Chapter 3130 - Ch: 101-110

Chapter 101: The Backfiring Quill and Fireworks

October, and the rain was incessant.

Dolores Umbridge had been in a very bad mood lately.

Although she had successfully disbanded all student organizations, the school seemed to be working against her.

Students whispered in the corridors, Peeves threw water balloons from the chandeliers, and that Slytherin named Moen White, though cooperative on the surface, always made her spine chill with his cold eyes.

To establish authority, she issued Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five:

"Students are prohibited from conducting any form of commercial transaction within the school. Violators will have all illicit gains confiscated and be expelled."

This decree was practically holding a gun to Moen White's forehead.

The Slytherin dungeon, Moen's private office.

"Is she crazy?" Draco rushed in holding the notice. "This is tantamount to seizing our 'Disciplinary Committee' slush fund! Not to mention the Potions and amulets sold through me!"

Moen sat behind the desk, holding an extremely delicate silver carving knife, engraving imperceptible runes onto a black quill.

"Calm down, Draco."

Moen blew the shavings off the pen barrel, his eyes focused: "When an administrator starts trying to control people's wallets, it means her power has reached its end, and all that remains is madness."

"Then what do we do? Stop the business?"

"No."

Moen put down the quill.

It was the very type of specialized Dark Arts quill that Umbridge used to punish Harry.

Moen had used a "swapping" trick, having a House-elfsteal the original from her office, and it was now undergoing "improvements."

"Business continues as usual. Not only that, but we'll make it even bigger."

Moen stood up and placed the improved quill into a velvet box.

"Since she wants to play the 'prohibition' game, we'll play the 'rebellion' game with her. But this time, we don't need to do it ourselves."

Hogwarts, third-floor corridor.

Fred and George were hiding behind a statue, looking troubled.

"That toad confiscated our Skiving Snackboxes that were ready for shipping." Fred gritted his teeth. "Those were for our subscribers!"

"And she threatened to use that damn quill on us." Georgeclenched his fists.

"It seems you've encountered a dual bottleneck in capital and technology."

A voice rang out above them.

Moen White was standing on the stairs, looking down at them from above.

"White?" The twins looked at him warily.

Moen walked down, pulled a heavy cloth bag from his coat pocket, and tossed it to Fred.

Opening it, they saw it was filled with crystals glowing with a dangerous red light.

"What is this?"

"Alchemical Dragon Powder (Dragonfire Powder)."

Moen explained nonchalantly: "It's a byproduct from refining Dragon blood in my factory. Its properties are extremely unstable; it expands, burns, and makes a loud noise when it encounters magic. Most importantly, the standard 'Vanishing Spell' has no effect on it. Once ignited, no one can extinguish it until its energy is exhausted."

The twins' eyes instantly lit up like two suns.

"You mean…"

"I heard you're developing something called 'Filibuster Fireworks'?" Moen's mouth curled into a wicked smile, "If you add a bit of this to them…"

"Then we could blow Umbridge to the sky!" Georgeinterrupted excitedly.

"I didn't say that." Moen shrugged, "I'm just disposing of 'industrial waste.' As for how you use it, that's your business."

"Besides…"

Moen pulled out the velvet box containing the improved quill.

"Do me a favor. I know you have ways to put things back into Umbridge's office without anyone noticing."

"What is this?" Fred asked.

"A… 'Law of Causality' quill."

A cold glint flashed in Moen's eyes: "I added a 'Damage Reflection Circuit' to it. The original pen absorbed the blood of the person writing. But this one…"

"…when the person being punished feels pain, this pain will be reflected twofold back to the owner of the pen, which is Umbridge, who holds the magical contract."

"The more she tortures students, the more she herself will suffer. And it's that kind of soul-level agony that cannot be diagnosed."

The twins gasped.

"Mate, you're truly vicious." George exclaimed admiringly, "But, I like it."

"Pleasure doing business." Moen turned and left, "Tonight, I look forward to a grand fireworks display."

That night, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's office.

Umbridge was sitting at her desk, in a pleasant mood.

Lee Jordan was sitting at the small table; he was tonight's punishment recipient.

"Begin, Mr. Jordan," Umbridge said cloyingly, "Write: 'I must not insult the High Inquisitor'."

Lee Jordan gritted his teeth and picked up the quill that had just been "swapped back." He didn't know the quill had been switched.

He wrote the first word on the parchment.

A sharp pain shot through the back of his hand, and blood seeped out.

"Ah!" Lee Jordan cried out in pain.

At the same time.

Umbridge, who was drinking tea behind her desk, suddenly turned pale, and the teacup in her hand shattered on the floor with a "crack."

"Ah!!!"

Umbridge let out a scream ten times louder than Lee Jordan's.

She clutched her right hand back fiercely.

There were no wounds there, but she felt as if someone were gouging her bones with a red-hot knife!

"What's going on?!" Umbridge was sweating profusely from the pain.

"Professor?" Lee Jordan was startled.

"Keep writing! Don't stop!" Umbridge roared, thinking she had a cramp.

Lee Jordan had no choice but to continue writing.

With every stroke, Umbridge twitched in her chair.

By the end, Umbridge's face was twisted in pain, her makeup ruined, and she collapsed in her chair, gasping for air as if she had just had a severe illness.

