Chapter 91: Displaced Spacetime, the Embarrassed Malfoy
At this moment, Moen White did not stop it.
He stood quietly to the side, opening the [Gate of Truth], greedily analyzing the highest-level Dark Artslaws of this "resurrection."
[Recording: The entire process of Horcrux body reshaping]
[Analysis progress: 50%... 80%...]
This was his purpose.
What he wanted was not to stop Voldemort, but to learn how to manufacture this kind of immortal body.
Boom!
A large amount of white mist rose up.
A tall, thin, pale figure slowly rose from the cauldron.
He had a skull-like face, snake-like nostrils, and a pair of scarlet eyes.
Voldemort had returned.
He touched his body and let out a satisfied sigh.
Then, he suddenly turned his head, those red eyes looking at Moen White standing in the shadows.
"Now..."
Voldemort raised the yew wand that the puppet had prepared earlier:
"...Let's talk 'business,' Mr. White."
"I think the first transaction will be your life."
Facing the Dark Lord in his prime, there was no fear on Moen's face.
He gripped the Black Ironwood Cane that had evolved to its limit, and the [Half-Giant Bloodline] and [Magic Power Furnace] within him began to operate frantically.
"Want to renege on the debt?"
Moen's pupils turned golden.
"It seems we need to talk about the 'liquidated damages'."
The great battle was on the verge of breaking out.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort did not hesitate in the slightest.
Having just been resurrected, he desperately needed a slaughter to celebrate his new power, and also to wash away the anger of being verbally humiliated by this boy just now.
The blinding green light was like a venomous snake, instantly crossing the distance between life and death, heading straight for Moen's face.
Harry shouted in terror, "Get out of the way!"
Moen White did not move.
He didn't even blink.
Deep in his pupils, that golden light suddenly turned into a tiny, reverse-rotating hourglass.
[Trait Activated]: Sand of Time (Gold)
[Effect]: Self-timeline regression by 0.5 seconds.
On the retinas of Harry and Voldemort, a bizarre scene occurred.
The green light had clearly hit Moen's body, even penetrating his chest.
But in the next instant, it was as if an old film had skipped a frame.
Hum—
Moen's figure "flickered."
He was not standing in his original spot, but appeared out of thin air two meters to the left, still leaning on his wand, his posture elegant, as if he had always been standing there.
The Killing Curse pierced through the afterimage he left behind, slamming into a tombstone behind him, blowing the marble to pieces.
"Missed?" Voldemort's red eyes narrowed, revealing a dangerous doubt, "No... it wasn't Apparition. No crack. You... moved time?"
"Just a small step adjustment, Tom."
Moen raised his wand, the tip pointing at the ground.
"It is only polite to return the favor."
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Matter Reconstruction: Steel Jungle.
"Rise!"
Rumble—
The ground of the entire graveyard shook violently.
The mud beneath Voldemort's feet suddenly exploded, and dozens of sharp, metallic black iron spears, instantly refined and reorganized from the iron elements in the graveyard soil, burst out of the ground, stabbing toward Voldemort's limbs and torso like a cage!
"Trivial tricks!"
Voldemort snorted coldly, waved his yew wand, and his body turned into a plume of black smoke, rising into the sky to avoid the ground spikes.
He circled in the air like a giant bat.
"I am immortal! I am great!"
Voldemort laughed wildly in the sky, waving his wand.
Countless black spells fell like raindrops.
Cruciatus Curse, Blasting Curses, Fiendfyre... Moen had to turn from offense to defense.
He waved his Black Ironwood Cane, constructing complex alchemical shields in front of him.
The [Half-Giant Bloodline] gave him strong damage resistance; even if some spells grazed the shields and hit him, it only made him frown.
"Does this guy... have endless magic?" Moen was secretly startled.
The magic intensity of the newly resurrected Voldemortwas indeed terrifying.
If he hadn't frantically stacked traits over the past few years, he might have been killed in a single encounter.
Just as the two were at a stalemate.
A series of dense cracks suddenly came from the air.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Figures wearing cloaks and masks manifested around the graveyard.
They approached cautiously, and when they saw the black figure in the sky, they all knelt on the ground trembling, even crawling forward.
The Death Eaters had arrived.
"Master... Master..."
They kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
Voldemort landed back on the ground, enjoying this long-lost worship and fear.
His red eyes swept over this circle of kneeling people.
"You have come... you are all very clever, not running away like that coward Karkaroff."
Voldemort's voice was soft and deadly.
He walked up to a Death Eater who was trembling the most and tore off his mask.
Revealing Lucius Malfoy's pale, sweat-drenched face.
"Lucius, my cunning friend," Voldemort said softly, "I hear you've been doing quite well these past few years? Calling the shots in the Ministry of Magic? Even... doing business with a Muggle-born merchant?"
Lucius was so scared he almost fainted.
He felt his master's killing intent.
But what terrified him even more was that when he looked up, he saw the person standing opposite.
Moen White.
The man who controlled half of the Malfoy family's wealth—that was his current "boss."
At this time, Moen was standing by a broken tombstone, leaning on his wand, looking at the kneeling Lucius with a half-smile.
That look was like looking at an employee caught arriving late for work.
"Good evening, Lucius," Moen suddenly spoke, his voice clearly reaching every Death Eater's ears. "Since you're here, why not say hello to your 'partner'?"
Dead silence.
The Death Eaters looked at Moen in shock.
Who was this boy? How dare he speak like that in front of the Dark Lord?
Voldemort turned around, looked at Moen, and then at Lucius.
"Partner?" Voldemort let out a shrill sneer. "Lucius, you have fallen. You actually submit to a child?"
"No... Master... it's not..." Lucius was incoherent; caught between two Dark Lords, he felt like he was about to break apart.
"Enough."
Voldemort seemed to lose patience.
He didn't want to hear explanations.
Tonight, he wanted to establish his authority.
"Since you are all here, let us end this farce."
Voldemort turned to Harry Potter, who had been shrinking in the back, clutching his scar and groaning in pain.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort called softly. "Come here. I want my servants to see how the so-called 'The Boy Who Lived' is so fragile in the face of true power."
"As for you, White..." Voldemort glanced at Moen White. "After I kill Potter, I will turn you into the most perfect Inferi."
"Cruciatus Curse!"
Voldemort first gave Harry a Cruciatus Curse.
Harry rolled on the ground in pain, but he gritted his teeth and did not beg for mercy.
"Stand up! Duel!" Voldemort forced Harry to stand up. "Like a man!"
Harry stood up trembling and raised his wand.
He had no way out.
Moen was surrounded by Death Eaters; although Moenwas strong, there were too many of them.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed.
A red light, a green light.
The two spells collided in the air.
Hum—!
At that moment, the world seemed to stand still.
The two wands, both containing the same Phoenix feather, resonated.
A golden web of light enveloped the two of them, isolating Moen and the Death Eaters outside.
"This is..." Moen narrowed his eyes, looking at the web of light.
The [Gate of Truth] analyzed frantically.
[Detected high-level law phenomenon: Priori Incantatem]
[Core principle: Homologous magic resonance]
"The opportunity has come."
Moen did not try to break the light web to go in and help.
He knew Harry wouldn't die.
What he had to do was retreat.
Chapter 92: The Intercepted Kiss of Death
While all the Death Eaters were distracted by this stunning scene, Moen quietly retreated, nearing the edge of that golden web of light.
He looked at Lucius, who was kneeling on the ground.
Moen's fingers lightly tapped his wand, sending a signal: three long, one short.
It was their agreed-upon "Emergency Business Code," meaning: Provide cover, or I withdraw my capital.
Lucius's entire body jolted.
He looked at Moen, then at Voldemort, who was fully concentrated on casting spells at Potter.
A battle raged within his mind.
Just then, ghosts appeared within the web of light.
Old Frank, Bertha Jorkins... and Lily and James.
They emerged from Voldemort's wand.
This time, Cedric was not among them.
Because he was still alive; he had not died under Voldemort's wand.
The souls of James and Lily surrounded Harry, whispering words of encouragement.
"Break the connection, Harry! Run in that direction! Your friend is over there!"
"Break!" Harry abruptly jerked his wand upward.
The web of light shattered.
Voldemort let out an angry roar, his vision temporarily obscured by the ghosts.
Harry turned and ran.
But he suddenly realized a desperate problem: the Triwizard Cup, the Portkey, had already been taken by Cedric!
