Chapter 3128 - Ch: 81-90

Chapter 81: Exclusive Report of Tears and Lies, the Evolving wand

Mid-November, after Potions Class.

The underground corridors of Hogwarts were cold and damp, but colder still was the temperature of the human heart.

Harry Potter hurried along with his head down, trying to avoid the gazes of those around him.

A heavy stone seemed to press against his chest, not just because of the school-wide ostracism, but also because of Ron Weasley's coldness.

"Potter! Do you want one too?"

Draco Malfoy blocked his path, wearing that massive "Support Cedric" badge pinned to his chest.

He pressed it hard, and the red letters instantly changed into a badge glowing with sickly green fluorescence that read "Potter Stinks."

The Slytherin students around them burst into laughter.

"Very funny, Malfoy," Harry said coldly. "If you think this will help you pass Potions Class."

"Want one? I have plenty." Malfoy grabbed a handful of badges and threw them at Harry. "But I doubt you can afford one. After all, you're just a pathetic orphan with no parents, relying on cheating to get attention!"

This sentence struck a nerve.

Anger instantly clouded his mind. Harry drew his wand, and Malfoy drew his almost at the same time.

"Densaugeo!"

"Furnunculus!"

The two spells collided in mid-air and deflected.

Harry's spell hit Goyle, and his nose began to sprout boils, while Malfoy's spell hit Hermione nearby.

Hermione screamed and covered her mouth; her front teeth began to grow wildly, instantly extending past her chin like a beaver.

"It seems you have plenty of energy."

A flat, emotionless voice made the chaotic corridor fall silent instantly.

Moen White stepped out from the shadows.

He was wearing that black trench coat, holding a ledger in his hand, followed by Alfred, who was like a shadow.

He glanced at Goyle, whose face was covered in boils, and then at Hermione, who was crying with teeth that had grown down to her chest.

"A foolish duel," Moen commented. "No accuracy, only injuring bystanders."

"He started it!" Malfoy accused him first.

"I don't care who started it."

Moen walked up to Hermione, looking at her still-growing teeth.

Professor Snape happened to arrive, but he sarcastically remarked that he couldn't see any difference in Hermione, which made her run crying toward the Hospital Wing.

Moen watched Snape's retreating figure and shook his head.

"Such low-level workplace bullying is truly beneath the dignity of a Head of House."

He turned around and looked at Harry and Malfoy.

"Since you two like waving your wands so much, go wave them somewhere more useful."

Moen pointed upstairs:

"Potter, go to the Nimbus showroom, the room for wandinspection. Although I think your holly wand is useless for anything but grilling sausages, as the 'Savior', you have to go through the motions."

"And you, Draco," Moen threw the ledger to him. "Go tally the sales of the badges. If they aren't sold out, you can swallow the rest yourself."

...

The Nimbus showroom.

It was a smaller classroom, with most of the desks and chairs pushed to the back.

Ludo Bagman was chatting with Fleur Delacour, that beautiful half-Veela, Krum stood gloomily in the corner, and Cedric was looking out the window.

When Harry walked in, he found there was one more person inside.

Moen White was sitting on a high-backed chair next to the judges' table, holding a cup of black tea, while Rita Skeeterwas squatting beside him, recording something like an obedient pug.

"Moen?" Harry was stunned. "Why are you here? Are you a champion?"

"I am the representative of the investors." Moen pointed to the badge on his chest [White Alchemy Industries · Strategic Partner].

"Furthermore, as the owner of The Daily Prophet, I have an obligation to supervise my employees to ensure they write 'objective and impartial' reports."

At this moment, Mr. Ollivander walked in.

The inspection ceremony began.

Ollivander checked the wands one by one: Fleur's with Veela hair, Cedric's with Unicorn hair, and Krum's with Dragon heartstring.

Finally, it was Harry's turn.

"Ah, yes." Ollivander said.

"Orchideous!" A bouquet of flowers burst from the tip of his wand.

"Perfect," Ollivander announced.

Just as the ceremony was about to end, Moen suddenly stood up.

"Mr. Ollivander."

Moen walked up to the wandmaker and pulled out that pitch-black, iron-heavy Black Ironwood Cane from his bosom.

"Since you're here, would you mind taking a look at this old friend of mine? Recently... it seems a bit 'hungry'."

Ollivander took the wand, and the moment his fingers touched the wand's body, the old man's eyebrows twitched violently.

"This..."

Ollivander brought the wand close to his eyes, a look of shock flashing in his silvery-white eyes.

"Black Ironwood... Black Dragon nerve... but I remember when I sold it to you two years ago, although it was heavy, it was still 'dead'."

Ollivander stroked the dark red, vein-like markings on the wand's body.

"Now, it is alive."

The old man looked up at Moen, his voice trembling slightly:

"It has absorbed a massive amount of... blood and magic from high-level creatures. Acromantula venom, Norwegian Ridgeback breath, and even..."

Ollivander sniffed the tip of the wand:

"...and even a kind of ancient and evil snake aura I've never seen before. Mr. White, what on earth have you been doing with it? The current strength of this wand already exceeds that of most adult Wizards' wands. It is evolving."

"Just used it to handle some 'business disputes'." Moensmiled and took back the wand. "Since it's in good condition, I'm relieved."

Krum and Fleur, standing nearby, both looked at Moenwith horrified expressions.

This wand... was it forged through killing?

The ceremony ended.

Rita Skeeter immediately pulled Harry into the broom cupboard for an exclusive interview.

"You don't mind saying a few words, Harry?" Rita said, her quill already dancing wildly on the parchment.

"Um... I want to say I didn't..."

"Do you miss your parents? Is it the tears in your eyes that make you unable to see the names on the parchment clearly?"

"I'm not crying!" Harry retorted angrily.

"Rita."

The door to the broom cupboard was pushed open. Moenleaned against the doorway, watching the female reporter who was trying to fabricate a story with a cold gaze.

"What's wrong, boss?" Rita immediately stopped her pen and smiled obsequiously.

"Change the angle."

Moen looked at Harry's angry and helpless face, his eyes flashing with calculating light.

"Don't write him as an ambitious cheater. That's too cliché; readers are tired of it."

Moen walked up to Harry and patted his shoulder like a caring older brother, though in reality, he was suppressing his resistance:

"Write him as a... tragic boy teased by fate, longing for attention but lacking the ability."

"Focus on his loneliness, describe him crying in the dark night calling out his parents' names, and describe the heartbroken look in his eyes because he was misunderstood by his friends."

Harry's eyes widened: "What are you talking about?! I didn't cry!"

"Shut up, Harry. This is a character persona." Moen said in a low voice, "Only by writing you as miserable and helpless as possible will everyone let their guard down against you. And..."

Moen looked at Rita, the smile at the corner of his mouth as sharp as a blade, thinking to himself:

"...Only in this way will that kid named Ron Weasley, when he sees the newspaper, feel completely overshadowed. His jealousy will grow like poisonous weeds until it completely destroys your friendship."

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Rita recorded excitedly on the paper. ""The Scarred Boy: Tears and Loneliness Under the Halo of Savior"! This will definitely sell like crazy!"

Harry trembled all over.

He looked at Moen, feeling a fear deeper than when facing Voldemort for the first time.

Voldemort wanted his life.

But Moen... he wanted to manipulate his life, even using his emotions to cash in.

"Go, Harry."

Moen opened the door and made a "please" gesture.

"Go enjoy your last moments of peace. When the first task begins..."

Moen leaned into Harry's ear and whispered:

"...You will find that facing a fire-breathing Dragon might be much easier than facing tomorrow's newspaper."

[Task Progress: Harry's mental breakdown (In Progress)]

[Current Draws: 18]

[Target: The Dragon of the first task (Preparing to harvest Dragon blood)]

Moen walked out of the Nimbus showroom, and the rain outside had stopped.

But for Harry Potter, the storm had only just begun.

Chapter 82: The Tears of a Tragic Hero, the Inspection Site, and the Hungarian Horntail Bows Down

November 21st, Saturday.

If there was anything worse than being ostracized by the whole school, it was being "pitied" by the whole school.

The front page of The Daily Prophet at breakfast carried that article by Rita Skeeter, "The Scarred Boy."

The article used an extremely sensational tone to depict how Harry cried in front of his parents' photos late at night, and how he longed to find that missing fatherly love in the Triwizard Tournament.

"Look at this!"

At the Slytherin long table, Pansy Parkinson read the newspaper aloud, laughing until she was doubled over: " 'Harry's green eyes are often filled with tears...' Oh, my god, Potter, are you a crybaby?"

At the Gryffindor long table, Harry buried his face in his oatmeal, wishing he could drown himself in it.

Beside him, Ron Weasley was cutting his sausage forcefully, his knife and fork making a harsh scraping sound on the plate.

"How touching," Ron said coldly. "Now you have not only fame but also everyone's sympathy. You must be enjoying this, right, Harry?"

"I didn't cry! That woman made it all up!" Harry looked up abruptly, defending himself angrily.

"Really?" Ron didn't look at him, just stared at the moving picture of Harry in the newspaper, which indeed looked teary-eyed—the result of Rita's photo editing. "Anyway, you're always able to be the center of attention. Whether as a hero or as a victim."