This [Soul Pain Synchronization] could not be defended against.

And just then.

A huge explosion sounded outside the corridor.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Colorful lights illuminated the night sky of the castle.

It was the the Weasley twins' masterpiece—[Dragonfire Fireworks].

Huge fire Dragons, spinning Catherine wheels, and screaming rockets rampaged through the corridor.

Umbridge, ignoring her hand pain, grabbed her wand and rushed out.

"Stupefy! Evanesco!" She cast spells at the fireworks.

But this was the trap.

The Dragon Powder provided by Moen had "magic-absorbing" properties.

After Umbridge's Stupefy hit the fireworks, it didn't make them disappear; instead, it made them expand tenfold instantly!

The fire Dragons, originally the size of plates, instantly became the size of real Dragons, roaring as they charged at Umbridge, burning several large holes in her pink cardigan.

"Ah! Help!" Umbridge was chased everywhere by the fireworks.

Filch tried to put them out with a broom, but the broom caught fire.

The whole castle was in chaos.

Students ran out of their dormitories, watching this scene, and erupted into deafening cheers.

Third floor, balcony.

Moen White stood in the shadows, holding a glass of red wine, watching Umbridge below, who was fleeing in a panic from the fireworks, and her face twisted with pain and fear.

"Beautiful fireworks," Moen commented.

"Young Master, will she find out it was us?" Alfred asked.

"And what if she does?"

Moen took a sip of wine:

"The fireworks were set off by the the Weasley twins, and the quill was used by her. What does that have to do with me?"

"Besides…"

Moen watched Umbridge's hand trembling; it was the aftereffect of the pain reflection.

"…she will soon realize that the more she tries to establish authority through corporal punishment, the weaker her body will become."

"When she's in so much pain that she can't even hold her wand…"

A cold glint flashed in Moen's eyes: "…that will be the time we kick her out for good."

That night, no one at Hogwarts slept.

The the Weasley twins became heroes.

And Umbridge, under the dual torture of body and spirit, finally realized.

In this school, there were some people she absolutely could not afford to provoke.

Chapter 102: The Turning of Public Opinion, Blood-Stained Photos, and a Pink Breakdown

A cold morning.

Breakfast time had just begun in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Dolores Umbridge sat in the center of the staff table. Dumbledore's seat was empty; although she was not yet the Headmaster, she already acted as if she were the hostess.

Her right hand was wrapped in thick bandages, the backlash from the modified quill, and her face looked sallow due to chronic nerve pain.

Yet she still tried to maintain her dignity, her eyes beneath those puffy lids scanning the students below vigilantly, searching for any signs of violation of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five.

"It is very quiet today, is it not?" Umbridge said to Professor McGonagall beside her, her tone laced with a hint of triumphant boasting. "It seems the children have finally learned the rules."

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, not even glancing at her, simply cutting into the sausage on her plate with force.

Just then, a massive sound of flapping wings, like a squadron of bombers, came from the high windows.

The owl post had arrived.

This was normally a daily routine, but today's scale was absurd.

Hundreds of owls poured into the Great Hall, their talons clutching not just subscribed newspapers, but countless Howlers.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Countless copies of The Daily Prophet fell onto the long tables like snowflakes, with quite a few landing directly in front of Umbridge.

Beside the Slytherin long table.

Moen White picked up a copy of the newspaper, which still smelled of fresh ink, and unfolded it elegantly.

"The show is beginning," he said softly to Malfoy beside him.

Malfoy leaned over to look, his eyes widening instantly.

The headline was no longer attacking Harry or Dumbledore.

It was a huge, moving black-and-white photograph. The photo did not show a face, but just a hand. The back of a boy's hand, raw and bloody, with a line of clearly visible, deep red writing carved into it:

I must not tell lies.

And above the photo, in the sharpest and most sensationalist prose, Rita Skeeter had written a massive headline:

"Hogwarts' Dark Dungeon: Did a High-Ranking Ministry of Magic Official Really Use Medieval Torture on a Minor Wizard?"

The entire hall exploded instantly.

The previously quiet Great Hall was as if a bomb had been thrown into it. Students scrambled to pass the papers around, with gasps and angry murmurs rising one after another.

Umbridge grabbed the newspaper in front of her with trembling hands.

Her gaze fell on the subtitle:

"Is It Educational Reform, or Perverted Sadism? A Deep Dive into Ms. Dolores Umbridge's 'Bloody Classroom'."

"This... this is slander!" Umbridge shrieked, her voice distorted by panic. "This is libel! I will ban this newspaper! I will..."

However, when she saw the content on the second page, her voice caught in her throat.

The second page featured "live photos provided by an anonymous student," taken by Harry with the miniature camera Moen had given him. In the photo, Umbridge was sitting in her office piled with pink plates, wearing that bone-chilling smile of someone enjoying others' pain, watching a student bleed.

Although the photo was black and white, the malice was practically overflowing from the page.

The article read:

"According to informed sources, this Dark Arts quill was listed as a contraband item by the International Confederation of Wizards over a hundred years ago. Yet, our beloved Senior Undersecretary has used it on a fifteen-year-old child within the sacred campus of Hogwarts..."