This graveyard was under an Anti-Apparition Charm; how were they going to get back?
"This way! Harry!"
Moen's voice rang out amidst the chaos.
He hadn't looked for the trophy like in the original story; instead, he pulled from his robes a pre-prepared Galleonshimmering with alchemical radiance.
It was the [Emergency Evacuation Portkey] he had specially crafted.
"Grab my hand!" Moen bellowed.
Harry lunged forward and grabbed Moen's arm.
"Trying to run?!"
Voldemort pushed past the ghosts, fury erupting from his red eyes.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A bolt of green light shot directly toward them.
[Sand of Time (Gold)] — Activated! [Time: 0.5 Seconds]
In Moen's perception, time froze for an instant.
He didn't dodge; instead, he used this 0.5-second time difference to forcibly activate the Portkey in his hand.
"Activate!"
Whoosh—
The bolt of green light grazed Harry's scalp and struck the angel statue behind them, blowing it to smithereens.
A split second before the green light hit, Moen and Harry's figures twisted, spun, and vanished into thin air.
Only Voldemort's furious roars echoed through the graveyard... A few seconds later, outside the maze at Hogwarts.
Bang!
Two figures slammed heavily onto the grass.
The surrounding area was a chaotic mess of noise.
Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Minister Fudge, and a large crowd of students were gathered around the maze exit.
In the center of the crowd was Cedric Diggory, who had already teleported back and was incoherently explaining the situation with an anxious face.
"They're still there! That graveyard! You-Know-Who... You-Know-Who has returned!" Cedric shouted, still clutching the trophy tightly.
Just then, Moen and Harry tumbled down beside him.
"Harry! Moen!" Cedric cried out in pleasant surprise, rushing over to help the two of them up. "Thank goodness! You're back!"
Harry slumped on the ground, gasping for air. Looking at Cedric's familiar, living face, tears welled up in his eyes.
He had survived.
Everyone had survived.
"Voldemort..." Harry grabbed Dumbledore's robes with trembling hands. "Professor... Voldemort is back... in the graveyard..."
The entire area fell into instant silence.
That terrifying name made everyone hold their breath.
Moen brushed the dust off his trench coat and stood up calmly.
He didn't speak, silently tucking the small vial containing the [Voldemort Resurrection Residual Fluid] deep into his inner pocket.
He glanced at Cedric, who was full of lingering fear, and then at Harry, who was terrified but hadn't broken down.
"Though the process was a bit harrowing."
Moen looked up at the imperfect moon in the sky, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
"At least... I didn't lose money."
He had not only obtained the sample but also saved Cedric, the "Hogwarts Champion."
This meant he had secured another massive favor from Hufflepuff and the Diggory Family.
"The war has begun, Professor Dumbledore."
Moen watched the Aurors rushing over to maintain order and said silently in his heart:
"This time, it won't be a tragedy of only sacrifice."
"This will be a war... where I set the price."
The lawn outside the maze was in chaos.
Cedric Diggory was still trembling as he described the horrors of the graveyard to those around him. Amos Diggory held his returned son, weeping tears of relief.
"He saved me!" Cedric pointed at Moen. "If it weren't for White... I would have died under that green light!"
All eyes focused on the young man in black who was calmly straightening his cuffs.
"This is impossible..." Minister Fudge's face was pale, his hands clutching his bowler hat. "You-Know-Who... resurrected? This is just... just a hallucination of children! Or some kind of Dark Arts trap!"
"Come with me, Harry."
Just then, Mad-Eye Moody limped through the crowd, his magical eye spinning wildly.
He grabbed Harry's arm with startling strength.
"You need medical attention... you need rest..." Moodydragged Harry toward the castle.
Harry's mind was a mess, and he instinctively wanted to follow the Professor.
"Let him go."
A Black Ironwood Cane blocked the path between Moodyand Harry.
Moen White stood in the way.
He looked at Moody's scarred face, a mocking arc curling at the corner of his mouth.
"The match is over, Professor Moody. Or should I call you... Mr. Crouch?"
Moody's body stiffened for a moment, his hand reaching into his robes for his wand. "Move aside, White! This is none of your business!"
"Of course it's my business."
Moen's wand pressed down sharply, pinning Moody's wrist as he reached for his own wand.
[Half-Giant Strength] erupted.
With a sharp "crack," Moody's wrist snapped, and his wand fell to the ground.
"As a Security Consultant, I have the duty to verify the identity of anyone attempting to take away a 'High-Value Protected Target'."
Moen's other hand shot out like lightning, snatching the hip flask from Moody's waist.
He shook the flask.
Empty.
"Out of Polyjuice Potion?" Moen looked at him coldly. "It seems your transformation time is up."
Under the horrified gazes of Harry and the surrounding students, Moody's face began to twist and melt. The scars vanished, the wooden leg fell off, and the magical eye popped out with a "plop."
Seconds later, a pale, straw-haired young man lay on the ground, gasping for breath.
Barty Crouch Jr.
"Good heavens!" Professor McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth.
Chapter 93: The Ministry of Magic's "Fig Leaf"
"That is... that is my son!" Barty Crouch, who had just been revived and had been delirious, was released by Moen to identify the scene, letting out a desperate wail.
Albus Dumbledore strode over, his wand pointed at Barty Crouch Jr., his eyes terrifyingly stern.
"It seems the truth has come to light." Moen stepped back, leaving the stage to Albus Dumbledore.
Half an hour later, Headmaster's office.
This was a high-level confrontation regarding truth and lies.
Dosed with Veritaserum, Barty Crouch Jr. revealed everything: how he threw his name into the Goblet of Fire, how he turned the trophy into a Portkey, and... Voldemorthad indeed returned.
"This... this is madness..." Fudge paced back and forth in the office, sweating profusely. "A person cannot come back from the dead! This must be a conspiracy! It's Black! Or perhaps..."
"It is the truth, Cornelius." Albus Dumbledore said calmly, "You need to take action. Withdraw the Dementors, contact the Giants..."
"Impossible!" Fudge shrieked. "You want to create panic! You want to seize my power!"
Just then, there was a knock at the office door.
Without waiting for a reply, the door was pushed open.
Two Dementors in tattered cloaks floated in, and the temperature in the entire room instantly dropped to freezing. They were the bodyguards Fudge had brought.
They seemed to smell the desperate and delicious soul aura on Barty Crouch Jr., and rushed toward him impatiently.
"No!" Professor McGonagall shouted.
If kissed by a Dementor, Barty Crouch Jr. would become a soulless husk, and all his testimony would be invalidated!
Fudge did not stop them; a flicker of relief even flashed in his eyes. As long as the witness "disappeared," he could deny everything.
"Get out."
A golden barrier appeared out of thin air, blocking the space between the Dementors and Barty Crouch Jr.
Moen White stood before the barrier.
He did not use the Patronus Charm.
He held that Black Ironwood Cane in his hand, and the alchemical gem embedded at the tip of the wand was emitting a high-frequency magical fluctuation that the Dementors found extremely repulsive.
"Minister."
Moen turned, looking at Fudge, his eyes as cold as if he were looking at a dead man:
"In my school, allowing these filthy creatures to execute my prisoner of war? Did you ask for the Board of Governors' opinion?"
"White! This is Ministry of Magic business!" Fudge said, blustering.
"This is 'destroying evidence'."
Moen approached Fudge step by step; the dual oppression stemming from capital and power made the Ministerretreat step by step until he bumped into the desk.
"Listen, Cornelius."
Moen addressed him by his first name, his voice low:
"You can choose not to believe Voldemort has returned. You can choose to continue whitewashing the peace."
"But this person..." Moen pointed to Barty Crouch Jr., "...must stay alive. He is the key to proving Hogwarts' innocence, proving Cedric hasn't gone mad, and proving Harry is not a liar."
"If you let the Dementors kill him now..."
Moen pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket; it was the draft of tomorrow's front page of The Daily Prophet.
"...By tomorrow morning, every Wizard in Britain will know that the Minister for Magic, in order to cover up the truth, actually murdered a witness at Hogwarts."
"By then, how much of your approval rating do you think will be left?"
Fudge looked at Moen, then at Albus Dumbledore, who was silently supporting Moen beside him.
He broke down.
He was a politician; what he feared most was scandal.
