, I have a catalog for the mass-produced version. For professional players, I can provide custom services."
Krum's eyes lit up. Nothing attracts a Seeker more than a good broom.
"Really?"
"Of course." Moen pulled a business card from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Let's find a time to discuss an endorsement contract. I think your image fits our new product perfectly."
Draco watched from the side, stunned.
He was asking for an autograph, while Moen was talking business.
Was this the gap between them?
Halfway through the feast.
Dumbledore stood up to announce the rules of the Triwizard Tournament.
No one under the age of seventeen could enter.
This caused a wave of groans.
"Finally," Dumbledore raised his voice, "please allow me to introduce this year's Defense Against the Dark Artsteacher."
The doors of the Great Hall were thrown open with a bang.
A man leaning on a long staff stood in the doorway, his face covered in scars and missing a piece of his nose.
He wore a ragged cloak, and his most striking feature was one of his eyes—a bright blue magical eye that whirled around incessantly.
"Mad-Eye" Alastor Moody.
The Great Hall fell into a dead silence.
Everyone had heard the name; he was the most famous Auror, responsible for capturing half the prisoners in Azkaban.
Moody limped toward the staff table, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket, scanning every student.
As he passed the Slytherin table, the magical eye suddenly stopped and fixed its gaze intensely on Moen White.
Their eyes met in mid-air.
Moen put down his goblet.
He looked at that scarred face and the rotating magical eye, his lips curling into an extremely subtle smile that only the other could understand.
[Scanning Target]: Alastor Moody (Disguised state)
[True Identity]: Barty Crouch Jr.
[Current Status]: Polyjuice Potion maintained / Extremely vigilant
"Good evening, Professor." Moen raised his goblet in a distant toast. "Your new look... has quite the personality."
Moody (Barty)'s mouth twitched.
He certainly remembered this boy.
The monster who, in the woods during the Quidditch World Cup, had pinned him against a tree, taken his wand, and then let him go with a message for the Dark Lord.
"Humph."
Moody let out a gruff snort, his magical eye spinning once as if confirming that Moen wasn't going to expose him on the spot.
Then, dragging his wooden leg, he walked toward the staff table.
"That guy looks like a maniac." Draco was frightened by Moody's appearance. "My father says he's a paranoid."
"He is indeed a madman."
Moen withdrew his gaze and drained the red wine in his glass.
"However, sometimes a madman is more useful than a sane person."
Moen glanced at the wooden goblet burning with blue-white flames that Dumbledore had brought out—the Goblet of Fire.
"The rules of the game have changed this semester, Draco."
Moen traced a circle on the table with his finger:
"Before, we were just watching the show. But this time..."
"...I'm going to join in the fun too."
He felt the piece of parchment in his pocket that he had already written on.
The name written on it was not Moen White.
But a name powerful enough to shake the entire wizarding world once again.
[Task Update: Triwizard Tournament]
[Objective 1: Ensure Harry Potter participates (he is a necessary ingredient for Voldemort's resurrection)]
[Objective 2: Exploit the contract loopholes of the Goblet of Fire to obtain the 'Contract Law' trait]
[Objective 3: Harvest Voldemort's 'Resurrection Gift Pack' in the final maze]
"Welcome back, Mr. No-Nose."
Moen looked at the 'fake Moody' on the staff table, who was gulping down pumpkin juice.
"I hope the surprise you bring is worth the price of admission."
Chapter 80: The Confunded Contract, the Fourth Champion, and the Fractured Friendship
October 31st, Halloween feast.
Candlelight flickered, golden plates were empty.
Tonight, the Great Hall lacked the usual bustle of enjoying a meal; the air was taut with a string called "anticipation."
All eyes were focused on that ancient wooden goblet in front of the staff table.
The Goblet of Fire.
It was currently burning with a ghostly blue flame, like an indifferent eye, examining every soul craving glory.
"It is judging."
Moen White sat at the Slytherin table, not craning his neck like the others.
He toyed with the ring engraved with his family crest, the perception of the [Gate of Truth (Gold)] quietly extending to cover the goblet.
In his field of vision, the Goblet of Fire was wrapped in countless golden threads.
That was the manifestation of the "Laws of Contract."
"A very ancient and domineering contract magic." Moenanalyzed inwardly, "Once a name is spat out, the soul is locked. Unless one dies or completes the competition, there is no escape. This is simply... a perfect slave contract."
"I wonder who will become the champion." Draco rubbed his hands nervously nearby. Although he couldn't enter, he was still very excited, "I hope it's Krum. If Durmstrangwins, it's a victory for Slytherin too." Because Krum was sitting with them.
"Shh." Moen gestured softly, "It's starting."
The blue fire of the Goblet of Fire suddenly turned a dazzling red.
Amidst the crackling sparks, a charred piece of parchment flew out.
Dumbledore reached out to catch it.
"The champion for Durmstrang —" Dumbledoreannounced loudly, "Viktor Krum!"
The Slytherin table erupted in thunderous cheers.
Karkaroff laughed triumphantly.
Krum stood up with a gloomy face and walked listlessly toward the small room behind the staff table. When he passed by Moen, he specifically nodded.
Immediately after, the second slip of paper.
"The champion for Beauxbatons — Fleur Delacour!"
That half-Veela with silver hair, beautiful enough to take one's breath away, stood up, tossed her hair, and walked over amidst gasps of astonishment.
Ron Weasley's eyes were almost popping out.
The third one.
"The champion for Hogwarts — Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuff table instantly boiled over.
They rarely had such opportunities to show their faces.