"We cannot help but ask: Is Minister Cornelius Fudgeaware of this? Is this the official instruction of the Ministry of Magic, or is it the personal insanity of Ms. Umbridge?"

This was a killing blow.

This article not only nailed Umbridge to the wall but also cleverly shifted the blame onto her personally, leaving Fudge an exit strategy to cut ties.

To prevent the Ministry of Magic from collapsing completely, Moen needed Fudge to remain in power for a while longer.

"Who did this?! Who took the photo?!"

Umbridge stood up, waving her uninjured left hand frantically, her wand pointing at the students below.

"Is it you? Potter?!"

Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor long table, looking at the newspaper, a sense of unprecedented relief surging in his heart.

He looked up, meeting Umbridge's gaze, and raised the back of his hand, which still bore faint traces even after applying medicine.

He did not speak, but the gesture said everything.

"I will expel you! I will..." Umbridge roared hysterically.

Just then, the first Howler exploded.

"Dolores Umbridge!"

An angry witch's voice rang through the Great Hall; it was Neville's grandmother:

"You shameless woman! If you dare to touch a single finger on my grandson, I will go to the Ministry of Magic and blow up your office!"

Immediately following, a second, a third...

Hundreds of Howlers from angry parents exploded over the Great Hall.

They might not believe Voldemort had returned, but they would never tolerate anyone abusing their children with Dark Arts.

Amidst the torrent of abuse, Umbridge covered her ears, looking completely wretched.

At the staff table.

Professor McGonagall put down the newspaper, the corners of her mouth curling into a rare, cold smirk.

Professor Snape looked toward the Slytherin long table with a gaze that was almost "appreciative."

He knew that only one person could pull off this kind of move.

Moen White.

Moen was drinking black tea quietly, as if the surrounding clamor had nothing to do with him.

"That's brutal, Moen." Malfoy looked at the newspaper; although he hated Potter, he hated Umbridge's high-and-mighty attitude even more. "She's finished now. Even pure-blood families will be writing letters to protest. After all, nobody wants their own child to be carved up."

"This is the power of public opinion, Draco."

Moen put down his teacup, his voice calm:

"Yesterday, she was a reformer representing the will of the Ministry of Magic."

"Today, she is an abuser of power and a sadist."

"And..."

Moen pointed to the bottom of the newspaper: the stock market section.

"...Affected by this scandal, the stock prices of several alchemy material suppliers under the Ministry of Magichave plummeted. I have already had Alfred complete a low-price acquisition as soon as the market opened this morning."

"This is called short-selling."

Malfoy listened, dumbfounded. He only saw the satisfaction of revenge, while Moen saw the flow of Galleons.

At this moment, Umbridge finally couldn't take it anymore.

She could not stay in the Great Hall any longer.

Those Howlers were still calling her a "pink toad."

She grabbed the newspaper and stumbled down from the staff table, wanting to flee back to her office.

As she passed the Slytherin long table, she saw Moen.

The boy was looking at her with a smile, raising his teacup in a "cheers" gesture.

Umbridge stopped in her tracks.

Her swollen eyes were filled with resentment and fear.

She understood.

This was not done by Potter.

Potter didn't have the brains, nor the resources to control The Daily Prophet.

It was this devil.

"It was you..." Umbridge's voice was hoarse. "You are ruining me..."

"I am helping you become famous, Professor."

Moen said softly, his voice audible only to the two of them:

"Don't you like to control everything? Now, the entire British wizarding world is talking about you. You should be happy."

"However, a piece of advice for you."

Moen's eyes turned cold instantly:

"If you still want to keep that Senior Undersecretary position, you had better not try to seal my business again, and do not touch those students anymore."

"Otherwise, tomorrow's headline will be about your even more 'private' records of corruption and bribery."

Umbridge shivered. She looked at Moen as if looking at Voldemort himself.

She dared not say another word, covering her face and fleeing the Great Hall amidst the jeers of the entire school.

"Well done."

Not far away, Harry watched this scene; although he couldn't hear what Moen said, he saw Umbridge's fear.

He turned to Ron and said, "Regardless of what Moenwants, at least when it comes to dealing with this woman, he is our ally."

Moen watched Umbridge's disappearing back and picked up his knife and fork again.

"Alright, most of the obstacles have been cleared."

He cut off a piece of bacon.

"Now, this toad is a toothless tiger. She won't dare to arbitrarily punish students again, nor will she dare to audit my accounts."

"Next..."

Moen looked out the window.

"...It is time to go to the Room of Requirement and deliver my 'final exam questions' to the members of the D.A."

"Let it be chaotic, the more chaotic, the better," Moenwhispered to himself. "Only upon the ruins of chaos can one build what truly belongs to me—the White Empire."

Chapter 103: The Vision of Glory and Savior's Addiction

Christmas Eve.

Inside the Gryffindor Tower boys' dormitory, a cold wind battered the windows.

Harry Potter was dreaming.

But he felt as if he weren't dreaming.

He felt his body had changed; he had no hands or feet, only smooth scales rubbing against the floor.

He was slithering down a dark corridor, his perspective low but filled with power.

He was hungry.

He craved blood.

A figure appeared ahead.

That red-haired man was sitting outside the door of the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, dozing off.