Harry opened his mouth but found himself speechless.

The rift in their friendship had widened into a chasm under the public opinion offensive carefully woven by Moen.

...

Late at night, at Hagrid's hut.

"Harry, bring your Invisibility Cloak," Hagrid said mysteriously, his large, furry face full of anxiety. "Follow me. There's something you must see. It's for your life."

Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak and followed Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest.

They walked a long way until a huge roar and the sound of trees being smashed echoed around them.

The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and burning.

Harry looked through the bushes and instantly felt his heart stop beating.

Four huge, distinct Dragons were being kept in an enclosure made of thick wooden planks.

They were spewing flames, and dozens of Dragon keepers were desperately pulling on chains, trying to control them.

"Dragon..." Harry felt a wave of dizziness. "The first task is a Dragon?"

"Yes," Hagrid looked at the monsters, his eyes shining with obsession. "That's a Welsh Green, a Swedish Short-Snout, a Chinese Fireball... and that one, the most vicious one, the Hungarian Horntail."

Just as Harry was being overwhelmed by fear, he saw someone who shouldn't have been there.

In front of the cage holding the Hungarian Horntail stood a young man wearing a black trench coat, not wearing a Dragon keeper's uniform.

He held a notebook in his hand and showed no fear at all; instead, he was very close to the irritable black Dragon, close enough to be at a dangerous distance.

It was Moen White.

Beside him stood a sturdy young man with red hair and a face full of freckles and scars: Charlie Weasley, Ron's second-oldest brother.

"This Horntail is in good condition, Charlie."

Moen's voice cut through the noisy roars and clearly reached the ears of Harry and Hagrid.

"The scale luster is very high, and the fire sac is full. However..." Moen pointed at the Horntail's tail with his cane. "Its tail spike seems a bit worn? This will affect the selling price of 'Dragon Spike Powder'."

Charlie Weasley wiped his sweat with a bitter smile: "Mr. White, this is a living killing machine, not frozen meat from a supermarket. To get it into the cage, our three teams were almost burned to ashes."

"That is a technical problem on your part."

Moen closed the notebook and said indifferently:

"I have already paid the 'rental fee' and 'insurance fee' for these four Dragons. After the competition, I want to reclaim all the Dragon blood, shed scales, and Dragon dung. If it suffered unnecessary injuries because of your operational errors..."

"ROAR—!!!"

Seeming to understand that Moen was treating it like cargo, the Hungarian Horntail suddenly flew into a rage.

It snapped a chain, its huge, spiked tail swept out, and it knocked two Dragon keepers who were trying to get close flying.

Then, it opened its bloody mouth and spewed a forty-foot-long flame at Moen, who was standing in front of it!

"Watch out!" Charlie screamed in terror.

"Moen!" Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak, almost shouted out loud.

But Moen didn't move.

He didn't even dodge.

He just raised his left hand, the hand wearing a black Dragon-hide glove, and opened it toward the flames.

[Primary Fire Immunity (Purple)] — Activated.

[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Thermal Deflection.

That Dragon breath, which could melt steel, hit a point three feet in front of Moen as if it had struck an invisible wall. It automatically split to both sides, flowing past Moen, only blowing the hem of his trench coat.

The flames dissipated.

Moen was unharmed.

He lowered his hand, his eyes instantly turning sharp.

He looked up, his black pupils instantly turning into golden slit pupils.

He didn't want to waste any more time with this beast.

[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)] — Monarch-level release!

This time, it wasn't aimed at any specific person, but at this "lower Dragon" that dared to breathe fire at him.

The aura on Moen changed.

In Charlie and Harry's perception, he was still the same young man.

But in the Hungarian Horntail's perception, the tiny creature in front of it had suddenly turned into an ancient, terrifying giant Dragon even older than itself! That kind of pressure acted directly on its soul.

"Roar..."

The Horntail's originally fierce roar suddenly got stuck in its throat, turning into a frightened whimper.

Its yellow eyes revealed extreme confusion and fear.

It didn't understand why this human had the scent of a "Dragon King" on him.

It backed away.

This monster, known as the most vicious Dragon, slowly tucked its wings under Moen's gaze, lay on the ground, and buried its head in its claws, signaling submission.

The whole scene was dead silent.

All the Dragon keepers were stunned.

"This..." Charlie Weasley opened his mouth wide. "How did you do that? You... do you know Dragon taming?"

"A little trick for business negotiations."

The slit pupils in Moen's eyes faded, returning to normal. He tidied up his hair, which had been messed up by the heat wave, and said in a flat tone:

"Animals understand the rules better than people. As long as you let it know who the boss is here, it will be very obedient."

Moen turned around, ready to leave.

As he passed a large tree, his steps paused slightly.

[True Sight] had allowed him to see the outline under that Invisibility Cloak long ago.

"Good evening, Hagrid," Moen said to the air. "And... Mr. Potter, who snuck out."

Harry froze.

Moen didn't expose the Invisibility Cloak, just said meaningfully:

"Since you've seen the questions, go back and review well. The first task is a Dragon. And your wand..."

Moen glanced at the direction Harry was in:

"...Besides 'Expelliarmus', I think you should learn something else. For example... how to escape on a broomstick."

After speaking, Moen left the Forbidden Forest with Alfred, who was waiting on the periphery.

Leaving Charlie Weasley confused in the wind: "Who is he talking to? The air?"

And under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was soaked in cold sweat.

He looked at the giant Dragon that had been subdued by Moen's gaze-subjugation, and then looked at the direction Moen had left in.

Fear.

Deep fear.

Even Dragons were afraid of him. And he actually had to compete with someone like this in the tournament?

"Hagrid..." Harry's voice trembled. "I think... I'm in big trouble."

Hagrid swallowed: "I think so too, Harry. That White... sometimes he's scarier than that Dragon."

...

On the way back to the castle.

Moen was in a good mood.

The close contact just now allowed him to complete the final data collection through the system.

[Scanning Target: Hungarian Horntail]

[Discovered Traits]: Hellfire (Purple), Dragon Scale Armor (Blue), Flight Mastery (Purple)

[Current Extraction Count: 20]

"I don't need Dragon Scale Armor; I have the hardening of [Gate of Truth]."

"I don't need Flight Mastery either; I have a broomstick."

"But that fire..."

Moen reached out his hand, and a small flame ignited in his palm.

"If I can upgrade my [Alchemy Fire] to the magic-attributed [Dragonfire], the power will be raised by another level."

"On the day of the competition."

Moen crushed the flame in his hand.

"I'm going to have a 'Dragon-slaying show' in front of the whole school. Of course, after getting the Golden Egg."

"As for Harry Potter..."

Moen thought of Savior who had been scared silly.

"It's a good thing that Fake Moody can teach him some useful things. Otherwise, this competition would have no suspense at all."

Chapter 83: Flying Billboards, Broken Chains, and the Dragon Tamer's Scepter

November 24th, the day of the first task.

The massive rocky stadium was packed to the rafters. Thousands of Wizards screamed and waved flags in the stands. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn, pumpkin juice, and—the scent of nervous sweat.

At the most prominent entrance of the stadium hung a massive banner:

[Security for this event is exclusively provided by White Security Company]

[Today's Special Promotion: Black Swan Series · Civilian Version—Flies faster than a Dragon!]

Inside the VIP box.

Moen White sat between Minister Fudge and Lucius Malfoy.

Wearing a dark grey double-breasted overcoat and holding a steaming cup of coffee, he looked as relaxed as if he were watching a circus performance.

"Truly spectacular," Lucius remarked with feigned sentiment as he watched the roaring Swedish Short-Snoutbelow. "I hope our champions have purchased personal accident insurance."

"As long as they aren't stupid enough to engage the Dragon in melee combat," Moen said indifferently. "By the way, Minister. Regarding the 'Dragon Hide Monopoly' we mentioned earlier..."

"Of course, of course!" Fudge said, wiping away sweat. "As long as nothing goes majorly wrong during this competition..."

Boom!

A loud explosion echoed from below.

Cedric Diggory successfully Transfigured a Labrador to distract the Dragon, but he took a blast of fire to the face while grabbing the Golden Egg, losing half an eyebrow.

"Barely a passing grade," Moen evaluated. "Good use of Transfiguration, but the tactics were too conservative."

Next was Fleur.

She used a Sleeping Spell.

The Dragon fell asleep but let out a snort, setting her skirt on fire.

Then came Krum.

He used a Conjunctivitis Curse to blind the Dragon directly; in its agony, the Dragon trampled half of the real eggs.

"Barbaric," Moen shook his head. "Damaged the specimens. Points deducted."

Finally.

The whistle blew.

Harry Potter entered the arena.

Facing the Hungarian Horntail, which loomed like a black fortress, Harry looked incredibly small.

Standing behind a rock, he took a deep breath and raised his wand.

"Accio! Firebolt... no, Black Swan!"

A few seconds later, a piercing sound of breaking air came from the direction of the castle.

A pitch-black broomstick with a wild design and metal nozzles at the tail sliced through the sky, coming to a steady halt in front of Harry.

The crowd erupted in an uproar.

"What kind of broom is that?!"