"Fine! Fine!" Fudge waved his top hat and roared at the Dementors, "Get out! All of you, get out!"
The Dementors retreated unwillingly.
Barty Crouch Jr. was saved. Although he would be imprisoned for life, the secrets in his head and that mouth of his remained.
"A wise choice."
Moen took back the parchment, and that standard, inscrutable smile returned to his face.
"In return, Minister, I can assure you that as long as the Ministry of Magic does not actively cause trouble, The Daily Prophet will try to be... gentler in its future reports."
Fudge left in anger, refusing all of Albus Dumbledore's suggestions. The rift between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts was now a foregone conclusion.
...
The night before leaving school.
Harry sat by the window in the common room, watching the night outside.
Cedric was still alive; this was a blessing in disguise. But he could not forget the horror of Voldemort's resurrection, nor could he forget that green light.
"Here."
A hand handed over a cup of hot cocoa.
It was Moen.
"How did you get in?" Harry did not take it, asking vigilantly.
"I have a key." Moen placed the cup on the windowsill and leaned against the wall.
"You knew all along, didn't you?" Harry asked suddenly. "You knew it was a Portkey, you knew it was a trap."
"I just prepared for the worst." Moen did not deny it.
"You used me." Harry stared at Moen. "You used me to draw out Voldemort. If Cedric had died... if I had died..."
"But you didn't die."
Moen interrupted him, his tone calm to the point of cruelty:
"Harry, this is a results-oriented world. The process doesn't matter; what matters is—Voldemort has returned, but he did not achieve a perfect victory. His servant was captured, and his secret was exposed."
"And we have bought ourselves time."
Moen pulled a heavy money bag from his robe and placed it in front of Harry.
"What is this?"
"The prize money from the Triwizard Tournament. One thousand Galleons." Moen said. "Cedric gave you his share as well. He said it's what you deserve."
Harry wanted to throw the money bag back.
"Don't throw it." Moen held down his hand. "If you don't want it, give it to the the Weasley twins. They need startup capital to open that joke shop. In this coming dark age, people need laughter."
Harry was stunned. He thought of Fred and George's dream.
"Goodbye, Harry."
Moen straightened up and adjusted his trench coat.
"Enjoy your summer vacation. Because next semester..."
Moen walked to the door, looked back at Harry, a flicker of complex light flashing in his eyes:
"...We will face a real war. Not just a war of magic, but also—a reshuffling of power."
Moen walked out of Gryffindor Tower.
In the corridor, Luna was waiting for him barefoot.
"You have Black smoke on you, Moen." Luna looked at him. "It's thicker than before."
"That is the smell of gunpowder, Luna."
Moen took her hand and walked towards the dungeons.
"Voldemort has returned. He will gather the Giants, Werewolves, and Dementors."
"But he will discover..."
Moen touched the bottle of [Resurrection Residue] extracted from Voldemort in his pocket, a haughty smile curling the corner of his mouth.
"...In this market, the biggest bookmaker is no longer him."
Chapter 94: The Phoenix's Invitation and the Arms Dealer's Refusal
Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
The ward was deathly quiet, save for the busy footsteps of Madam Pomfrey and the faint clinking of medicine bottles. Harry lay in bed, covered in bandages, but he was not asleep. His eyes were wide open, staring fixedly at the ceiling, replaying the flash of green light in the graveyard and Voldemort's snake-like face in his mind.
It was a nightmare he could not shake off.
At his bedside, a huge, gaunt black dog lay there, guarding its godson.
Molly Weasley sat by the bed, clutching a wet handkerchief tightly, her eyes red and swollen.
At the other end of the ward, several adults were gathered around a table, the atmosphere heavy and palpable.
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and... Moen White, who was not injured but still lingered here.
"Fudge has left." Dumbledore broke the silence, his voice tired and old. "He refuses to believe that Voldemort has returned. He even withdrew the Aurors who were originally assigned to protect Barty Jr., trying to dismiss all of this as the delusions of a madman."
"That fool!" Professor McGonagall's lips turned white with anger. "If he doesn't take action, Voldemort will regroup the Death Eaters right under his nose!"
"He is already regrouping."
Snape spoke coldly.
His complexion was paler than usual, his right hand pressing hard against his left forearm, his knuckles white from the exertion. A searing pain seemed to be radiating from there, causing him to hunch over slightly.
He did not roll up his sleeve, but looked at Dumbledorewith those hollow eyes, his voice low and hoarse:
"It burns worse than ever before. Even here, I can feel the summons... He is angry because we were late."
Dumbledore looked at Snape's pained expression, nodded slightly, a flicker of pity in his eyes.
"Go, Severus." Dumbledore said softly, "You know what you must do."
"If I do not return..." Snape paused, his gaze sweeping over Harry on the hospital bed, a flash of extremely subtle emotion in his eyes before returning to indifference, "...then it means he no longer trusts me."
"Go and fulfill my duty." Snape turned, his black robes billowing, walking toward the door like a giant bat.
Dumbledore nodded, then turned to the black dog lying by the bed.
"Sirius, change back."
The black dog jumped up, instantly transforming into a gaunt man.
Sirius Black.
"You need to contact those old friends, Sirius." Dumbledoreinstructed, "Lupin is already in action. And Mundungus, the Weasleys... we need to reorganize the Order of the Phoenix."
"No problem." Sirius's eyes burned with the fire of revenge, "I have waited for this day for a long time."
After arranging all this, Dumbledore finally turned around, his azure eyes gazing deeply through his half-moon spectacles at Moen, who had been sitting by the window, fiddling with his Black Ironwood Cane.
"And you, Mr. White?"
Everyone in the room focused their gaze on Moen.
He was the key figure tonight.
He saved Cedric, he faced Voldemort in the graveyard, he even controlled so many resources.
"You have shown extraordinary courage and capability." Dumbledore said sincerely, "We need you, Moen. Not just you, but the power behind you. Are you willing to join the Order of the Phoenix? To fight against the coming darkness."
This was an invitation.
An invitation from the greatest white Wizard of the century.
Harry sat up from the bed, looking at Moen expectantly.
If Moen joined, even if he was a cold-blooded Slytherin, Harry would feel much more at ease.
However, Moen did not answer immediately.
He stood up, walked to the window, and watched the sky outside gradually turning white.
"Join the Order of the Phoenix?"
Moen chuckled, the sound appearing particularly jarring in the quiet ward.
"And then what? Like Mr. Weasley, contributing my Galleons for free for the sake of so-called justice? Or like Professor Snape, risking my life to be a double agent, only to end up pleasing no one?"
"Moen!" Molly Weasley was a bit angry, "This is to protect everyone! How can you talk about money?"
"Because war is expensive, Mrs. Weasley."
Moen turned around, leaning against the windowsill, his gaze cold and rational:
"I refuse."
"What?" Sirius frowned, "You faced Voldemort! You know how dangerous he is! Do you think you can stay out of it?"
"I'm not planning to stay out of it."
Moen tapped the floor with his wand:
"But I don't want to be a piece on Dumbledore's chessboard. I have my own chessboard."
He looked at Dumbledore:
"Headmaster, you are good at being a spiritual leader, giving people hope. And I..."
Moen took a piece of parchment from his pocket, densely packed with lists of various supplies:...dragon-hide protective gear, high-level antidotes, anti-curse cloaks, alchemical sentries.
"...I am good at logistics and arms."
"The Order of the Phoenix lacks money, I have it. The Order of the Phoenix lacks equipment, I have it. The Order of the Phoenix lacks intelligence, I have that too."
"But I will not join you."
Moen's gaze became extremely sharp:
"Because once I join, I will have a stance. With a stance, I can no longer do business with those wavering pure-blood families, nor can I infiltrate the core of the Ministry of Magic."
"I want to be the middleman standing at the boundary of light and dark."
"Voldemort will come to win me over, the Ministry of Magic will come to ask for my help, and you will also come to rely on me."
Moen walked up to Dumbledore and bowed slightly:
"You can think of me as a... friendly arms dealer. As long as the price is right, I don't mind providing an 'internal discount' to the Order of the Phoenix."
Dumbledore looked at the young man, silent for a long time.
Instead of being angry, he showed a wry smile.
"You are more mature than I imagined, Moen. Or rather... more shrewd." Dumbledore sighed, "Very well. We respect your choice. As long as your gun is pointed at the Death Eaters, we are still allies."
"Of course." Moen nodded.