Cedric was a handsome, upright boy; he was the typical "child of someone else."
"Also a pitiful cannon fodder." Moen looked at Cedric's back, a trace of indifferent pity flashing in his eyes.
He died saving Harry Potter, and his girlfriend ended up with Harry Potter.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said happily, "Now that the three champions have been selected..."
Suddenly.
The Goblet of Fire turned red again.
This time, the flames were fiercer than the previous three times, as if it were vomiting.
A fourth piece of parchment flew out.
Dumbledore caught it instinctively.
He looked at the name on it, his brows instantly locking together. For the first time, genuine shock and gravity appeared in those deep blue eyes.
The entire Great Hall was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
"Harry Potter." Dumbledore read softly. Then, he raised his head, his voice rising a degree, with a hint of disbelief, "Harry Potter!"
All heads turned.
Harry froze in his seat, his face as pale as paper.
He felt like he was having a nightmare.
"I didn't..." Harry said to Ron beside him, "I didn't put my name in!"
But Ron didn't look at him.
Ron was staring fixedly at the table; there was no shock on his face, no worry, only a twisted jealousy that had been suppressed for a long time and suddenly erupted.
"Go on, Harry." Hermione gave him a push, "Dumbledore is calling you."
Harry stumbled to his feet and walked toward the staff table.
There were no cheers.
Only whispers.
"Cheater!" "How did he do it?" "Does he not think he's famous enough?"
When Harry passed the Slytherin table, Draco let out a loud hiss.
Moen did not hiss.
He just watched Harry quietly, a playful arc curling at the corners of his mouth.
"A brilliant spell." Moen whispered to himself.
Through the [Gate of Truth], he clearly saw traces of an extremely clever "Confundus Charm" remaining on the Goblet of Fire.
That spell had deceived this ancient artifact, making it believe that four schools were participating.
Moen's gaze crossed the crowd and looked at "Mad-Eye" Moody at the end of the staff table.
That magical eye was spinning frantically, staring at Harry's back.
There was no expression on Moody's scarred face, but his fingers holding the flask were trembling slightly—that was excitement.
"Well done, Barty." Moen gave this Death Eater a mental thumbs-up, "You have successfully sent Savior to the execution platform."
Harry disappeared behind the door of the small room.
The Great Hall exploded.
Madame Maxime and Karkaroff protested angrily; this violated the rules.
Dumbledore signaled for everyone to disperse.
The students were still whispering and discussing.
"Potter is disgusting." Draco cursed as he walked out, "He must have used some despicable means! Maybe the Invisibility Cloak? Or asked an upperclassman for help?"
"No, Draco." Moen leaned on his cane, walking in the crowd, his voice calm: "That is extremely profound Dark Arts. Potter's current level isn't even enough to wipe the dust off the Goblet of Fire."
"Then you mean..."
"Someone wants him to participate." Moen looked at the ceiling, "And, someone wants him to die in the competition."
Back to the Slytherin common room.
It had become an ocean of celebration because of Krumand Harry's bad luck.
Moen did not join the celebration.
He sat in the corner and beckoned Draco over.
"This is a business opportunity, Draco." Moen took out a piece of parchment with a design of a badge on it.
"What?"
"Public opinion war."
Moen pointed at the design: "Potter is now the public enemy of the whole school. Hufflepuff hates him for stealing Cedric's limelight, Ravenclaw thinks he cheated, and Slytherin already hates him. Even Gryffindor..."
Moen remembered that look in Ron's eyes just now.
"...even his friends will be jealous of him."
"What is this badge for?" Draco asked curiously.
"A double-sided badge." Moen explained: "The front has bright red text:'Support Cedric Diggory — The True Hogwarts Champion'. Press it, and it will turn into a sickly green: 'Potter Stinks'."
Draco's eyes lit up, as bright as two light bulbs: "Genius! Moen, you are a genius! This will definitely piss off Potter! I'm going to make a thousand!"
"Go do it." Moen threw him a bag of gold coins as start-up capital, "But I have one requirement: these badges must be spread all over the school before breakfast tomorrow. I want Potter to wake up and find that the whole world has turned against him."
"No problem!" Draco ran off excitedly to find Goyle and Crabbe.
Moen leaned back on the sofa, watching the firelight in the fireplace.
Isolation.
This was the original plot, and he was now pushing it with his own hands.
When Harry Potter was abandoned by everyone, he would become more reliant on the help he was "forced" to accept, such as Moen's help.
"As for that Ron Weasley..."
Moen thought of that red-haired boy.
"Jealousy is a cardinal sin."
Moen shook his head.
"It is also the easiest weakness to exploit."
He took a small bottle from his arms, which contained the [Amortentia (Byproduct: Jealousy Amplification Potion)] he had scoured from Knockturn Alley.
"Perhaps, I should find a chance to treat Mr. Weasley to a glass of pumpkin juice?"
Just then, an owl flew in and dropped a letter to Moen.
There was no signature on the envelope, only a faint smell similar to the old leather on Mad-Eye Moody.
The letter contained only one sentence:
"The first task is dragons. Does your factory have fire-protection potions? —M"
Moen smiled.
Barty Crouch Jr. was indeed a smart collaborator.
He knew what Harry needed, and he knew what Moenwanted—to sell medicine and make money.
"Dragons..."
Moen threw the letter into the fire.
"It seems my [Primary Fire Immunity] should be upgraded."
"And, four dragons..."
Greed flickered in Moen's eyes.
"That would be how much dragon hide, dragon blood, and dragon heartstring."