"Mr. White gave it to Potter!"

Ludo Bagman, the commentator, was so excited he nearly jumped up, thanks to the massive sponsorship fee Moenhad paid him:

"Look! Mr. Potter has summoned his ride! It's the latest masterpiece from White Heavy Industries—the Black Swan · Mass Production Model! It's said to utilize the latest Alchemical Aerodynamics..."

Harry mounted the broom.

In that moment, he forgot his fear.

Because the broom felt incredibly stable.

Just as Moen had promised—"Its durability is three times that of a Nimbus."

Boom!

A blue trail of flame erupted from the tail of the broom.

Like a black meteor, Harry instantly shot into the high sky.

The Hungarian Horntail roared and unleashed a forty-foot torrent of flame.

A normal broom would likely have caught fire from that.

But Harry pressed a button on the handle.

[Alchemical Coating · Activated].

A silver light flashed across the broom's surface as it tore through the sea of fire, completely unscathed!

"Unbelievable!" Bagman roared. "It's fireproof! It's bathing in the flames! Is this the latest masterpiece from White Heavy Industries?!"

The students in the stands went wild.

Countless eyes were fixed on that broom, their gazes screaming "I want to buy one too."

Moen allowed a satisfied smile to cross his face in the VIP box.

"Looks like orders will explode tomorrow."

Harry performed several thrilling maneuvers in the air, using the broom's extreme speed to toy with the lumbering Dragon.

Finally, after a dive, he successfully snatched the Golden Egg.

"He did it!" Ron yelled until his voice went hoarse in the stands.

But just then, an accident occurred.

The Hungarian Horntail was driven into a total rage by being toyed with.

It let out a world-shaking roar, its spiked tail slamming violently against the ground.

Crack!

The thick iron chain tethering it—snapped.

"Oh no," Charlie Weasley shouted from the sidelines. "The chain broke! It's out of control!"

The Dragon, now free, didn't go after Harry because it couldn't catch that broom.

Instead, it turned its murderous gaze toward the stands, where thousands of fresh "snacks" waited.

"ROAR—!!!"

The Horntail spread its wings and charged directly toward the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor seating areas.

Students let out screams of despair; a stampede was about to happen.

The Aurors raised their wands to cast spells, but the distance was too great.

"A bunch of useless trash."

VIP

"It seems our client is in a bit of trouble."

Moen stood up.

He didn't take the stairs; instead, he jumped from the fifty-foot-high VIP box.

"Ah!" Fudge covered his eyes in terror.

But in mid-air, Moen's overcoat billowed.

[Flying Talent (Purple)] + [Gate of Truth · Gravity Control].

He didn't fall to his death; instead, like a black meteorite carrying immense kinetic energy, he crashed down between the Dragon and the stands.

Thud!

The ground was smashed into a large crater, dust flying everywhere.

The Hungarian Horntail, which was about to breathe fire, was startled by the sudden commotion. It lowered its head to look at the tiny figure blocking its path.

It recognized this human.

The human who had made it feel fear in the Forbidden Forest.

"Go back."

Moen stood before the giant Dragon, leaning with one hand on his Black Ironwood Cane.

His voice wasn't loud, but under the effect of [Magical Amplification], it resonated throughout the stadium.

"Your performance is over."

The Dragon hesitated.

It feared the aura emanating from Moen.

But it had just been enraged by Harry, and its primal wildness overcame its fear.

It opened its mouth, red light surging in its throat.

It was going to breathe fire!

"So you've chosen the hard way."

Moen snorted coldly.

He didn't use a magical shield.

He abruptly raised his right hand, palm aimed at the Dragon's maw.

[System Extraction · Designated Target: Hungarian Horntail]

[Extracted Trait]: Hellfire (Purple)

[Consumption x 5]

[Check Successful! Trait fusion in progress...]

A surge of scorching energy instantly filled Moen's veins.

"Want to play with fire?"

Moen's pupils instantly turned a molten gold-red.

"Fire Style: Majestic Destroyer Flame!" (Crossed out)

"Alchemy: Crimson Lotus Hellfire!"

Boom—!!!

Erupting from Moen's palm was not a defensive spell, but a deep red pillar of fire even thicker and hotter than the Dragon's breath!

It was [Hellfire] purified by Alchemy!

The two torrents of flame collided in mid-air.

Dragon Breath vs. Alchemical Fire.

They held for only a second.

Moen's flames pushed back with overwhelming dominance, literally stuffing the Dragon's breath back down the Horntail's throat!

"Awoooo—!!!"

The Horntail shrieked in pain as black smoke billowed from its mouth. Its massive body was pushed back by the force of the flames until it crashed to the ground, legs flailing in the air.

The entire stadium fell into a dead silence.

Thousands of spectators gaped, even forgetting to breathe.

What had they just seen?

A fourth-year student had blasted a Dragon over with fire?

Moen withdrew his hand and blew on the faint smoke rising from his glove.

He walked up to the still-twitching Dragon and tapped its massive snout with his wand.

"Next time, remember to see who your opponent is before you open your mouth."

Moen turned around to face the stands.

He straightened his tie and gave the stunned teachers and students a standard, elegant, yet bone-chilling smile.

"Apologies, everyone. It is safe now."

...The medical tent.

Harry clutched the Golden Egg, watching Moen walk in with an extremely complex look in his eyes.

Ron stood to the side, looking at Moen as if he were a god.

"You... you just..." Harry stammered.

"I was protecting my'spokesperson'."

Moen pointed at the Black Swan broom in Harry's hand.

"If the audience is burned to death, who will buy my brooms? Who will watch your advertisements?"

Moen pulled a jar of Burn Ointment from his pocket and tossed it to Ron, who had been singed by sparks in the stands.

"Good job, Harry."

Moen turned and left the tent, leaving only his silhouette behind.

"It seems our cooperation can continue."

Outside the tent, Rita Skeeter was so excited she was nearly fainting.

Tomorrow's headline was ready.

"The Young Dragon Slayer: Moen White! The Man Who Conquered Fire with Fire!"

And in the shadows further away.

Fake Moody stared fixedly at Moen's back with his magical eye, a crazed grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Such powerful strength... the Dark Lord will love this."

"When he is resurrected in the graveyard... your blood will surely be the finest sacrifice."

Chapter 84: A Ticket to the Vanity Fair, the Rejected Veela, and the Girl with Radish Earrings

In December, snow covered the mountains.

Since the first task ended, the atmosphere at Hogwartshad undergone some subtle changes.

Previously, everyone's impression of Moen White was "the rich Slytherin" or "the mastermind behind the scenes." But ever since he used alchemy flames to face the Hungarian Horntail head-on in front of everyone, an emotion called "worship" began to spread throughout the castle.

In this magical world that prizes power, the strong always have privileges.

At this moment, in the Great Hall, Professor McGonagallhad just announced a major piece of news:

The Christmas Ball.

"This is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament," Professor McGonagall said sternly, her gaze sweeping over the whispering students, "It is a good opportunity to build friendships with our foreign guests. I do not wish to see Hogwarts students behaving like a pack of babbling baboons."

Once the news was out, the whole school fell into a state of restlessness. The girls were discussing gowns, and the boys were panicking about how to invite a partner.

Slytherin common room.

The atmosphere here was much more composed than in other houses; after all, everyone here was "aristocratic."

Moen sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, reviewing an analysis report on the "high-end formal robe market."

"This is simply a great opportunity to rake in money," Moensaid to the Malfoy beside him, "I have already had Madam Malkin work overtime to rush a batch of 'White' collaborative robes, focusing on'slim fit' and'stain-resistant.' Draco, you are the spokesperson."

"No problem, Moen!" Malfoy was looking in the mirror, tidying his hair, "But... who do you plan to invite? Pansy has been waiting for you to ask. If you don't invite her, she might cry herself to death."

Not far away, Pansy Parkinson was staring at Moen's back with a longing that was almost burning.

"Pansy?" Moen didn't even lift his head, "She's too noisy. And her aesthetic is still stuck in the Victorian era."

"Then... Daphne Greengrass? Or that Fleur from Beauxbatons?" Malfoy gossiped, "I've seen that Veeladeliberately walk past you in the corridor several times."

"A Veela's charm is indeed top-tier," Moen closed the document, "But that kind of creature is too proud. If I take her, people will only discuss her beauty and ignore my existence. In business occasions, that is a major taboo."

"Then who exactly are you going to choose?" Malfoy was anxious, "You can't go alone, right? Champions must lead the dance!"

Moen didn't answer.

He stood up and straightened his collar.

"I'm going out for a bit. If it's about the robe orders, let Alfred handle it."

Library, near the Ravenclaw tower.

Moen didn't go to those popular social spots; instead, he came here.

He was looking for someone.

In a corner piled with old newspapers, he saw that familiar figure.

Luna Lovegood.

She was sitting on the carpet barefoot, even though it was deep winter.

She was wearing those iconic radish earrings, holding a copy of The Quibbler upside down, and humming a tune no one could understand.

Students passing by would occasionally cast strange looks at her, whispering "Loony."

Moen walked over.

As he approached, those whispers instantly vanished.

Everyone looked in surprise at this Slytherin king walking toward that freak.