The conversation was over.
The adults began to leave one by one to carry out their respective tasks.
Only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Moen remained in the ward.
Moen walked to Harry's bed.
Harry looked at him, his eyes filled with both disappointment and an indescribable sense of alienation.
"You are always like this." Harry said in a low voice, "Keeping yourself completely clean. As if all of this is just a game to you."
"If you had experienced what I have, you would find that treating everything as business is the only way to keep your sanity."
Moen took a heavy money bag from his chest and threw it on Harry's quilt.
One thousand Galleons.
Clang.
"This is the prize money." Moen said, "I said, Cedric didn't want it, and I don't lack this bit of money."
"I don't want it." Harry wanted to push it away, "I have money."
"Then give it to those who need it."
Moen's gaze turned to Fred and George, who had just walked into the ward to visit and were wearing ill-fitting old robes.
"the Weasley twins." Moen waved.
"Hi, Moen." The twins walked over somewhat reservedly.
Ever since Moen became their major shareholder, they could no longer joke around in front of him as recklessly as before.
"Harry has a sum of money he wants to 'invest' in you." Moen pointed to the money bag, "As startup capital. Go open that joke shop."
"Really?!" The twins' eyes lit up, looking at Harry.
Harry froze for a moment, then nodded: "Take it. I don't need it."
"That's awesome!"
Watching the twins' excitement, Moen tidied his trench coat and prepared to leave.
"Moen."
Just as he reached the door, Hermione suddenly called out to him.
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked at him, her eyes complex: "You just said... you want to be a middleman. But, is there really a middle ground in war?"
Moen stopped, tilted his head, his handsome and cold profile looking particularly rigid in the morning light.
"No."
Moen said softly:
"But I will build one with my own hands."
"Have a good summer vacation. Next semester..."
Moen pushed the door open and walked out.
"...Hogwarts will no longer be an ivory tower, but a fortress. And I, am this fortress's only—supply manager."
In the hallway.
Lupin was leaning against the wall waiting for him.
"Boss, finished talking?"
"Finished." Moen strode forward, "Notify the factory to initiate 'Plan B'."
"Plan B?" Lupin was stunned.
"Counter-armor against Dementors, and..." Moen narrowed his eyes, "mass production of alchemical shields against 'Unforgivable Curses'."
"Since Voldemort has returned, I will make him discover."
"What he is facing is no longer a group of Wizards who only know how to hold wands and cast spells, but an army armed to the teeth."
Chapter 95: The Pink Toad, Junk at Grimmauld Place, and the Foretold Darkness
Mid-July, Ministry of Magic.
In the Minister's office, Cornelius Fudge was roaring at Moen White.
"You must support me, White! Dumbledore is throwing that school into chaos! He wants to use the students to build an army to overthrow me!" Fudge waved his arms like a paranoid patient. "I must send someone to take over! It's for... for stability!"
Moen sat on the sofa, coldly watching the Minister who was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Stability?" Moen gave a light laugh. "Minister, I am a businessman. I have invested millions of Galleons into Hogwarts. And now, you intend to throw a... disgusting toad into my investment project's pond?"
"Hem, hem."
An affected, high-pitched cough came from the corner.
Dolores Umbridge walked out. She was wearing her signature pink cardigan with a velvet bow on her head, a hypocritical smile plastered on her pale, flabby face.
"I believe you've misunderstood, Mr. White," Umbridgesaid in a voice that was sickeningly sweet. "The Ministry of Magic does not intend to disrupt the school, but rather to bring 'appropriate' order."
Moen turned his head and looked at the woman. The [Gate of Truth] caused him a wave of physical discomfort—this woman's soul was filled with a twisted desire for control.
"Order?"
Moen stood up, his height advantage allowing him to look down at this "toad."
"Listen, Madam Umbridge. As the Head of the Board of Governors, I cannot legally block the Ministry's appointment for the time being."
"But..."
Moen took a step closer, the [Dragon's Awe] faintly radiating from him, causing the fake smile on Umbridge's face to freeze.
"...don't expect me to cooperate with you. If the quality of Hogwarts' students drops because of your foolish teaching, or if you dare touch my Slytherins..."
"I will cut off all extra funding to the school. I will have The Daily Prophet publish investigation reports on the Ministry's abuse of power on the front page every day."
"I'll let you know that annoying a capitalist is far more troublesome than annoying Dumbledore."
Umbridge trembled with rage, her fingers tightly gripping her pink handbag, but in the face of Moen's terrifying aura and financial power, she didn't dare talk back.
"Let's go, Alfred."
Moen picked up his cane and turned to leave.
"The air in this place is too suffocating."
...Number 12, Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
After leaving the Ministry of Magic, Moen didn't go home, but came directly here.
As the "Asset Manager" of the House of Black and "Sirius's benefactor," he had the highest level of access here.
At this time, Mrs. Weasley was leading Hermione and Ginny in a "big cleanup."
This old house was full of Doxy, Boggarts, and unknown Dark Arts objects.
"Oh, Moen! You're here!" Mrs. Weasley wiped her sweat. "Sirius is upstairs feeding Buckbeak. It's a mess here; we're clearing out those cabinets."
"Thank you for your hard work, Madam," Moen greeted politely. "I've come to handle some of the family's 'old items'; some things can be very dangerous if not handled carefully."
He walked into the drawing room.
Hermione and Ron were fretting over a glass display cabinet.
It was stuffed with all sorts of evil-looking silverware, moldy boxes, and animal bones.
"This thing won't open." Ron pointed to a heavy, golden locket. "Harry and I tried every spell; it's like it's stuck."
It was Salazar Slytherin's Locket.
One of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
At this moment, it was being treated as unopenable junk, ready to be thrown into a trash bag by Mrs. Weasley.
"Let me see."
Moen walked over, putting on specially made dragon-hide gloves.
He picked up the locket.
[Contact successful!]
[High-level Horcrux detected: Slytherin's Locket]
[Status]: Dormant / Soul fragment extremely powerful
The corners of Moen's mouth curled up imperceptibly.
This was good stuff. A true Slytherin legacy and one of the cores of Voldemort's soul.
"This is a... powerful curse container," Moen lied through his teeth. "It has very ancient Dark Arts sealed inside. If forced open, it might blow up half the house."
Ron pulled his hand back in fright. "Then what should we do? Throw it away?"
"No, throwing it away is too dangerous; it might hurt passing Muggles."
Moen casually slipped the locket into his pocket, which had been cast with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
"As the Asset Manager, I have an obligation to recover these dangerous items and take them to my lab for 'decontamination'."
"Thank you so much, Moen!" Mrs. Weasley breathed a sigh of relief. "The things in this house are truly terrifying."
Moen nodded with a smile.
Just like that, one of Voldemort's most precious Horcruxes was treated as "dangerous junk" and fell legally and reasonably into Moen's pocket... Late August, Diagon Alley.
Shopping day before the start of term.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were buying books at Flourish and Blotts.
Harry looked in a bad mood; people around were whispering, discussing how he was described as a "nutcase" in The Daily Prophet.
"Look!" Hermione pointed to the new book list. "'Defensive Magical Theory.' This is too boring; there aren't even any spell practices."
"Because that is the textbook assigned by that Umbridgewoman."
Moen White's voice rang out from behind the bookshelves.
He held a copy of "Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts" in his hand, his expression indifferent.
"Moen?" Harry looked at him.
Although Moen had saved Sirius, those articles attacking Harry in the newspaper were also authorized by Moen, which made Harry full of hostility toward him.
"That new Professor you mentioned... Umbridge, is she really that bad?" Hermione asked worriedly. "We only heard she's Fudge's deputy."
"She isn't 'bad,' Miss Granger."
Moen walked to the shelf, his fingers sliding across the book spines:
"She is 'evil'."
"She was sent to neuter you all. The Ministry doesn't want students learning combat magic; they are afraid Dumbledore is building an army."
Moen turned around and looked at the trio:
"So, in the new semester, don't expect to learn anything in class. She will only make you read the textbook and even forbid you from drawing your wands."
"Then what do we do?" Harry couldn't help asking. "Voldemort is back! We need to fight!"
"Then find a way yourselves."
Moen looked meaningfully at Harry:
"If you can't learn it in class, then learn it outside of class. If the teacher won't teach, then teach yourselves."
"You mean..." Hermione's eyes lit up. "Self-study? Or... forming a study group?"