Arthur Weasley.

An uncontrollable desire to kill surged into his heart.

"Bite him... tear him apart..."

Harry—or rather, Nagini—lunged forward, fangs sinking deep into the man's shoulder.

Blood sprayed out, hot and tasting of iron.

The man was screaming and struggling, but this only made the killing more exciting.

"Ah—!!"

Harry sat up abruptly in bed, letting out a sharp, piercing scream. He was drenched in cold sweat, the scar on his forehead throbbing as if it were about to burst, yet his mouth still savored the lingering taste of blood from just moments ago.

"Harry! What's wrong with you?" Neville was startled awake.

"Dad! Ron's dad! He's been bitten!" Harry gasped for air, a mixture of nausea and some strange, eerie satisfaction intertwined within him. "There's blood everywhere! I need to see Dumbledore!"

...

Headmaster's office.

It was two in the morning.

Dumbledore, wearing his nightgown, listened to Harry's account with a grave expression.

The portraits on the walls had been awakened and were rushing about.

"You mean to say you witnessed the attack?" Dumbledoredidn't look at Harry but instead stood with his back to him, staring at Fawkes's cage.

"I didn't just witness it! I was there!" Harry corrected him loudly, his emotions unusually agitated, even aggressive. "I was that snake! I bit him! I could feel the fangs sinking into the flesh!"

"Phineas," Dumbledore said to a portrait on the wall. "Go to Grimmauld Place and notify Sirius. Everyone else, go to St. Mungo's Hospital."

Just then, the green flames in the fireplace suddenly flared up.

A figure wearing a black velvet robe and holding a cane stepped elegantly out of the green flames.

Moen White.

"Good evening, Headmaster." Moen brushed the ash off himself. "A late-night visit, because my'security monitoring' showed a high-energy magical reaction in that entrance area of the Ministry of Magic."

Moen turned his head, looking at the sweating, fanatical-eyed Harry.

"And it seems our Mr. Savior has had another 'nightmare'?"

"That wasn't a nightmare!" Harry roared at Moen. "That was reality! Mr. Weasley is dying! I found him! If it weren't for me, no one would know!"

"Calm down, Harry," Moen said indifferently.

A few minutes later, the portrait returned with news.

"Arthur Weasley has been found. He is severely injured but was sent to St. Mungo's before bleeding to death. He has been saved."

Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did you hear that?" Harry turned abruptly, looking at Dumbledore and then at Moen, a twisted, victorious smile appearing on his face.

"I saved him! Because I can see what Voldemort is thinking!"

Harry pointed to his scar, his tone arrogant to the extreme:

"Hermione has always been trying to make me learn Occlumency, and you have always been avoiding me, Professor! You all think this is a bad thing! But this proves I'm right! This kind of power... this connection is useful!"

Dumbledore finally turned around.

But he still did not look into Harry's eyes.

"Harry, this connection is dangerous. If Voldemort knew that you could see..."

"Let him know!" Harry interrupted Dumbledore. "I can monitor him! I can save people! I'm faster than all of you!"

A sense of power he had never felt before flooded Harry's entire body.

He felt he was no longer a child being protected; he was a warrior with special abilities.

"What a... brilliant display of self-indulgence."

Moen suddenly clapped his hands.

It was slow.

"What do you mean, White?" Harry glared at him angrily.

Moen leaned on his cane and walked step by step toward Harry.

[Gate of Truth] activated.

He clearly saw that the area of Harry's soul in his mind, which originally belonged to him, had been eroded by more than half by a mass of black mist.

"You think you're a hero, Harry?"

Moen lowered his head, those black eyes like an abyss:

"But in my eyes, you look just like an addict who has taken drugs and thinks he has gained divine power."

"You just said 'I was that snake'." Moen's voice was cold. "Did you enjoy the feeling of crushing bones? Did you enjoy the heat of the spraying blood?"

Harry's expression froze.

Yes.

In the dream, in that instant, he had indeed felt a kind of... pleasure.

"That was Voldemort's emotion," Moen ruthlessly exposed him. "You aren't monitoring him; you are becoming him."

"You saved Arthur this time because Voldemort wasn't prepared. But what about next time?"

Moen's cane tapped lightly on Harry's chest:

"What if he intentionally lets you see something? For example... Sirius has been captured? What would you do? Like today, thinking you are an omniscient god, and then rushing over regardless?"

"I..." Harry wanted to retort, but Moen's words pierced his heart like needles.

"That's enough, Moen," Dumbledore said wearily. "Harrydid save a life tonight. But he does need to learn Occlumency. Professor Snape will teach you."

"I don't need Professor Snape to teach me!" Harry shouted. "And Moen is talking nonsense! I can tell what's real!"

Harry turned and rushed out of the Headmaster's office.

He refused to admit that Moen was right.

He had saved Ron's dad; that was a fact! He was a hero! This proved his scar was a gift, not a curse!

Watching Harry's retreating figure, Moen shook his head.

"He's beyond saving," Moen said to Dumbledore. "He has already fallen in love with this feeling of 'peeking'. It's addictive, just like being a voyeur."

"He's still a child, Moen," Dumbledore sighed.

"Voldemort doesn't care if someone is a child when he kills."

Moen straightened his robe.