"Good afternoon, Luna."

Moen crouched down in front of her, his line of sight level with hers.

Luna put down the magazine, her silver-grey eyes, always veiled in mist, looking at Moen, revealing a dazed smile.

"Hello, Moen. You look like you have many Wrackspurts circling you. They are screaming 'ball', 'ball'."

"Your hearing has always been very good." Moen smiled and took out an exquisite velvet box from his pocket, "A gift for you."

"What is it? A Gorgon's eye?" Luna opened it curiously.

Inside was a pair of exquisite, silver crystal dance shoes with tiny diamonds and warming runes embedded on the uppers.

"To prevent Nargles from stealing your shoes again, I added an [Automatic Recall] spell to this pair," Moensaid softly.

Luna blinked: "So pretty. But I don't know how to dance. Daddy says we dance like we're shooing flies."

"That doesn't matter." Moen reached out and tucked her messy blonde hair behind her ear, "I'm not going to dance either. I'm going to... show off my 'taste'."

"Miss Luna Lovegood."

Moen issued the invitation formally, his tone without a trace of teasing, only solemnity:

"Would you be my dance partner? On this night full of hypocrisy, comparison, and noise, be the only... truth by my side?"

The people eavesdropping around were stunned.

Moen White, the richest and most powerful boy at Hogwarts, rejected all the beauties in the school and invited... the crazy girl Luna?!

Luna looked into Moen's eyes.

She didn't scream or blush like the other girls.

She just tilted her head and thought for a while.

"Okay," Luna said, "But I want to wear my radish earrings. They can ward off dark curses."

"Of course." Moen stood up and reached out to her, "That is your trademark. No one dares to make you take them off."

Christmas night.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was decorated into a silver-white ice palace.

The walls were covered in shimmering silver frost, and snowflakes that would never melt drifted from the ceiling.

This was a battlefield of competition.

Pansy Parkinson wore a pink ruffled robe, looking like a cream cake.

Hermione Granger stunned the whole room; she had straightened her hair and was wearing a flowing purple-blue robe, arm-in-arm with Viktor Krum.

Ron was so jealous in the corner that his face turned green; he was wearing that second-hand robe that only looked decent after cutting off the lace.

"Champions, enter!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

The doors opened.

Harry walked in with Parvati Patil, looking a bit stiff.

Cedric and Cho Chang were a golden couple.

Fleur Delacour was arm-in-arm with Roger Davies of Ravenclaw, beautiful enough to make people unable to look away.

But when the fourth pair... no, the last "Honorary Champion" walked in, the whole room went quiet.

Although Moen hadn't signed up, his performance in the first task earned him equal treatment.

Moen White was wearing a deep black slim-fit robe with dark silver embroidery, the cut perfectly accentuating his tall, straight figure.

He didn't carry a cane, because his hand was holding...

Everyone thought he would bring a peerless beauty.

But he brought Luna.

Luna was different today.

She wore a silver-grey long dress that looked like it was woven from moonlight, custom-made by Moen from the Goblins.

The dress flowed with a faint alchemical radiance, changing colors as she moved.

Her blonde hair was simply pinned up, revealing her slender neck.

Although she was still wearing those radish earrings and that cork necklace, set off by the extremely expensive gown, these originally "weird" decorations actually showed an avant-garde artistic sense.

This was an extremely strong contrast in beauty.

She was a madwoman, and she was also an elf.

"Oh my god..." Hermione couldn't help but exclaim, "Is that Luna? She looks... very special."

"Unique taste," Krum commented in stiff English, "That boy... has guts."

Chapter 85: Hagrid's Identity, Tears of a Giant

Moen led Luna through the crowd.

He felt countless gazes from around them—some were surprised, some mocking, but most were filled with confusion and awe.

"They're looking at us," Luna whispered. "So many Wrackspurts."

"Let them look."

Moen gripped Luna's hand tightly and strode confidently toward the center of the dance floor.

"In this world, following the crowd is the survival strategy of the mediocre. But we..."

Moen looked down into Luna's clear eyes:

"...we define the trend."

The music began.

The Weird Sisters started playing a slow waltz.

Moen led Luna in the dance.

Luna's dance steps were indeed strange; she often missed the beat or suddenly spun around.

But Moen, using his powerful [Body Control (derived from Ultimate Disguise)] and [Half-Giant strength], perfectly accommodated her every mistake, turning those stumbles into unique dance steps.

Amidst the spinning, Moen saw Fleur's gaze—it was a look mixed with frustration and curiosity. She couldn't understand why that boy would rather choose a "crazy girl" over her.

"Because you're just a vase, Fleur," Moen laughed internally, "and she is a mirror."

...Midway through the ball.

Moen took Luna to the courtyard for some fresh air.

There were many rose bushes and conjured fairy lights.

"Thank you, Moen," Luna said, sitting on a stone bench and swinging her glass slippers. "No Wrackspurts bit me tonight."

"It's my honor."

Moen leaned against a pillar, holding two cups of Butterbeer.

Just then, an argument broke out in the nearby bushes.

It was Hagrid and Madame Maxime.

Hagrid was confessing his feelings to her and trying to find common ground by admitting he was a Half-Giant.

As a result, Madame Maxime flew into a rage, insisting she was just big-boned before storming off.

"He really doesn't understand a woman's heart," Moenshook his head. "To pursue a lady, one must first praise her elegance, not expose her genetic flaws."

Immediately after, in another part of the bushes, Karkaroffand Snape were arguing in low voices.

"It's turning black! Severus!" Karkaroff's fearful voice came through. "You feel it too, don't you? That mark..."

"I have nothing to fear, Igor," Snape replied coldly.

Moen narrowed his eyes.

[True Sight] pierced through the bushes.

He saw the Dark Mark faintly appearing on both of their arms.

"It's getting closer."

Moen set down his glass.

Voldemort was approaching. His power was seeping through the marks of these servants.

"Luna," Moen suddenly spoke.

"Yes?"

"If one day, the sky turns dark and stays that way for a long time."

Moen looked at the moon in the night sky, his voice deep:

"Would you be afraid?"

Luna looked up, her carrot earrings swaying in the moonlight.

"No," she said. "Because the stars are still there. And..."

She pointed to Moen's chest:

"...and your fire is still burning. Even though it's a black fire, it's very warm."

Moen was momentarily stunned.

Then, he smiled. It was one of the few sincere smiles he had shown in this world.

"That's right."

Moen reached out and caught a falling snowflake.

"Then let the storm rage even more fiercely."

"I can't wait to present our Dark Lord with an ultimate gift in that graveyard."

...January.

Before the warmth of the Yule Ball had fully faded, Hogwarts was enveloped by a sudden cold snap.

This cold snap didn't come from the weather, but from The Daily Prophet brought by the owls.

In the Great Hall, the atmosphere at breakfast was exceptionally eerie.

The usually noisy long tables were now filled with whispers, and countless gazes turned toward the large empty seat at the staff table; Hagrid hadn't come for breakfast.

"I knew it!" Draco Malfoy waved the newspaper, his face flushed with excitement. "Look at this! That big oaf finally can't hide it anymore!"

Moen White sat across from him, elegantly slicing a piece of smoked salmon.

He didn't look at the newspaper because it was a draft he had approved yesterday.

The headline was written in bold black letters:

"Dumbledore's Massive Oversight: Hogwarts Employs a Brutal Monster to Teach?"

Rita Skeeter not only exposed the fact that Hagrid was a Half-Giant but also did her best to exaggerate the brutal nature of Giants, claiming Hagrid's classes were a threat to students' lives.

"If my father finds out, he'll definitely have that beast fired immediately!" Malfoy threw the newspaper to Pansy next to him, laughing loudly.

"Quiet down, Draco."

Moen put down his knife and fork and wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Over-excitement makes you look like a nouveau riche who hasn't seen the world. Besides..."

Moen's gaze swept across the crowd to the Gryffindortable. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were staring over angrily; the newspaper in Harry's hand was already crumpled.

"...it seems our savior is coming over to cause trouble."

Sure enough, Harry stood up abruptly, even knocking over the pumpkin juice in front of him.

He strode toward the Slytherin table, and Ron and Hermione couldn't even pull him back.

"You did this!"

Harry rushed up to Moen and slammed the newspaper onto Moen's table, making the plates jump.

"You made that woman write it! You're the owner of The Daily Prophet! How could you do this? Hagrid is your friend!"

The whole hall went silent. Everyone watched the confrontation.

Moen wasn't angry.

He just glanced indifferently at the newspaper stained with pumpkin juice, then looked up and calmly met Harry's furious gaze.

"First of all, Mr. Potter. If you slam my table again, I'll have to charge you a 'tableware damage fee'."

"Secondly..."

Moen leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced:

"This is freedom of the press. Hagrid is a Half-Giant; that is a fact. Facts cannot be covered up, only managed."

"You're ruining him!" Harry roared. "Everyone knows how bad the reputation of Giants is! Parents will demand he be fired!"

"And so?" Moen countered. "Do you want me to suppress the truth and deceive the public for the sake of so-called 'friendship'? That's Dumbledore's way of doing things 'for the greater good,' not mine."