"That's your idea, not mine," Moen shrugged. "I'm just a law-abiding Slytherin."
He leaned in close to Harry and whispered:
"However, if you really intend to start some 'underground activities'... remember to find a good place. For instance, that room on the eighth floor that is sometimes there and sometimes not."
"And..." Moen patted Harry's shoulder, his gaze cold. "Don't let that pink toad catch you. Otherwise, she'll use that Special quill of hers to carve right through your skin."
Harry shuddered.
He heard the warning in Moen's words, and also a... strange indulgence.
"Why are you telling us this?" Harry asked. "Aren't you always on the winning side?"
"Because I want to watch the show, Harry."
Moen straightened his collar and turned to leave.
"A show only becomes exciting if you resist."
Moen walked out of the bookstore and felt the cold locket in his pocket.
"Fifth year."
Moen looked at the gloomy clouds in the sky.
"This will be the darkest year in Hogwarts history. But it is also... the best time for me to completely take over this school."
Chapter 96: The Correct Use of a Horcrux, A Pink Speech
September 1st, late at night.
Deep within the Slytherin dungeons of Hogwarts, Moen's private Alchemy Laboratory.
This place was under the highest level of Silencing and Anti-detection Charms.
In the center of the room, on an obsidian table engraved with complex Alchemy Arrays, lay the Slytherin's Locketquietly.
It was vibrating.
A visible black mist was trying to seep out from the cracks of the locket; it was the malice of Voldemort's soul fragment.
It felt the threat and was trying to bewitch the boy before it.
"Put me on... I can give you power... I can make you a king..."
Whispers echoed in Moen's mind.
If it were Ron, he might have lost his composure by now; even Harry would feel a splitting headache.
But Moen White only looked at it coldly, as if watching a fly bumping around in a glass jar.
"Save it, Tom."
Moen sat in a high-backed chair, not holding a wand, but wearing those specially made "Spirit-Binding Gloves" embedded with the essence of Dementor slices.
"I've even beaten your main body. Do you, a mere fraction of a soul, really think you can brainwash me?"
He reached out and pressed down on the restless locket.
[System Notification]
[High-risk Horcrux detected: Slytherin's Locket]
[Soul Strength: Extremely High (Fragmented Soul)]
[Warning: This item carries a powerful curse; direct contact with the soul may lead to exhaustion.]
"Curse?" Moen's lips curled slightly. "That's a definition for the weak."
The [Pure Blood (Red · Cursed)] within his body began to boil.
As a type of Unicorn blood that was older and more fundamental than Voldemort's curse, it was naturally immune to most Dark Arts erosion.
Moen's pupils turned gold.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Soul Stripping · Energy Conversion.
"Lockdown."
With his low shout, the Alchemy Array on the obsidian table instantly lit up with a blinding golden light.
Those lights turned into countless tiny chains, tightly binding the locket and forcibly suppressing the black mist that tried to overflow.
Then, Moen did not use a Basilisk fang to destroy it like Harry did.
Destruction was too wasteful.
He took out several extremely fine Mithril Probes and carefully inserted them into the gaps of the locket.
"In this world, energy is expensive."
Moen watched the black liquid energy beginning to flow through the tubes:
"Voldemort created you for immortality, but I am keeping you to provide fuel for my Magic Power Furnace."
Sizzle—
The Horcrux let out a piercing scream, but under the suppression of the Alchemy Array, not a sound could escape.
Moen was extracting the pure magic from the Horcrux and filtering out the personal consciousness within.
[Extracting: the Dark Lord's Magic Source]
[Extraction Progress: 1%...]
[Congratulations on obtaining Trait Fragment]: Parseltongue (Complete form - obtained through analysis, no system charges required)
[Congratulations on obtaining Trait Fragment]: Dark Arts Intuition (Greatly improved ability to predict jinxes)
Moen felt a cold but massive power flow into his body, strengthening his magic source.
"Take it slow." Moen pulled out the probes, looking satisfied at the locket that was no longer restless, as if it had been "drained of its strength." "This battery will last me a long time."
As for the Resurrection Stone Ring that might cost Dumbledore his life...
Moen narrowed his eyes.
"Once I've dealt with this, you're next. That old man might be stubborn, but he's worthless if he's dead. I have to intercept that thing before he puts the ring on."
...The next day, in the Great Hall.
At last night's Start-of-term Feast, Umbridge had given a long-winded speech.
Hermione summarized it perfectly: "Though it was nonsense, the meaning was clear: the Ministry of Magic is going to interfere with Hogwarts."
At the breakfast table today, everyone was discussing the new timetables.
"Look!" Malfoy pointed at the staff table. "That pink toad is looking at you, Moen."
Moen looked up.
Umbridge was sitting high up, her eyes under those puffy lids staring intently at the Slytherin table.
She clearly remembered the grudge from being humiliated by Moen at the Ministry of Magic over the summer.
"She's looking for trouble." Moen took a sip of coffee. "Tell everyone in Slytherin to maintain 'absolute, suffocating' politeness in her class. Don't give her any excuse to deduct points."
"Why?" Malfoy was puzzled. "Are we afraid of her?"
"No. It's because I want her to concentrate all her fire on Gryffindor." Moen glanced at Harry, who was arguing with Seamus in the distance. "Some people are born targets for drawing fire."
...In the afternoon, in the Defense Against the Dark Artsclassroom.
Umbridge sat behind the podium, a nauseatingly sweet smile plastered on her face.
"wands away," she commanded. "In my class, there is no need to wave wands."
The whole class was in an uproar.
Harry and Ron exchanged angry glances. Hermione's hand was raised high.
"I'd like to ask, how can we learn defense without using wands?" Hermione pointed out sharply.
"As long as you master the theory, you will pass your exams," Umbridge said in a saccharine voice. "As for practical application... I can't imagine who would want to attack you in my classroom?"
"Maybe Voldemort?" Harry finally couldn't help but shout.
A deathly silence fell over the classroom.
The smile on Umbridge's face vanished.
"Detention, Mr. Potter," she said softly. "Five o'clock tonight, come to my office. We need to have a... good talk."
Harry was shaking with rage as he sat back down.
"Does anyone else have an opinion?" Umbridge scanned the room.
"I do."
A lazy, cold voice came from the back row.
Moen White did not raise his hand.
He leaned back in his chair, twirling that Black Ironwood Cane he hadn't put away.
Umbridge's eyelid twitched. "Mr. White? Do you also have issues with the Ministry's syllabus?"
"It's not an issue; it's a question."
Moen stood up, the sense of pressure making Umbridgeinstinctively grip her wand.
"Professor, you just said, 'As long as you master the theory, you will pass your exams.' From the perspective of exam-oriented education, that's fine."
Moen walked slowly into the aisle, all eyes on him.
"However, as an employer who owns dozens of businesses in the wizarding world and employs hundreds of people."
Moen's voice grew stern:
"If my employee, when faced with danger, can only recite the first chapter of 'Magical Defensive Theory' but cannot cast a simple 'Protego'..."
"Then I would fire him immediately. Because he is a useless waste with no survival value."
Moen stared at Umbridge:
"Your current teaching method is mass-producing waste. This severely damages the 'market competitiveness' of Hogwarts graduates. As a School Governor, I express my...'serious concern' regarding this."
Umbridge was so angry that the flesh on her face was trembling.
She wanted to deduct points, she wanted to give Moendetention.
But she didn't dare.
Because Moen was talking about 'the market' and 'employment', not 'Voldemort' or 'rebellion'.
This was pure capitalist logic, leaving her political logic of 'preventing student rebellion' with no opening to attack.
"This... this is a decision by the Ministry of Education!" Umbridge stammered for a long time, only managing that one sentence.
"The Ministry of Education doesn't control employment rates."
Moen sneered and sat back down.
"Continue reading your book, Professor. But to all the students present..."
Moen didn't look at Umbridge, but instead looked at the entire class:
"...If you don't want to be unemployed after graduation, or die in some dark corner, I suggest you find another way to learn some real stuff."
The bell rang.
Moen was the first to walk out of the classroom.
Harry chased after him.
"Moen!" Harry called out.
"What?" Moen stopped.
"Were you... speaking up for me just now?" Harry asked, feeling a bit awkward. He hadn't expected Moen to confront Umbridge head-on.
Chapter 97 The Blood-stained Quill
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter."