"Since he is so confident, let him go hit a wall."

"Professor, I'm going to St. Mungo's."

A glimmer of shrewdness flashed in Moen's eyes:

"Arthur Weasley has been struck by a rare magical snake venom. The wound won't heal. I think... the new [Blood-Replenishing Potion: Snake Venom Special Edition] developed by White Pharmaceuticals just happens to need a clinical trial subject."

"Besides, this is also a good opportunity to win over the Weasley family."

Dumbledore looked at Moen, his expression complex.

On one side was the arrogant savior about to fall into a trap, and on the other was the Slytherin who calculated everything down to the last detail.

"Go," Dumbledore waved his hand.

Moen stepped into the fireplace, and the green flames swallowed him up.

"Harry Potter..."

Moen whispered in the flames:

"Continue your arrogance. When you charge into the Department of Mysteries with your D.A. army, you will find..."

"...that what awaits you behind that door is not glory, but hell."

[Current Draw Count: 25]

[Target: The Veil (Death Research)]

"Soon. Just by the end of the term."

Chapter 104: Christmas at the Asylum, Forgotten Autographs, and Wrackspurts under the Mistletoe.

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Although it was Christmas, there wasn't much festive cheer in the hospital.

The crystal bubbles and ribbons hanging from the ceiling looked somewhat bleak under the pale magical lights.

The corridors were filled with strange groans, the bitter smell of Potion, and the stifled weeping of families.

The fifth floor, the Spell Damage Ward.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around Arthur Weasley's bed.

Arthur still looked weak, but his spirits were good. Thick bandages were wrapped around his shoulders, and a strange, pale blue luster shone from beneath them.

"It's truly a miracle." Molly Weasley said gratefully, peeling an apple. "The Healer said that if it weren't for that new type of 'White snake venom serum,' this wound might have bled until next year. Although the price was frighteningly high... fortunately, Moen waived the cost."

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, feeling a tightness in his chest.

He heard that name again.

Moen.

It was clearly he, Harry, who had seen the attack through the connection and reported it in time to save someone.

But now, everyone was singing the praises of Moen, who had provided the medicine.

"It was me who saw it." Harry couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "If I hadn't said anything, the medicine wouldn't have mattered."

"Of course, dear, you are the great hero."

Just then, the ward door opened.

There was no knocking, only that signature, steady, and elegant sound of footsteps.

Moen walked in. He was wearing a dark...

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Weasley."

Moen walked to the bed, not looking at Harry, but directly at Arthur's wound.

[True Sight] activated.

The wound was healing, and the snake venom was being neutralized and devoured by those blue alchemical factors.

"The clinical data is perfect." Moen nodded with satisfaction, as if admiring a work of art, "It seems this antidote for 'Nagini toxin' can be mass-produced."

"Thank you, Moen." Arthur was a little awkward, "This medicine must be very expensive, right? I will find a way to pay you back."

"No need, Arthur." Moen smiled, "You are my 'first clinical volunteer.' Your recovery data is the best reward."

Harry watched Moen's business-like demeanor, that calmness of "everything is under control," which made him feel an inexplicable irritability.

He felt like a child who hadn't grown up yet, while Moenwas already an adult manipulating the situation.

"Let's go for a walk." Hermione noticed the awkward atmosphere and dragged Harry and Ron out of the ward.

...

The fourth floor, the Long-term Care Ward.

The atmosphere here was even more oppressive.

Those who lived here were people permanently damaged by spells and unable to be cured.

Harry and the others ran into Neville Longbottom there, along with his insane parents.

Those were the Auror couple who had been tortured into madness by Death Eaters.

The scene of Neville stuffing that candy wrapper into his pocket made Harry's heart ache.

When they were about to leave, a familiar yet strange voice called out to them.

"Hi! Are you here to ask for my autograph too?"

At the end of the corridor, a man in a hospital gown with curly hair but hollow eyes was grinning at them.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

"He... he's still here?" Ron opened his mouth in surprise.

"I can't remember who I am." Lockhart said happily, scribbling on the wall with a peacock quill, "But I must be a celebrity because everyone writes to me. Do you want an autograph? Just one Sickle."

Harry looked at this once arrogant Professor, who was now drooling like a child.

He suddenly remembered that night in the Chamber of Secrets two years ago, when it was Moen who used Lockhart's own wand to erase his memory.

"This is... the price of going against Moen." Harry felt a chill.

"It is indeed a tragedy, isn't it?"

Moen's voice rang out again.

He had appeared in the corridor at some point, standing behind Lockhart, holding a medical record.

"Moen?" Hermione looked at him with some fear, "Are you... here to see him?"

"I am a board member of the hospital." Moen closed the medical record and said indifferently, "Although Professor Lockhart has lost his memory, he is not only not in pain, but actually very happy. I have fully funded his treatment costs."

"You turned him into an idiot, and then you're keeping him?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"This is called 'humanitarian care'." Moen looked at the grinning Lockhart, his eyes cold, "Besides, keeping him as a living specimen is very helpful for my [Memory magic] research."

Harry took a step back.

He felt that Moen was even more terrifying than Voldemort.

Voldemort only killed people; Moen would turn them into specimens.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter."