"You..." Harry was shaking with rage. "You're just a cold-blooded bastard! You don't care about Hagrid at all; you only care about your newspaper's sales!"

"I care about value, Harry."

Moen stood up, his powerful aura making Harryinvoluntarily take a step back.

"Hagrid's current value is a 'negative asset.' If he cannot prove himself, then being eliminated is the inevitable outcome."

Chapter 86: The Contract as a Backup Plan

"Also, a word of advice."

Moen leaned closer to Harry, his voice low:

"Instead of yelling at me here, you'd be better off checking on Hagrid. I hear that a Giant's mental resilience isn't much thicker than their skin."

With that, Moen picked up his cane, ignored the fire almost spitting from Harry's eyes, and turned to walk out of the Great Hall.

...

Hagrid's hut.

The curtains were drawn tight, and from inside came the whimpering of Fang, along with Hagrid's deafening sobs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood at the door, knocking frantically.

"Hagrid! Open up! That's a lie! We don't care that you're a Giant!" Hermione shouted.

But the door remained shut. Hagrid seemed to feel like a monster, unable to face anyone.

Just as the three of them were at a loss, footsteps sounded behind them.

The crunch of footsteps on the snow was steady and powerful.

"Move."

Moen White walked over.

He was wearing a black cashmere coat, carrying a plain, unmarked leather suitcase in his hand.

"What are you here for?" Ron blocked the doorway, raising his wand. "To watch the show?"

"Put down that twig, Weasley."

Moen didn't even draw his wand; he simply used his cane to gently push Ron aside.

The irresistible force made Ron stagger back into a snowdrift.

"I'm here for 'damage control'."

Moen walked to the door. He didn't knock.

He raised his cane and tapped the lock lightly.

[Gate of Truth] — Structural Dissociation.

"Click."

The lock popped open automatically.

The door opened.

The room was pitch black and reeked of alcohol.

Hagrid was slumped over the table, crying like a two-hundred-pound child, his face covered in snot and tears.

"Get out..." Hagrid roared incoherently. "I'm a monster... I don't deserve to be a teacher..."

"You certainly don't."

Moen walked into the room and waved his wand to light the lamps.

The sudden light made Hagrid squint his swollen eyes.

"If all you can do is hide in the room and cry, then you truly don't deserve to be a teacher, or even a man." Moen said coldly.

"Moen?!" Hagrid froze, then felt even more ashamed. "You saw the paper too... you know I am..."

"I know. I've known for a long time."

Moen pulled out a chair and sat down, placing the suitcase on the table.

"I knew from the first time we met. But that doesn't matter, Hagrid."

Moen opened the suitcase.

Inside was neither money nor Potion.

Instead, it was a thick document stamped with the seal of the Ministry of Magic and the wax seal of the White Family: a [Lifetime Employment Contract].

"Look at this." Moen pushed the contract over.

"What is this?" Hagrid wiped his tears.

"An insurance policy."

Moen crossed his fingers, his gaze calm:

"If Dumbledore can't protect you, or if you can't stand the finger-pointing from those parents and decide to resign..."

"...The White Magical Creature Conservation Company is willing to hire you as Chief Keeper and Security Consultant."

"The salary is three times what you earn now. The workplace is my private estate. You can raise anything you want—Dragons, Griffins, even Acromantula, as long as you have the ability to control them."

Hagrid was stunned.

Harry and Hermione were also stunned.

They thought Moen had come to kick a man while he was down; they hadn't expected him to be... poaching?

"You... you don't mind that I'm a Giant?" Hagrid asked, stuttering.

"I've said it before: I don't care about bloodlines." Moenpointed at the contract. "The constitution of a half-Giant is a gift from heaven. An ordinary Wizard would be killed by a single tail swipe from a Dragon, while you would only feel a bit of pain. That is your core competitiveness."

"However," Moen changed the subject, "I only hire the strong. If you're going to cry like a coward because of a newspaper, then this contract is void."

Hagrid looked at the contract, then back at Moen's eyes, which were cold but held not a shred of discrimination.

He suddenly felt the weight on his heart lift a little.

"I... I won't resign!" Hagrid suddenly said loudly, trying to boost his own morale. "Dumbledore trusts me! And I can't let the children down!"

"Very well."

Moen didn't take the contract back but left it on the table.

"Then keep it as a backup plan. Whenever you figure things out, you can sign it anytime."

Moen stood up, preparing to leave.

When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at Harry.

"You see, Potter."

A trace of mockery played on the corners of Moen's mouth:

"Cheap sympathy only makes him cry longer. But a concrete backup plan is what will help him stand back up."

"That is the difference between us."

Moen walked out of the hut and disappeared into the wind and snow.

Inside the hut.

Hagrid blew his nose, looked at the contract, and although he didn't sign it, he carefully tucked it into the innermost pocket of his coat.

It was a sense of security.

A sense of security that even if the whole world abandoned him, he would still have a place to go.

Harry watched the direction where Moen had disappeared, his fists clenching and unclenching.

He had to admit that Moen was right.

But he hated this kind of "right".

"He always has everything calculated," Hermione said in a low voice. "Even Hagrid's pain is part of his plan."

"But he did help Hagrid." Ron looked at the contract with some jealousy. "Three times the salary... Merlin's beard, how much money would that be?"

...

castle, corridor.

Moen did not go directly back to the dungeons.

He ran into Luna on the way.

Luna was breathing onto the window, then drawing some strange symbol in the fog.

"Is that the symbol for anti-Nargle glasses?" Moenstopped.

"No." Luna turned her head. She looked a bit sad today. "This is for Hagrid. His big hut is surrounded by grey Sorrow-bugs."

"They'll disperse soon." Moen walked to her side.

"Moen." Luna looked at him. "Why did you let that beetle bite Hagrid?"

Moen was silent for a second.

In front of this girl, lies seemed meaningless.

"Because Hagrid is too dependent on Dumbledore." Moenlooked at the wind and snow outside the window. "I want him to know that if one day Dumbledore is no longer around, who is the person who can truly feed him."

"Do you want to be his new friend?"

"I want to be his—boss."

Luna blinked, then revealed a dazed smile.

"About the same. Either way, you're both people who feed him pudding."

Moen smiled, took a bottle of hot Butterbeer out of his pocket, and handed it to Luna.

"Drink some. It'll warm you up."

"This weekend is the second task." Moen looked towards the Black Lake, a glint of sharpness flashing in his eyes.

"It's very cold at the bottom of the Black Lake. But I have already prepared an 'irresistible trade agreement' for the residents there."

"Harry Potter will be busy eating Gillyweed to save people."

"And I... I am going to talk to the Merpeople about exclusive mining rights for 'deep-sea Potion ingredients'."

Chapter 87: Deep Sea Security Operation, Signed Orders, and Rescued Hostages

February 24th, by the Black Lake.

The wind was biting.

The stands were packed with spectators huddled together.

Four champions—Harry, Cedric, Krum, and Fleur—stood on the dock, shivering as they listened to Bagman's instructions.

Beside the judges' table, Moen White sat in a comfortable heated seat, holding a cup of hot coffee. He wore his signature black trench coat, maintaining an enviable elegance even in this weather. VIP box.

"Truly a cruel competition," Lucius Malfoy remarked hypocritically from the side. "Throwing children into icy water filled with monsters... Dumbledore's educational philosophy is truly unique."

"This is to filter out the strong," Moen said calmly, his gaze sweeping across the lake. "However, as the exclusive security provider for this event, I do not wish to see any 'foreign friends' die in our lake. That would cause diplomatic disputes and affect my multinational business."

Bang!

The signal cannon fired.

The four champions dove into the water using their various methods.

Harry swallowed Gillyweed, turning into a webbed freak.

Krum turned into a half-shark.

Fleur and Cedric used the Bubble-Head Charm.

Ten minutes after the competition started, the lake surface remained calm. The spectators could only stare blankly at the still water, except for Moen, who was reading an Alchemy report.

Suddenly, the water churned.

Fleur Delacour surfaced in a sorry state; her robes were torn, and her face was covered in scratches.

She had been besieged by a group of Grindylows, lost her wand, and was forced to withdraw.

"My sister! Gabrielle is still down there!" Fleur cried in the water, desperately trying to dive back down, but she had already exhausted her strength.

Madame Maxime stood up anxiously.

"It seems this is a good opportunity to 'demonstrate the product'."

In the VIP box, Moen closed his report and stood up.

"Mr. White?" Minister Fudge was stunned. "What are you doing?"

"Fulfilling the contract, Minister."

Moen walked to the edge of the dock, where Fleur had just climbed ashore.

He didn't take off his clothes but instead kicked the silver metal suitcase at his feet.

Click—hiss!

Steam erupted.

Countless silver metal plates flew up, instantly adsorbing onto his body and assembling into a full-coverage Alchemy armor filled with technology and magical light.

[White Heavy Industries · Deep Sea Walker]

"As a security consultant, I have an obligation to ensure the safety of every 'hostage'."

Moen's voice came through an amplifier, carrying a metallic texture.

"Since Miss Delacour cannot complete the task, I will do it for her."

Boom!

The water thrusters under his feet activated.