Moen straightened his cuffs, his gaze indifferent:
"I am merely maintaining 'product quality'. As for you..."
Moen glanced at Harry's hand; it was to be carved into tonight.
"...When you go to detention tonight, remember to endure it. Don't let her grasp any more leverage. That toad holds the Ministry of Magic's ultimate authority."
"Also."
Moen leaned closer to Harry, his voice dropping:
"If you have time, go check out the Room of Requirementon the eighth floor. It's a good place for 'extracurricular tutoring'. I imagine you wouldn't want to really become a waste who only knows how to recite books, would you?"
Having said that, Moen left with Malfoy.
Harry stood in the corridor, watching Moen's retreating figure, then looked at Hermione beside him.
"He's right." Hermione's gaze was firm, "We cannot count on Umbridge anymore. We have to learn for ourselves."
"Then let's do it!" Ron waved his fist, "Let's call it... D.A.?"
Meanwhile, in the shadows, Moen heard their conversation, a satisfied smile curling the corner of his lips.
The seed had been planted.
Next, it was just a matter of waiting for this "resistance army" to grow, becoming the best chess piece he could use to check the Ministry of Magic and deplete the Death Eaters.
"System." Moen murmured in his heart.
[Current Draw Count: 5]
"It's time to prepare some 'teaching materials' for this group of little ones."
...
Rainy night.
The stone walls of Hogwarts castle trembled in the storm.
Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's office, the air was sickeningly sweet, a mixture of dried flowers, plates with kitten patterns, and stale perfume.
"I must not tell lies."
Harry Potter sat before that small table covered with a pink lace tablecloth, his right hand trembling as he gripped that black, sharp quill.
He had no ink.
As he wrote that line on the parchment, a burning, sharp pain shot across the back of his hand.
Blood seeped from beneath his skin, and on the paper, the red handwriting was as vivid as a scar.
Dolores Umbridge sat behind her desk, drinking tea with too many sugar cubes added, a satisfied smile hanging on her face.
"Write it again, Mr. Potter. Until this line... is deeply imprinted in your mind."
...
Midnight, the corridor.
When Harry finally walked out of that pink-filled torture chamber, his right hand was numb from trembling. On the back of his hand, the words "I must not tell lies" were red, swollen, and inflamed, still oozing beads of blood.
He didn't want to return to the Gryffindor common room; he didn't want Ron and Hermione to see this.
He felt it was a humiliation, a deep sense of shame born from his inability to resist.
He walked aimlessly to a secluded corridor on the fourth floor, leaning against a cold stone pillar, pressing his injured hand against the stone, trying to alleviate that burning sensation.
"A very primitive method of corporal punishment."
A low, indifferent voice came from the shadows.
Harry jerked his hand behind his back, turning around vigilantly.
Moen White was standing by a huge...
"Moen..." Harry gritted his teeth, "Are you here to watch a joke?"
"I am here to 'inspect the injury'."
Moen closed his pocket watch and walked over.
Moonlight spilled onto his exquisite black velvet loungewear, making him look completely out of place in this wretched night.
"Take your hand out." Moen commanded.
"No." Harry retreated stubbornly.
"Don't act like a child, Potter." Moen frowned, that unquestionable aura of a superior instantly overwhelming Harry's persistence, "If that wound is infected with Dark Arts toxins, your hand will be ruined. A savior with a ruined hand is worthless to me."
Harry stood in a stalemate for a few seconds, then finally extended his right hand dejectedly.
Moen lifted Harry's hand, carefully examining the bloody handwriting by the moonlight.
[True Sight]—Microscopic analysis.
"A specially crafted Dark Arts quill." Moen's fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the wound without touching the flesh, "It uses the user's blood as ink, and carries a mild 'Curse of Pain' and'Scar Solidification' effect."
"This kind of thing was very popular in the interrogation rooms of Dark Wizards during the Middle Ages."
Moen lifted his eyelids, looking into Harry's green eyes filled with anger and humiliation:
"You just let her carve it like that?"
"What can I do?" Harry pulled his hand back angrily, "She is a Professor! A Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic! If I resist, she will expel me!"
"Resistance does not necessarily require drawing your wand to her face."
Moen pulled a small, pale yellow jar from his pocket and tossed it to Harry.
"What is this?"
"Murtlap Tentacle Essence (Purified Version)." Moen said indifferently, "A new product from the White Potion Factory. It's three times more effective than Madam Pomfrey's version. Apply it, and the pain will disappear, and it won't leave a scar."
Harry held the cold jar, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
"How much?" He asked.
"Free. As a'sample'."
Moen turned around, looking at the rainstorm outside the window.
"Harry, remember this pain."
Moen's voice became profound:
"The reason Umbridge dares to treat you this way is not because of how strong she is, but because she holds the 'rules' in her hand. She uses rules to commit violence."
"To defeat her, shouting and courage alone are useless. You need... another kind of power."
"What kind of power?"
"The power to invalidate the rules."
Moen turned his head back, a meaningful arc curling the corner of his lips:
"For instance, if this quill appeared on the front page of tomorrow's The Daily Prophet with the headline 'Ministry of Magic Official Abuses Underage Wizard: Bloody Corporal Punishment or Perverted Satisfaction?'..."
Harry was stunned.
"This... will this work? Fudge will suppress it."
"Fudge can suppress the Ministry of Magic, but he cannot suppress public opinion, and he certainly cannot suppress my newspaper."
Moen walked up to Harry and pulled out an exquisite, miniature alchemical camera from his robe, only the size of a matchbox.
"Take pictures, Harry."
Moen stuffed the camera into Harry's uninjured left hand.
"The next time she punishes you, take pictures secretly. Capture your bleeding hand and her smug face, take pictures of both."
"When you have collected enough evidence, give them to me."
Cold light flashed in Moen's eyes:
"I will let her know what is called social death."
Harry gripped the miniature camera, sweat from his palms soaking the metal casing.
He suddenly felt that compared to Umbridge's Dark Artsquill, Moen's method of using everything as a weapon was even more terrifying.
But it was also more... satisfying.
"I will." Harry said in a low voice.
...
Slytherin common room, late at night.
When Moen returned to the dungeons, the common room was still brightly lit.
The atmosphere was a bit off.
Draco Malfoy was standing in front of the fireplace, a small silver badge pinned to his chest.
A capital "I", Inquisitorial Squad.
Beside him, Goyle, Crabbe, and Pansy Parkinson were also wearing the same badge.
It was issued by Umbridge.
She was recruiting students as her informants, granting them the privilege to deduct points.
Chapter 98: The Forbidden "Dog", The Kicked-out Spy
Seeing Moen enter, Malfoy covered his badge with a somewhat guilty conscience.
"Good evening, Moen," Malfoy said with a dry laugh.
Moen did not respond.
He walked straight up to Malfoy, reached out, and lightly flicked the silver badge with his fingertip.
"Ding."
The crisp sound echoed in the deathly silent common room.
"What is this, Draco?" Moen asked, knowing full well what it was.
"Uh... Professor Umbridge gave it to me," Malfoystammered an explanation. "She said if we join the 'Inquisitorial Squad,' we can help her manage the school and even dock points from Gryffindor..."
"So, you agreed?"
Moen's voice was very soft, yet it made Malfoy feel a sense of suffocation.
"I thought... it was an opportunity..." Malfoy's voice grew smaller and smaller.
"An opportunity?"
Moen suddenly laughed.
He abruptly ripped the badge off Malfoy's chest.
"Rippp—"
The expensive velvet robes were torn, leaving a gap.
"This is called being a dog."
Moen threw the badge onto the floor and stepped on it hard with his black leather shoe, grinding it until the silver badge was deformed and twisted.
"I told you all."
Moen looked up, his eyes, which had now turned into vertical pupils, scanned everyone in the common room.
Those students who had originally wanted to join the squad lowered their heads one after another, not daring to meet his gaze.
"Slytherins are snakes, proud predators."
"We don't act as dogs for anyone. Especially not for that pink toad."
Moen walked to the fireplace, his back to the crowd:
"From today onwards, whoever dares to wear this badge can get out of Slytherin."
"The White Family's scholarships, the Nimbus broomstick sponsorships, and future employment recommendation letters... all of them will be canceled."
Malfoy's face turned white with fright.
He knew all too well what this meant.
Without Moen, even though he would still be a Malfoy, his status in the school would plummet.