Moen turned around, ignoring the fool.

"Instead of pitying a liar here, you'd better go look over there. Someone is waiting for you."

Moen pointed to the lounge at the other end of the corridor.

There was a huge floor-to-ceiling window there, and heavy snow was falling outside.

A girl with long, pale blonde hair was standing in front of the window with her back to them, drawing on the fog on the glass.

Luna Lovegood.

She was wearing a dark blue long dress dotted with silver sequins, and on her head was a hat that looked like a living lion's head; it was the one she had worn during the Quidditch match, and although it was inappropriate now, it looked harmonious on her.

"Luna?" Harry paused, "Why is she here?"

"She is waiting for me." Moen said.

Moen walked straight over.

The originally cold lines on his face miraculously softened as he approached the girl.

"Kept you waiting, Luna."

Luna turned around.

Her dazed, silver-grey eyes lit up.

"Hello, Moen." Luna's voice was airy, like a feather landing on snow, "Are you here to see the Wrackspurts living on the ceiling too?"

"I can't see Wrackspurts." Moen walked to her side and naturally helped her adjust the crooked lion-head hat, "I only saw a young lady who lost her way."

"I didn't lose my way." Luna said seriously, "Daddy went to the second floor to interview a Wizard bitten by a Werewolf. He said he wanted to write an article about 'whether Werewolves are contagious to baldness.' I am waiting for you here."

"Waiting for me?"

"Hmm." Luna took out a crumpled little box wrapped in colored paper from her pocket.

"Merry Christmas, Moen."

Moen was stunned for a moment.

He had received countless expensive gifts: swords crafted by Goblins, rare Dragon hide, and even shares in Gringotts.

But the box in front of him, wrapped in waste magazine paper, made his heart, which was wrapped in interests, beat slightly.

He took the box and opened it.

Inside was a... amulet? woven from cork, radish roots, and some unknown hay.

"What is this?" Moen asked, his tone rarely gentle.

"This is..." Luna pointed to the ugly anti-Wrackspurt necklace.

Ron on the side couldn't help but laugh: "That's a pile of trash, right?"

Moen ignored Ron.

He looked at the rough necklace and activated the perception of the [Gate of Truth].

There was no powerful magical fluctuation.

But... between the hay and the cork, a stream of extremely pure, golden spiritual energy was intertwined.

That was a kind of pure, unrequited kindness and blessing unconsciously injected by Luna's [Seer (Gold)] talent.

This was more precious than any amulet against the Dark Arts. Because it existed to "guard the soul."

"Thank you."

Moen solemnly hung the "trash" necklace around his neck, tucked it into his priceless silk shirt, and pressed it against his chest.

"I like it very much."

Luna revealed a brilliant smile.

"By the way, Luna." Moen took a document from Alfred, "This is a gift for Mr. Lovegood. Regarding the exclusive sponsorship contract for the next quarter of The Quibbler."

"And..."

Moen looked at Harry, who was hiding behind:

"...I want to arrange an exclusive interview for The Quibbler. The interviewee is this savior, Harry Potter."

Harry was stunned: "Interview me?"

"That's right."

Moen turned around, looking at Harry, the tenderness in his eyes instantly switching to a businessman's shrewdness:

"Since The Daily Prophet is unwilling to report the truth, why don't you change to another platform to speak out?"

"Tell the details of Voldemort's resurrection in The Quibbler. Tell those names. Tell everything that happened in that graveyard."

"But..." Hermione frowned, "No one believes The Quibbler; it's for lunatics."

"In this crazy era, only lunatics dare to tell the truth."

Moen walked to Luna's side and held her hand.

"Besides, this will make Fudge even more furious. When he discovers that the sales of even this 'trash magazine' exceed The Daily Prophet..."

A trace of playfulness flashed in Moen's eyes:

"...He will understand that some voices cannot be blocked."

Harry looked at Moen, then at the innocent-looking Lunabeside him.

He suddenly felt it was very ironic.

Moen was attacking him in the mainstream media while providing him with a microphone in the alternative media.

How much further did this Slytherin intend to muddy the waters?

"I accept." Harry gritted his teeth and said, "As long as people can know the truth."

"Very good."

Moen snapped his fingers.

"Then, this is a perfect Christmas gift."

At this moment, under the mistletoe above the corridor, Luna suddenly looked up.

"Look, Moen." Luna pointed to the mistletoe, "There is a Wrackspurt there. It wants to steal your thoughts."

Moen looked up at the plant that symbolized "kissing" in the Wizarding world.

He lowered his head and looked into Luna's clear eyes.

Without hesitation, and without regarding the gazes of Harry and the others.

Moen leaned down and gently planted a kiss above those silver-grey eyes, on Luna's smooth forehead.

It was not a kiss full of desire.

It was a solemn touch, like a seal.

"Now it can't steal them."

Moen straightened up and helped Luna adjust her lion-head hat.

"Let's go, I'll take you to eat pudding. The food at St Mungo's isn't very good."

The two left side by side, their silhouettes stretched long under the corridor lights.

Harry stood where he was, touching the scar on his forehead.

Watching Moen and Luna, he suddenly felt that compared to himself, the so-called savior, that Slytherin who walked between black and white with a mad girl by his side seemed more like a living person.