Moen didn't jump; he was pushed directly by the thrusters, shooting into the water like a silver torpedo!

Under the Black Lake, it was cold and dark.

But on Moen's helmet display, everything was clearly visible.

[Target Locked: Merpeople Village]

[High-risk biological reaction detected: Harry Potter is fighting with Grindylows]

Moen activated maximum power.

He left a white wake in the water, his speed astonishing.

The water monsters that tried to approach him were directly stunned by the high-frequency sound waves emitted by the armor.

He wasn't here to compete; he was here for dimensional reduction strikes.

Soon, he arrived at the Merpeople plaza.

There, four hostages were tied: Ron, Hermione, Cho Chang, and Fleur's sister, Gabrielle.

Harry was already there.

He had just used a stone to saw through Ron's ropes.

But he didn't leave.

He was waiting for Fleur.

He looked at the eight-year-old girl, Gabrielle, his face full of anxiety.

Time ticked by, and Fleur still hadn't come.

"If I don't save her, she will die!" Harry thought, preparing to save Gabrielle.

Just then, a strong light illuminated the dim lake bottom.

Harry squinted.

He saw a silver figure, like Iron Man, descending from above.

If he had read comics, that is.

It was Moen.

The surrounding Merpeople saw this figure and not only didn't attack, but retreated, and some even waved their spears in greeting because Moen had come to negotiate business before.

Moen hovered in front of Harry.

Through the transparent visor, Harry saw Moen's cold eyes.

"Go, Potter."

Moen's voice sounded muffled in the water: "Take your friend and go. This is not a charity."

"But Gabrielle! Fleur hasn't come yet!" Harry pointed at the little girl, blowing bubbles.

"Fleur has already withdrawn."

Moen swam to Gabrielle's side.

He extended his armored hand, a laser-like magical blade popped out from his fingertips, and he instantly cut the rope.

He scooped the little girl up by the waist.

"This girl is now under the care of White Security Company."

Moen looked at Harry: "Your task is to win the competition, not to be a babysitter. Get out of here."

Harry was stunned for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief. Although Moen spoke harshly, he knew Gabrielle was safe.

"Thanks!" Harry grabbed Ron and swam desperately toward the surface.

Moen didn't rush to leave.

He held the unconscious Gabrielle with one hand and turned to look at the Merpeople chieftain, Murcus.

He took a waterproof metal scroll from the armor's storage compartment and threw it to the Merpeople chieftain.

"This is the 'Deep Sea Luminous Moss' procurement contract for next quarter," Moen said in Merpeoplelanguage, translated through the armor. "The price is 10% higher than we discussed last time. Sign it and send it to the castle for me."

The Merpeople chieftain showed a smile full of yellow teeth and took the contract.

"Happy trading."

Moen nodded and opened the thrusters to full power.

Boom!

He shot toward the surface like a rocket, twice as fast as Harry.

Splash!

The silver armor broke through the water and landed steadily on the dock.

Moen placed Gabrielle on a stretcher. The little girl soon woke up; although she was still shaken, she was unharmed.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur rushed over crying, hugging her sister. She looked up, her face tear-stained, at Moen who had removed his visor.

"Thank you... thank you! You saved her!" Fleur wanted to hug Moen excitedly.

Moen took a step back, avoiding the hug.

"This is part of the security service, Miss Delacour."

Moen said calmly, while directing the metal plates to automatically detach and recycle: "Although it is free, I wouldn't mind if you bought a few more accessories when you purchase 'Black Swan' brooms next time."

At this time, Cedric brought back Cho Chang.

Krum brought back Hermione.

Finally, Harry brought Ron to the surface.

Although Harry was the last to return, he insisted on saving everyone. Although Gabrielle was taken away by Moen in the end, his intention to save people was seen by everyone.

The Merpeople chieftain surfaced and reported the situation to Dumbledore.

It specifically mentioned Harry's bravery, and... MoenWhite's astonishing...

"Very well." Dumbledore announced the scores.

Harry received a high score for "high moral character," coming in second.

Cedric was first.

In the VIP box, Moen had changed back into a dry trench coat and was sitting there drinking hot tea handed to him by Alfred.

"You stole the spotlight again, young master." Alfred said with a smile.

"No, this is called 'product placement'."

Moen looked at the silver suitcase: "Tomorrow, the headline of The Daily Prophet will be—'Technology That Even Merpeople Fear: The Debut of White Heavy Industries Deep Sea Equipment'."

"As for Savior..."

Moen glanced at Harry, who was surrounded by the crowd, and although he got a high score, he was still a bit disappointed because he didn't save Gabrielle.

"...He still needs more training. This kind of overflowing compassion will get people killed in the maze of the third task."

"Time is running out." Moen touched his cane.

"That nose-less guy must be eager to crawl out of the cauldron, right?"

Chapter 88: The Price of Oxygen, A Monopolized Headline

The day after the Black Lake task.

In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the owls brought more than just letters; they brought emotions named "jealousy" and "fanaticism."

The aftermath of yesterday's deep-sea rescue was currently manifesting in a concrete form on the Slytherintable—piles of parchment letters, almost burying Moen White.

"Insane! It's simply insane!"

Draco, while helping Moen open letters, shouted excitedly, "Just this morning alone, we've received over two hundred inquiries about the 'Deep-Sea Walker' armor! There are even letters of intent from the Ministry of Magic's AurorOffice!"

"That is only natural, Draco."

Moen White sipped his coffee elegantly, his expression unsurprised.

He held today's The Daily Prophet in his hand; the front-page photo was the exact moment he broke through the water wearing the silver armor yesterday, and the headline was highly provocative:

"When Savior is still eating grass, White is defining the future."

This article not only heavily disparaged traditional magical methods but also praised the technical prowess of White Heavy Industries to the heavens.

"Tell Alfred," Moen put down the newspaper, his tone flat, "the cost of the armor is too high for mass civilian production. But we can launch a'simplified version,' such as the [Underwater Breathing Collar] that can automatically generate an oxygen mask. Price it at 50 Galleons, and limit the initial release to one thousand units."

"This is called 'technology trickle-down'."

Moen's gaze passed through the crowd and looked toward the Gryffindor table.

There, Harry Potter was sitting with his head down, silently eating toast.

Although he had received a high score yesterday and was praised as a hero by Hermione and Ron, looking at that newspaper, he only felt like an unevolved primitive man.

Harry looked up and happened to meet Moen's gaze.

Moen raised his coffee cup in a distant salute.

Harry stiffly turned his head away, feeling a tightness in his chest.

He didn't want Moen's salute; he only felt like a comical supporting character in Moen's grand commercial show.

"He saved Gabrielle, I should be grateful to him," Harrywhispered to Ron. "But I always feel... that for him, saving people was just incidental; advertising was the real goal."

"Forget it, mate," Ron said, looking enviously at the commotion on the Slytherin side. "At least he didn't make you pay for the advertising."

...

Weeks later, in May.

As the third task approached, the atmosphere in the castlegradually became eerie.

The mysterious disappearance of high-ranking Ministry of Magic official Barty Crouch.

He claimed to be ill, and his assistant, Percy Weasley, was filling in.

But Moen knew that the real old Barty had already shaken off the Imperius Curse and was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Dusk, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Moen was patrolling with Lupin. Officially, it was to "inspect the White Security Company's defensive lines," but in reality, he was waiting for someone.

"Boss, things haven't been peaceful in the Forbidden Forest lately," Lupin said, wearing a tactical trench coat and looking around vigilantly. "The Werewolf Guard reports that they often hear someone talking to themselves in the woods. And... Harry Potter and Krum just went in."

"I know." Moen stopped, his Black Ironwood Cane tapping the ground lightly. "Krum wants to ask Harry about Hermione. The restlessness of puberty."

"But they will run into trouble."

Moen activated [True Sight].

In the bushes ahead, a chaotic, shattered, and fear-filled soul magnetic field was stumbling along.

Old Barty Crouch.

"Let's go, Remus." Moen's figure vanished instantly from the spot. "Before Savior gets scared out of his wits, we need to secure the 'witness' first."

...

In a clearing in the woods.

Harry and Krum were looking in horror at the man emerging from the bushes.

Barty Crouch looked like a vagrant.

His robes were tattered, his hair gray and disheveled, and he was speaking incoherently to an oak tree.

"Dumbledore... I must see Dumbledore... My son... It's my fault..." Crouch's eyes were unfocused, clearly delirious.

"Mr. Crouch?" Harry tentatively stepped forward.

"Stay away!" Crouch screamed. "He is watching me! The Dark Lord... He is growing stronger!"

Just then, rapid footsteps came from deep within the woods.

Someone was approaching.

Harry thought it was Hagrid, but Moen knew it was Fake Moody coming to silence him.

"He cannot die." Moen judged from the shadows.

Although old Barty was a waste, the intelligence in his head regarding Voldemort was very valuable.

Furthermore, if he were killed in front of Moen, it would be a blow to the reputation of "White Security."

"Stupefy."

A silent red light shot out from the side bushes, accurately striking the crazed old Barty.

Old Barty didn't even groan before collapsing limply to the ground.

Harry and Krum were startled, turning abruptly and raising their wands.