"I was wrong! Moen!" Malfoy immediately stated his position, kicking the badge on the floor into the fireplace. "I'll go quit right now! That's trash! I don't care about working for that woman!"
Pansy and the others also took off their badges and threw them far away.
"Very good."
Moen turned around, looking with satisfaction at this group of "tamed" elites.
"What we want to be is not her lackeys, but..."
Moen pulled a stack of parchment from his pocket and threw it on the table.
"...but to establish our own 'Disciplinary Committee'."
"We will use our own methods to maintain 'order' at Hogwarts. Of course, this order is defined by me."
"Draco, you will be the captain."
Malfoy was overjoyed: "Yes! Boss!"
Moen looked out the window at the pitch-black lake water.
Umbridge wants to use power to divide the students?
Then he would use even more powerful capital and violence to forge Slytherin into a solid block of iron.
"As for that D.A. Army..."
Moen thought of Harry.
"Let them make a scene. Only the harder they cause trouble will Umbridge become more crazed. And the more crazed she gets..."
"...the closer she is to destruction."
"Next week is the first meeting," Moen calculated in his heart. "It's time for me to go send some 'teaching materials'."
In October,
A Hogsmeade weekend.
The late autumn cold wind swirled dead leaves, raging through the streets of Hogsmeade village.
Compared to the warm and bustling Three Broomstickspub, the Hog's Head, located on the edge of the village, appeared particularly dilapidated and gloomy.
The rickety wooden sign depicted a severed wild boar's head, dripping with blood.
The interior of the pub was dimly lit, with grime-covered windows making it look like a cellar.
The air was thick with a strong smell of goat and the sour stench of fermented old beer.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting nervously at a cobbled-together table.
And in front of them, more than twenty students from the other three houses, excluding Slytherin, were crowded together.
"Um... hello everyone," Hermione began nervously. "We are here to discuss... the issue of self-studying Defense Against the Dark Arts. Because as everyone knows, that woman Umbridge can't teach us anything."
Whispers broke out among the crowd.
Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff folded his arms, looking skeptical: "You say that person is back, but what evidence is there? Other than Potter's word?"
"Cedric can prove it too!" Harry stood up angrily.
"No one saw it," Smith sneered.
Ding-ling.
The grease-stained door of the pub was pushed open.
The wind chime made a raspy sound, interrupting the argument inside.
Everyone turned to look.
In this place where there were no other customers besides a few weirdos with their faces wrapped in bandages, an out-of-place figure walked in.
Moen White.
He wore a well-tailored deep gray cashmere coat and black leather gloves, his Black Ironwood Cane tapping a crisp rhythm on the dirty floor.
Behind him, there was no Malfoy or bodyguards. He was alone.
"Moen?!" Ron cried out in alarm. "Are you here to snitch?"
The other students immediately gripped their wands nervously. The appearance of the Slytherin "Demon" here was definitely not a good omen.
"Snitch?"
Moen paid no heed to those hostile gazes.
He looked with distaste at a dust-covered chair and did not sit down, but instead walked to the bar.
Behind the bar, a long-bearded, ill-tempered-looking old man, Aberforth Dumbledore, was staring at him warily.
"A bottle of Butterbeer. Sealed packaging, don't pour it into a glass," Moen threw out a Galleon. "Keep the change."
After getting the drink, Moen turned around to face the group of nervous students.
"If I were to snitch, Umbridge would have already burst in with Aurors by now."
Moen walked to the periphery of the crowd, his gaze scanning every corner of the pub like a searchlight.
"Your sense of secrecy is like a sieve. Discussing 'rebellion' in a place full of spies and informants?"
Moen shook his head and suddenly raised his cane, pointing it sharply at a witch in the corner who was wrapped in dirty bandages and pretending to sleep.
"You over there, have you heard enough?"
The witch froze.
"Willy Widdershins," Moen called out the name coldly. "An informant who agreed to monitor students for the Ministry of Magic in exchange for escaping punishment for selling fake cauldrons."
"Expelliarmus."
There was no red light; Moen just gave a casual wave.
The bandages on the "witch" exploded, revealing the true face of a wretched man inside.
He tried to flee in terror.
"Get out."
Moen tapped his cane.
An invisible wave of gravity directly knocked Widdershins flying, smashing through the pub door and landing on the mud outside.
"Ah—!" Widdershins shrieked as he scrambled up and fled, crawling and rolling away.
The pub fell into a dead silence.
The students looked at this scene in stunned silence.
They hadn't noticed at all that someone was eavesdropping in that corner just now.
Chapter 99: Have
"Now, the environment is a little cleaner."
Moen walked back and stood beside Harry.
That powerful aura instantly made him the focus of the scene, as if he were the one in charge here.
"Are you going to join us?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"No." Moen refused decisively. "I have no interest in such childish games. But I am very interested in the 'market demand' behind this."
Moen pulled a thick booklet from his coat pocket and threw it on the table.
"What is this?" Neville leaned over curiously.
"White Alchemy Industries: Defensive Equipment Catalog (Student Special Edition)."
Moen pointed to the booklet:
"Since you plan to self-study Defense Against the Dark Arts, you need textbooks, a venue, and targets for practice."
"This booklet contains a complete set of solutions: automatic dodging dummies, shields that detect spell intensity, and..."
Moen glanced at Harry:
"...and various first-aid kits against jinxes."
"Do you want to risk your lives against Death Eaters empty-handed, or do you want to be armed to the teeth before you go?"
Smith spoke up again: "Do we have to pay for these? You are profiteering from the war!"
"That's right, this is war profiteering." Moen admitted calmly. "You can choose not to buy them. And then, when facing Killing Curses, use your glib tongue to block them."
Smith shut up.
"I will give you a 30% discount," Moen said to Harry, "as a venture capital investment in your'spirit of resistance'."
"Also, a piece of advice."
Moen lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping over everyone present:
"When signing this list, remember to add an 'Anti-Pride Jinx'. If anyone snitches, they will grow boils on their face that can never be washed off."
"Hermione is already planning to do that," Harry said in surprise.
"Then make it even harsher," Moen sneered. "Because Umbridge will soon know about today's gathering. Although I drove Willy Widdershins away, he must have heard the first half."
"Tomorrow morning, you will see a new 'Educational Decree'."
Moen adjusted his gloves, preparing to leave.
"Educational Decree?"
"Yes. Educational Decree Number Twenty-four." Moenwalked to the door and looked back. "'No student organization, society, or group shall meet without the approval of the High Inquisitor.'"
"Then what do we do?" Ginny asked worriedly.
"Then go underground."
Moen pointed in the direction of the castle, specifically towards the eighth floor:
"Some rooms only appear when you truly need them. That is where you should go, not this drafty, broken-down pub."
After saying this, Moen pushed open the broken door and walked into the cold wind.
...
The next day, the Hogwarts notice board.
Just as Moen expected.
A huge notice with a pink border was posted on the notice board.
[Educational Decree Number Twenty-four]
[Effective immediately, all student organizations, societies, groups, and clubs are dissolved.]
[Any gathering not approved by the High Inquisitor will be considered a violation of discipline, and participants will be expelled.]
Students gathered around the notice board, discussing angrily.
Harry looked at the notice, his fists clenched tightly.
"He was right," Harry said to Hermione. "Umbridge is declaring war."
"Then we will fight back," Hermione gritted her teeth. "We will go find that room. The Room of Requirement."
Meanwhile, in the shadows not far away.
Moen White was passing by with Malfoy.
"Moen, does that Educational Decree also include our 'Slytherin Disciplinary Committee'?" Malfoy asked worriedly.
"Of course it does," Moen said indifferently.
"Then are we going to dissolve?"
"Dissolve?"
Moen stopped walking, looked at the stupid notice, and a mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Draco, remember."
"Rules are for the weak to follow. For the strong, rules are merely suggestions."
"Go tell Umbridge that we want to apply to form a'Special Mutual Aid Group' for the purpose of 'helping the Professor maintain school order'."
"Also, send a generous gift—for example, a 5% dividend share from my Potion factory."
Moen patted Malfoy on the shoulder:
"She will approve it. Because greedy people can never refuse the scent of Galleons."
"As for that D.A. army..."
Moen watched the backs of Harry and the others as they left.
"Let them grow wildly underground. When Umbridge is overwhelmed and exhausted by this group of 'weeds'..."