"Let's go too." Hermione said softly, "It's... too cold here."

Chapter 105: The Quibbler's Counterattack, the Truth Behind the Silence, and the Mouthpiece of Capital

February 14th, Valentine's Day.

Although Hogsmeade was covered in snow, it didn't dampen the enthusiasm of the Hogwarts students for their dates.

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was packed with affectionate couples, the air thick with sweet, cloying steam.

But in a dark corner of the Three Broomsticks, the atmosphere was entirely different.

A secret meeting was taking place here that would determine the direction of public opinion regarding the Ministry of Magic.

Harry Potter sat at the table, looking nervous.

Hermione Granger sat opposite him, clutching her handbag tightly.

Luna Lovegood was fiddling with a Butterbeer cork, her gaze drifting aimlessly.

And at the other end of the table sat the once-arrogant, now-dejected star reporter, Rita Skeeter.

"I don't want to write this," Rita said, looking at Harry with a face full of disdain. "No one wants to read such a tragic, preachy story. Readers want scandals, romance! Like 'The Secret Date of Potter and Miss Granger'?"

"If you dare write a single word out of line, Rita..."

A cold voice came from behind Rita.

Moen White walked over.

He wore a deep black trench coat, and his leather-gloved fingers lightly tapped the back of Rita's chair.

"...I'll turn you back into a beetle and pluck off those antennae you're so proud of."

Rita shuddered and immediately sat up straight, her face breaking into a smile that looked more painful than crying. "Boss! What are you doing here? I was just... lightening the mood."

Harry and Hermione watched this scene in shock.

The threat Hermione had prepared—revealing that Ritawas an Animagus—hadn't been needed at all.

In front of Moen, Rita was as submissive as a venomous snake with its fangs pulled.

"Begin."

Moen pulled out a chair and sat next to Luna, reaching out to brush a strand of hair that had fallen into her cup back behind her ear.

"Harry, tell us everything."

Moen looked at Harry, his gaze sharp.

"Every detail of Voldemort's resurrection. The names of the Death Eaters. How Cedric died. Even how scared and helpless you felt at the time."

"But..." Harry hesitated. "That will make me look very weak."

"The truth is often weak, but it is also the most powerful thing," Moen said calmly. "We aren't selling a 'hero story'; we're selling the 'brutal truth'."

"As long as this brutality can sting the readers' nerves, Fudge's whitewashed lies will crumble on their own."

The interview began.

Under Moen's supervision, Rita didn't dare use her Quick-Quotes Quill to fabricate nonsense; she could only honestly record Harry's every word.

When Harry spoke of Voldemort's resurrection and the Death Eaters kissing his robes, Rita's hands trembled slightly.

This was indeed a massive scoop.

"Very good."

After the interview ended, Moen picked up the roll of parchment and checked it over.

"Luna, this is for you."

"Okay, Moen," Luna said, taking the manuscript. "Daddy will be very happy."

"As for the payment..."

Moen pulled a Gringotts check from his breast pocket and placed it on the table.

"This is the 'exclusive licensing fee' for The Quibbler. It's enough for your father to upgrade the printing press so he never has to use that fading ink again."

...One week later.

The new issue of The Quibbler was released.

It wasn't just a few 'lunatics' reading it as usual.

Because owls had delivered a copy to every single student at Hogwarts, sponsored by Moen's own pocket.

During breakfast, the Great Hall was in an uproar.

Everyone was buried in the article titled 'Harry PotterFinally Speaks: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Has Returned'.

The article detailed the list of Death Eaters in the graveyard that night: Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle... the students corresponding to those names were sitting at the Slytherin table, faces pale, looking as if they were sitting on needles.

"This is slander!" Malfoy jumped up, wanting to tear the newspaper, but Moen's hand pinned his down.

"Sit down, Draco."

Moen sipped his coffee while reading the words in the paper.

"But my father's name is in there!"

"So what?" Moen said coldly. "As long as Fudge doesn't admit it, this is just the babbling of a 'lunatic magazine'. And besides..."

Moen looked toward the High Table.

Umbridge was shaking with rage, her pink face turning a deep purple.

"...it seems our High Inquisitor is going to help us with 'promotion'."

Sure enough.

By lunchtime, a massive notice was posted on every wall of the school:

[Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six]

[Any student found in possession of, reading, or distributing the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.]

"She banned it!" Hermione said in horror at the Gryffindortable. "Now no one will dare to read it!"

"No, Hermione."

Harry looked around.

The students who had been skeptical of the report were now, as if driven mad, secretly passing the magazine around under tables, in bags, and even in the toilets.

"A ban is the best advertisement."

Ron said excitedly, "Fred and George both say that if something is banned by Umbridge, it must be true!"

...The Slytherin Dungeons.

"Sales have decupled."

Alfred reported to Moen. "Mr. Lovegood's printing press is practically smoking. Moreover, it's not just the school; the entire wizarding world is scrambling for this magazine."

"Very good."

Moen stood before the large Slytherin tapestry, fiddling with the Ravenclaw's Diadem—the purified version—he had brought back from the Room of Requirement.

"The tide of public opinion has turned."

"Now, everyone is starting to doubt Fudge and the Ministry. That 'false peace' has been torn open."