"Who?!"

"It's me."

Moen White walked out with Lupin. He put away his wandand glanced at the unconscious old Barty.

"It seems our Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation has developed some... minor issues with his mental state due to excessive work pressure."

"Moen?" Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately became tense again. "He mentioned Voldemort! He said his son..."

"A madman's ramblings, Harry."

Moen interrupted him, simultaneously giving Lupin a wink.

Lupin immediately stepped forward, skillfully checked old Barty's condition, and then pulled an [Alchemical Restraint Bag] from his pocket—originally intended for containing dangerous magical creatures—and stuffed old Barty inside.

"What are you doing?!" Harry exclaimed. "We need to take him to see Dumbledore!"

"Dumbledore is very busy, Harry."

Moen walked over to Harry, blocking his view.

"Besides, Mr. Crouch is very dangerous right now. He may have been placed under the Imperius Curse, or he might be tainted by Dark Arts. Taking him directly into the castlewould only cause panic."

"I will take him to my 'private clinic' for isolation and treatment. Once he is coherent, I will notify Dumbledore."

"But..."

"No buts."

Moen suddenly looked up at a large tree not far away.

A spinning magical eye was staring fixedly at them from there, through the tree trunk.

Fake Moody had arrived.

But he was one step too late.

The person had already been intercepted by Moen.

Moen flashed a provocative smile at the tree.

"It seems the forest is quite lively tonight," Moen said, raising his voice. "Professor Moody, since you're here, why hide?"

From behind the tree, Fake Moody limped out.

His expression was hideous, and that magical eye was spinning frantically, seemingly calculating the possibility of silencing them.

"White..." Fake Moody said hoarsely, "Hand over the person in your possession. This is Ministry of Magicbusiness."

"Sorry, Professor." Moen adjusted his gloves. "This is a matter within the'security perimeter.' Until his threat is neutralized, he is my asset."

The two stared at each other.

Sparks flew in the air.

In the end, Fake Moody chose to back down.

He couldn't beat Moen, and since Harry and Krum were both present, he couldn't make a move.

"Very well." Fake Moody gritted his teeth. "I hope you can cure him."

"I will." Moen replied meaningfully. "I will make him spit out all the 'bad water' in his belly."

Moen waved his hand, and Lupin, carrying the bag, turned and left with him.

Harry stood in place, watching Moen's retreating back, then looked at the gloomy Fake Moody, feeling that the fog was thickening.

"He is hiding something," Harry said to Krum. "Moendefinitely knows something."

...

Slytherin dungeon, Chamber of Secrets.

Old Barty Crouch was tied to a chair, but this was not an interrogation; it was "treatment."

Moen held a bottle of golden potion, [Powerful Veritaserum (Improved Version)].

"Young Master, that Fake Moody might act desperately," Alfred reminded him, standing to the side.

"Let him jump."

Moen poured the potion into old Barty's mouth.

"The more desperate he is, the more flaws he will reveal. And..."

Moen watched old Barty, who was gradually waking up, his eyes beginning to lose focus.

"...I can't wait to know which graveyard Voldemort's resurrection ritual will take place in, and... what other 'ingredients' he needs."

"Once I have the recipe, I can prepare a'spiced' resurrection feast for this Dark Lord that he will never forget."

[Remaining Draws: 28]

"Sphinx." Moen thought of that big guy in the maze.

"Next chapter, it's time to go into the maze and'scout' in advance."

Chapter 89: The Trimmed Maze, The Military Value of Blast-Ended Skrewts

The Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts had become unrecognizable.

The once-flat turf had vanished, replaced by rows of twenty-foot-tall hedges that writhed in the twilight as if alive, weaving together into a massive, eerie maze.

Ludo Bagman was conducting a pre-race briefing at the maze entrance with the four champions: Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Krum.

"It's truly spectacular, isn't it?" Bagman said cheerfully. "Only three weeks to go! Here, Hagrid has provided some... well, interesting things."

Harry looked at the deep, dark entrance, feeling a churn in his stomach.

This wasn't a competition; it was practically a death sentence.

"It is indeed spectacular. But it also poses severe safety risks."

A cold voice interrupted Bagman's speech.

Moen White walked over, accompanied by Lupin and several Werewolf bodyguards carrying measuring instruments.

He was holding a thick "Maze Risk Assessment Report."

"Department Head Bagman," Moen said, tapping the thick hedge with his cane. "While the density of this plant is sufficient to block sightlines, its fire resistance is abysmal. If Miss Fleur were to 'accidentally' set her skirt on fire again, or if a Blast-Ended Skrewt breathed fire, this entire pitch would turn into a massive crematorium within ten minutes."

"Er... Mr. White?" Bagman wiped his sweat. "We will have teachers patrolling outside..."

"Teachers cannot put out fires," Moen coldly interrupted him. "White Security Company recommends installing an automatic fire-extinguishing rune sprinkler every fifty meters in the maze. Naturally, I will add this expense to the Ministry of Magic's bill."

Harry looked at Moen.

Although Moen's words sounded mercenary, he had to admit that hearing the term "fire-extinguishing sprinkler" gave him an inexplicable sense of security.

"Alright, champions." Moen turned around, his gaze sweeping over the four. "Since you're here, why not go in and 'experience' it? Rest assured, I'm going too. As an investor, I need to inspect the goods."

Inside the maze.

It was darker and colder here than outside.

The tall hedges obscured the sky, creating a heavy sense of oppression.

Hagrid was standing next to a massive crate, from which came crackling sounds like firecrackers and a foul, fishy stench.

"Watch out, Moen!" Hagrid shouted. "It's the Blast-Ended Skrewts! They've grown! Their tempers aren't good right now!"

Harry and Ron had suffered enough at the hands of these monsters this semester.

It was a disgusting creature that looked like a shelled lobster, but with a scorpion's tail, and it could breathe fire. It was a full ten feet long.

"A very interesting product of bioengineering."

Moen did not cover his nose and step back like the others.

He walked to the side of the crate, observing these hybrid monsters through [True Sight].

"Although their appearance is ugly and they have no ornamental value. However..."

Moen watched as a Blast-Ended Skrewt shot a stream of fire from its tail, blasting a hole in the wooden plank of the crate.

"...This creature comes with built-in 'thrusters' and a 'high-explosive shell.' If domesticated and modified, or if their bodily fluids were extracted..."

Moen turned his head to look at Lupin:

"Remus, make a note. This creature possesses extremely high military value. Perhaps we could develop a 'Blast-Ended Skrewt Self-Propelled Mine' to sell to those Goblins who need to guard their vaults."

Harry listened, dumbfounded.

Others saw disgusting monsters; Moen saw... landmines?

"Let's move on."

Moen waved his hand, not wasting too much time on this "weaponry."

His target was deeper inside.

After passing a few turns, the mist in the maze grew thicker.

A huge shadow appeared ahead, blocking the path.

It was a giant beast with the body of a lion and the head of a woman. She had long, sharp claws and eyes that were full of wisdom yet cold.

A Sphinx.

Harry, Cedric, and the others stopped, nervously raising their wands.

"Is this the guardian?" Moen walked forward.

The Sphinx did not attack.

She just sat there, watching Moen, her deep eyes flickering with a strange light.

"You are very special, little Wizard." The Sphinx's voice was low and hoarse. "You carry the scent of my kind, and also... the scent of truth."

"Do you wish to pass?" she asked.

"Of course." Moen nodded.

"Then answer my Riddle. If you answer correctly, the path is yours; if you answer incorrectly, I eat."

The Sphinx licked her lips; it was the instinct of a predator.

"Please, state the Riddle."

The Sphinx chanted slowly:

"First think of the man who lies all day, even if he speaks the truth, you would only think he is deceiving. Then think of the person in this world, regardless of time, who absolutely cannot be found in any family. Connect them, and you get a word; it is the end that everyone fears, yet will eventually face."

"Death."

Moen did not even think for a second, giving the answer directly.

"The answer is correct." The Sphinx was somewhat surprised. "You think very quickly."

"Because this is not a Riddle at all."

Moen leaned on his cane and walked up to the Sphinx, close enough to almost touch her claws.

"This is merely a statement about the end of life. And for someone like me, death..."

A ghostly light brought by [Pure Blood (Curse)] flashed in Moen's eyes:

"...Death is not the end, but a state that can be 'traded' and 'transformed'."

He reached out and pressed his hand on the Sphinx's forehead.

[Contact successful!]

[Detected high-order intelligent creature: Sphinx]

[Detected Trait]:

[Gold] Riddle Master: Possesses extremely high logical thinking and the ability to construct language traps. You can see through loopholes in language at a glance and weave inescapable cages with words.

[Purple] Guardian's Body: Powerful physical defense and strength.

[Current remaining draws: 30]

"Logical thinking... this is exactly what I need." Moenmurmured in his heart.

Although his current [Mind Palace] is a top-tier blue grade, it still needs strengthening when facing the soul-level games of Voldemort.

[Consume draw count x 10]

[Probability stacking check... success!]

[Congratulations on acquiring trait]: Riddle Master (Gold · Weakened Version / Logical Insight)

[Description]: Your brain is now a precision lie-crushing machine. Anyone who lies in front of you, you can instantly see through via micro-expressions, tone, and logical gaps.