"...that will be the time when no one can bother me, even if I'm drinking tea in the Headmaster's office."
Late October.
In the corridor on the eighth floor of Hogwarts, opposite the tapestry depicting a Troll beating Barnabas the Barmy, there used to be a bare wall.
But today, it was very lively here.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were leading more than twenty students, staring nervously at that wall.
Neville had just walked in front of the wall three times, muttering, "We need a place to practice martial arts."
Click.
A smooth door appeared on the wall.
"It worked!" Hermione shouted excitedly. "The Room of Requirement! Moen didn't lie to us!"
The students filed in.
The room was spacious and bright, filled with various Defense Against the Dark Arts books, mats, and even Sneakoscopes and lie detectors.
"Awesome!" Ron picked up a mat and threw it at Harry. "Come on, Harry! Teach us how to blast Umbridge away!"
The first official meeting of the D.A. began in a lively atmosphere.
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, or rather, in another space of the room.
Moen White was standing in front of the same wall.
But he was not in a hurry to go in.
He was waiting.
Until he confirmed that all D.A. members had gone in and the door had disappeared, he stepped forward slowly.
"What they wanted was a 'practice arena'," Moen said to himself, looking at the blank wall. "But what I need is a 'place to hide things'."
Moen closed his eyes and walked past that section of the wall three times.
He muttered in his heart: "I need a place to hide the contraband, junk, and secrets of generations of students."
Rumble.
The door appeared again.
But this door looked older and more mottled.
Moen pushed the door and entered.
The scene was completely different.
This was not a spacious practice arena, but a labyrinth made of miscellaneous items.
Mountains of broken furniture, thousands of books, winged catapults, fanged frisbees, and all kinds of contraband hidden by students over the centuries.
This was the "Treasure Room," another form of the Room of Requirement.
"Truly a giant… garbage dump."
Moen used his cane to disdainfully push aside a broken-legged chair and activated [True Sight].
In this chaotic ocean of magic, he was searching for that specific frequency, an aura that was ancient, wise, but also polluted by the Dark Arts.
Chapter 100: Establishing a Channel, Appropriate Additional Investment
He walked through the aisle piled with chairs, passing by a huge, ugly bust with a wig hanging on it.
Finally, he stopped in front of a rickety cabinet.
On top of the cabinet sat a rusty, unassuming crown.
It was inlaid with gems, and although dusty, it still exuded an arrogant aura.
The Ravenclaw's Diadem.
"Found it."
Moen did not pick it up directly with his hands.
He knew that this thing was not just a Horcrux, but a trap full of temptation.
As long as one put it on, one would hear the whispers of Voldemort.
[Scan Target]: Ravenclaw's Diadem
[Status]: Horcrux (dormant)
[Characteristics]: Wisdom amplification (corrupted), Soul parasitism.
"Wisdom..." Moen shook his head. "Tom, using such a good thing to make a Horcrux is truly a waste of heaven's gifts."
He took out the container that already held the [Locket energy (purified)], and then took out a new alchemy box.
"Containment."
Moen waved his wand, and the diadem flew into the box automatically, locked by runes.
"With this, the two Horcruxes in Hogwarts—the diary and the diadem—have both been dealt with."
Moen put away the box with satisfaction.
He looked around, and his gaze suddenly fell on the huge black cabinet next to him.
The Vanishing Cabinet.
That was the passage to the Borgin and Burkes.
It was the same cabinet that Draco Malfoy used in the original story to let the Death Eaters into the school.
"Since I'm here, I might as well fix it."
Moen walked over, and the [Gate of Truth] "directional transmission circuit" was activated.
He did not fully repair it, as that would be too dangerous, but instead repaired the item transmission function within it and installed a [White Security · One-way Valve] on it.
"In the future, if I want to bring in some 'contraband' from Knockturn Alley, this will be a good smuggling channel."
After finishing all this, Moen walked out of the Room of Requirement.
...
Outside the corridor.
Just as Moen came out, the door on the wall changed again.
Harry, sweating profusely, led the D.A. members out.
They all looked excited; clearly, the training just now had been a success.
"Moen?" Harry saw Moen standing at the door and was startled, subconsciously blocking the door behind him. "You... have you been here the whole time?"
"I was just passing by."
Moen straightened his cuffs, his gaze sweeping over the group of passionate students.
"How was the practice? Mr. savior?"
"Very... very good." Harry felt a bit guilty; after all, this was an unauthorized gathering. "Everyone has learned..."
"Expelliarmus?"
Moen glanced at Neville beside him, who was waving his wand excitedly, almost poking Ginny in the eye.
"If you expect to use 'Expelliarmus' to deal with Avada Kedavra, then I suggest you buy yourselves a nice cemetery plot first."
"What do you mean?" Ron said indignantly. "Harrydefeated You-Know-Who with Expelliarmus!"
"That was luck, Weasley," Moen said coldly. "Luck is not reproducible."
He walked up to Harry and reached out to correct Harry's wand-holding posture.
"Your wrists are too stiff, Harry. If you encounter a real Dark wizard..."
Moen suddenly drew his wand.
The movement was as fast as lightning.
"Protego."
A transparent barrier instantly appeared in front of Harry.
Immediately after, Moen's wand tapped lightly.
Bang!
A silent, repulsion-effect magic beam hit the barrier, knocking Harry and his shield back three steps.
"Reaction is too slow." Moen withdrew his wand.
Harry looked at Moen in shock.
In that instant just now, he hadn't even seen Moen's movement clearly.
"This is real combat, Harry," Moen said indifferently. "The enemy won't wait for you to count one, two, three. They will ambush, use silent spells, and use Dark Arts you've never seen before."
"If you really want to survive..."
Moen took a thin booklet from his pocket and threw it to Hermione.
"...then memorize this 'White Security · Real Combat Crash Course Manual'. It contains twenty of the most practical life-saving spells. You don't need beautiful posture; you only need to be fast, accurate, and ruthless."
Hermione took the booklet, flipped through a few pages, and her eyes widened: "These... are these all high-level techniques for Defense Against the Dark Arts? There are even some... offensive spells?"
"The best defense is offense."
Moen turned and left.
"Practice well. Don't get caught by Umbridge. If you get caught..."
Moen's voice drifted from the end of the corridor:
"...remember not to give me up as your 'teaching material supplier'. I don't want to go drink tea with that toad."
Harry gripped his wand, looking at the booklet in his hand.
Although Moen's words were harsh, he had to admit that the things in this booklet were ten thousand times more useful than Umbridge's textbook.
"Whose side is he on?" Neville asked in a low voice.
"He is on his own side," Harry took a deep breath. "But at least for now... his stuff can save lives."
...
Dungeon, Slytherin Common Room.
When Moen returned to the dungeon, Malfoy was proudly showing off their new badges [Inquisitorial Squad] to a group of people.
Yes, although Moen forbade them from being dogs, he allowed them to "disguise" themselves.
The so-called "Discipline Committee", the name registered with Umbridge, was the "Inquisitorial Squad".
This is called acting in compliance while secretly violating.
"Moen!" Malfoy ran over. "Umbridge just gave us special privileges! We can deduct points! I just deducted fifty points from Potter! Just because his shoelaces weren't tied in the corridor!"
"Childish."
Moen sat back on the sofa and took out a bottle of red wine.
"Deducting points is just a child's game. Draco, I want you to do some real work."
"What?"
"Umbridge is trying to pass a new Educational Decree: She wants to inspect all letters and packages. She is comprehensively regulating Hogwarts' communication channels."
Moen swirled his wine glass:
"This will affect my business. My orders, my intelligence network, cannot be monitored by that toad."
"So?" Malfoy asked.
"So, I want you to 'cooperate' with her."
A glimmer of cunning flashed in Moen's eyes:
"Go tell her you found that some people are passing contraband through Hagrid's hut. Guide her to investigate Hagrid."
"Why Hagrid?" Malfoy was puzzled.
"Because Hagrid is an uncontrollable variable. Letting him fight with Umbridge will attract firepower."
Moen sneered:
"Besides, Hagrid recently brought back a big guy. If Umbridge runs into that big guy..."
"...I think that scene will be beautiful."
"This semester's final exam..." Moen looked out the window, "is the Battle of the Department of Mysteries."
"The prophecy orb."
"That is the thing Voldemort wants most. It is also the piece of intelligence I... want to get my hands on the most."