A cool current washed over Moen's brain.

He felt the world become clearer.

He looked at the Sphinx.

He could now clearly read from the giant beast's micro-expressions: it was afraid, it wanted to go home, and it did not like the mist here.

"Thank you for your gift."

Moen withdrew his hand.

"You are free."

Moen said to the Sphinx:

"After the tournament ends, if you don't want to return to Egypt, you can come to my manor. I am in need of a gatekeeper to guard my vault. I think the environment there is much better than this damp maze."

The Sphinx was stunned. She looked at this human youth and actually nodded, moving aside to clear the path.

Moen did not look back.

He passed through the checkpoint guarded by the Sphinx and arrived at the center of the maze.

There was a pedestal there.

The Triwizard Tournament trophy (Portkey) would be placed here.

"This is the place."

Moen stood before the empty pedestal, closing his eyes, feeling the slight magical fluctuations in the space.

"Voldemort will turn the trophy into a Portkey, leading to the Riddle house graveyard in Little Hangleton."

"Harry will be teleported away from here."

Moen opened his eyes and took out from his pocket the box containing the [Dementor slice] and the [Old Barty memory bottle].

"When the time comes, I will follow this spatial ripple and go along with it."

"Not just to save people."

A cruel smile curled the corners of Moen's mouth.

"But to deliver a—surprise gift package to the newly resurrected Dark Lord."

"System, check current status."

[Traits: Gate of Truth (Gold), Sand of Time (Gold), RiddleMaster (Gold), Half-Giant Bloodline (Red · Fully Awakened), Pure Blood (Red), Ultimate Disguise (Gold · Downgraded Version), Petrifying Magic Eyes (Purple), Hellfire (Purple), Multiple Mind Core (Purple)...]

[Remaining draw count: 20]

Moen turned around, looking at the group of champions behind him still struggling through the maze.

"Run to your heart's content, Harry."

Chapter 90: The Gravestones of Little Hangleton, the Green Light Blocked

Late night.

Center of the maze.

Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory stood panting, covered in injuries, before the glowing blue Triwizard Tournamenttrophy.

Just moments ago, Harry had saved Cedric's life, and Cedric had refused to take the trophy alone.

"Since we're both here," Harry looked at the trophy, "how about... we take it together?"

"Together?" Cedric was stunned for a moment, then broke into a brilliant smile. "Good idea, Harry. This is a Hogwartsvictory."

"Count to three."

"One, two, three!"

Both reached out and grabbed the trophy handles simultaneously.

Whoosh—

It wasn't a cheer, but a sickening, hook-in-the-bellybutton pulling sensation.

The world spun, the maze vanished, Hogwartsdisappeared... a few seconds later.

Thud.

They both fell heavily to the ground.

Harry felt his face hit the damp, cold grass.

"Where are we?" Cedric scrambled up, raising his wandwarily.

Harry looked up.

They weren't at Hogwarts.

This was clearly a graveyard.

In the pitch-black night, rows of crooked gravestones could be seen, and in the distance, a gloomy mansion built into a hillside.

Fear soaked Harry's entire body like ice water.

He recognized this place.

It was a scene from his nightmares.

"wands out!" Harry yelled. "Something's wrong!"

Just then, a small, hooded figure appeared in the darkness not far away.

He was holding something that looked like a baby in his arms.

Harry's scar suddenly burned with excruciating pain.

"Ah!" He dropped his wand, clutching his forehead and falling to his knees.

"Who is that?" Cedric asked nervously, his wand pointed at the dark figure.

The dark figure stopped.

The "baby" in his arms let out a cold, sharp voice:

"Kill the spare."

A blinding green light cut through the night sky.

Avada Kedavra.

Cedric had no time to react.

The green light illuminated his terrified face; Death had already swung its scythe.

CLANG—!!!

Just as the green light was about to strike Cedric's chest, at the critical moment.

A black, solid-looking iron wall appeared out of thin air in front of Cedric.

Boom!

The Killing Curse hit the iron wall, exploding in a burst of green sparks, then dissipated.

Although the iron wall was cracked, it did not shatter.

"What?!" the dark figure exclaimed.

"The spare?"

An elegant, indifferent voice, completely out of place in this eerie graveyard, rang out.

"No, Mr. Voldemort. In my opinion, every life is potential 'labor.' Casually destroying assets is not a good habit."

The air twisted.

Moen White stepped out of the void, having followed closely using the Sand of Time and Portkey tracking.

He was wearing a black trench coat, leaning on his still-smoking Black Ironwood Cane.

That iron wall just now was precisely the defense he instantly transmuted using the Gate of Truth.

"Moen?!" Harry looked up through the excruciating pain, staring at him in disbelief.

Cedric, even more terrified, slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, truly believing he was dead just a moment ago.

"Go, Diggory."

Moen didn't turn back, merely waved his hand.

The Triwizard Tournament trophy, the Portkey, flew up and landed squarely in Cedric's arms.

"Take the trophy back. Tell everyone what happened here."

"But Harry..." Cedric hesitated.

"Get out if you don't want to die!" Moen growled, his Dragon's Might erupting, making Cedric instinctively clutch the trophy tighter.

Whoosh—

Cedric vanished.

He had been teleported back to Hogwarts.

Only Harry, Moen, and the dark figure holding the "baby" remained in the graveyard.

"Moen White..."

The "baby" Voldemort turned his head, his red eyes fixed on Moen.

"You've ruined my plans again... Do you want to die too?"

"I don't want to die, Tom."

Moen adjusted his gloves and slowly walked towards the dark figure.

The dark figure raised his wand to attack, but Moen merely waved his staff casually.

"Expelliarmus."

The wand flew into Moen's hand.

The dark figure was an ordinary Wizard controlled by the Imperius Curse Curse; since Peter was caught, Voldemort had to find a random substitute.

"You're in a rather awkward position right now, Dark Lord."

Moen looked at the ugly, peeled-baby-like Voldemort.

"Without capable servants, you have to rely on such trash to help you resurrect?"

"The potion in this large cauldron..." Moen walked to the giant stone cauldron and sniffed the bubbling liquid. "Bone of the father (added), blood of the enemy (not yet taken)... you're still missing one thing."

"Flesh of the servant."

Voldemort let out an angry hiss: "I'll find it... even if I have to cut off this trash's flesh..."

"That trash's flesh is too inferior; it will affect the purity of your magic after resurrection."

Moen shook his head.

He pulled out the runic Alchemical metal box he always carried with him.

"Besides, I know who you're waiting for. You're waiting for Peter Pettigrew, aren't you?"

"Peter is in Azkaban!" Harry shouted from the side, enduring the searing pain of his scar. "You personally handed him over to Fudge! Moen!"

"Harry, you're still too naive."

Moen looked at Harry, a mocking smile playing on his lips:

"Did you really think I'd hand over such important 'raw material' to the Ministry of Magic, which only knows how to gloss over things?"

Moen pressed the runic switch on the box.

The lid sprang open.

A rat with a missing finger was poured out, forcibly un-Transfigured in mid-air, turning into the despicable Peter Pettigrew.

"What?!" Harry was stunned. "Then... who is that in Azkaban?"

"A 'flesh puppet' created by Alchemy."

Moen explained calmly, as if it were a trivial matter:

"I used a piece of Peter's flesh and a few drops of his blood to make a substitute that breathes, has a heartbeat, and even cries and confesses. Fudge, that idiot, couldn't tell the difference. The real Peter has been 'preserved' in my laboratory all this time."

"Why?!" Harry didn't understand. "Why did you keep him?"

"For this moment."

Moen kicked Peter towards the bubbling cauldron.

"Because I know what the resurrection ritual needs. Without the 'flesh of the servant,' Voldemort cannot fully resurrect. If he doesn't resurrect, my war business won't take off, and the Order of the Phoenix will disband."

"This is called supply chain management."

"Peter?!" Voldemort was surprised. "He's in your hands?!"

Harry watched, dumbfounded, even forgetting the pain in his scar.

"Moen! What are you doing?! You're giving him to Voldemort?!"

"This is a necessary process, Harry."

Moen ignored Harry's screams.

He kicked Peter towards the bubbling cauldron.

"Do it, Tom."

Moen stepped back and made a 'please' gesture.

"Bone of the father, blood of the enemy, flesh of the servant."

"But I have a condition."

Moen's gaze became incredibly sharp, his staff subtly pointing at Voldemort:

"After you resurrect, we need to talk business."

Voldemort looked at Peter on the ground, then at Moen.

He let out a piercing cackle.

"Hahahaha! Good! Very good! Slytherin has produced a monster!"

"But I don't need to talk business with you, White! Once I resurrect, I'll take everything!"

The controlled Wizard puppet raised a knife and walked towards Peter.

Peter was about to scream for mercy when he was thrown directly into the cauldron for efficiency.

"Ahhh—!!!"

Screams echoed through the graveyard.

"Now, Harry Potter."

The controlled Wizard turned to Harry, cut his arm, and took his blood.

Bone, flesh, blood.

All fell into the cauldron.

The liquid turned a dazzling white.