Moen placed the diadem back into the safe.

"This is only the first step."

Moen's gaze turned to the calendar on the wall.

March 1996.

Only a few months left until the O.W.L.s.

And the battle at the Department of Mysteries... was drawing closer as well.

"Harry's nightmares have been getting more frequent lately, haven't they?" Moen asked.

"Yes, Young Master," Alfred replied. "According to the informants we've bought in Gryffindor, Mr. Potter often wakes up in the middle of the night screaming about a 'door' and a 'corridor'."

"Voldemort is getting anxious."

Moen let out a cold laugh.

"He wants that Prophecy Orb. He thinks that if he gets the prophecy, he'll find a way to kill Harry."

"But he doesn't know..."

Moen's fingers grasped at the air, as if clutching the throat of fate.

"...that Prophecy Orb is also something I want."

"Prepare everything, Alfred."

Moen turned, his eyes flashing with the light of a hunter.

"Contact our 'inside man' among the Unspeakables at the Ministry."

"I want a layout of the Department of Mysteries. Especially... the detailed security rotation schedule for the Time Room and the Death Chamber."

"Since we're going there to'stock up', we should pick a good time when no one will disturb us."

Moen glanced out the window.

Spring had arrived, but the true harsh winter was only just beginning.

[Current Gacha Count: 35]

"Harry, keep dreaming," Moen whispered in his heart. "Only you can keep everyone from noticing me."

Chapter 106: The Informant's Pustules, the Headmaster's Phoenix, and the castle Without Shackles

On the eve of the Easter holidays.

The breath of spring had just attempted to scale the walls of Hogwarts before being frozen to death outside by Umbridge's high-pressure policies. The atmosphere inside the castle was even more desolate than in winter.

Slytherin dungeons, Moen's private office.

Moen White was currently fine-tuning a complex alchemical instrument. It was a golden circlet, inlaid with something from Ravenc—

"[Wisdom Amplifier - Mass Production Type] test report."

While recording data, Moen said to several senior Slytherinstudents in front of him, whose eyes were somewhat dull.

"How do you feel?"

They were volunteers testing the drug in order to pass their O.W.L.s exams.

"My mind... is very clear," one student murmured to himself. "I feel like I could memorize the entire History of Magic, but I'm a bit... dizzy."

"The side effect is magical exhaustion," Moen wrote down the conclusion on the parchment. "It can only be used as a prohibited drug for pre-exam cramming and cannot be used long-term. Price is 50 Galleons per dose."

Just then, there was a knock on the office door.

Malfoy rushed in, his face wearing a mix of twisted excitement and tension.

"Moen! We caught them! We found a lead!"

"Speak slowly," Moen put down his quill.

"That D.A. Army! Umbridge found an informant!" Malfoypanted. "It's a Ravenclaw girl! She's in the Headmaster's office right now! Umbridge sent me to get you, saying that as a representative of the Board of Governors, you should witness Dumbledore's downfall!"

"A Ravenclaw girl?"

Moen narrowed his eyes.

Marietta Edgecombe.

That poor soul who was forced to betray her friends because her mother worked at the Ministry of Magic.

"Very interesting."

Moen stood up, took off his white lab coat, and put on his black formal trench coat.

"Let's go, Draco. Let's see how that usually smiling old Headmaster handles this 'palace coup'."

...Eighth floor, Headmaster's office.

It was crowded with people.

Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt disguised as the Minister's bodyguard, Auror Dawlish, Umbridge, as well as Harry Potter, who had been caught red-handed, and that Marietta girl who was covering her face and weeping.

When Moen pushed the door open and entered, Fudgelooked as if he had seen a savior.

"Ah! Mr. White! You've come at just the right time!" Fudgerubbed his hands excitedly. "We've finally caught the evidence! Dumbledore is organizing a secret army in the school! Intending to subvert the Ministry of Magic!"

Moen ignored Fudge's fanaticism.

He walked up to Marietta.

The girl was tightly covering her face, and a few purple pustules were visible between her fingers.

Moen lightly waved his wand, and an invisible force forcibly moved Marietta's hands away.

On that otherwise fairly pretty face, a row of horrific large letters formed by pustules was sprawled across:

SNEAK, Informant.

"Tsk tsk."

Moen let out an ambiguous sigh, his gaze sweeping over the pale-faced Harry in the corner.

"Miss Granger's level of Dark Arts is improving. This kind of curse... is very difficult to remove. It seems this young lady will have to live with this word for the rest of her life."

Marietta let out a desperate sob.

"Enough! That's not important!" Umbridge shrieked, pointing at Dumbledore. "The important thing is the list! We found the list in the Room of Requirement! The header says 'Dumbledore's Army'!"

Fudge held the parchment, looking triumphantly at Dumbledore:

"I suppose you have nothing to say, Dumbledore? 'Dumbledore's Army'—did you recruit them yourself?"

Dumbledore sat in the high-backed chair, his fingertips pressed together, his expression as calm as if they were discussing what to have for dinner.

His bright blue eyes looked at Harry through his half-moon spectacles—that was to protect Harry—and then he looked at Moen.

Moen stood to the side, leaning on his wand, with that habitual cold smile on his face.

The two exchanged a look.

"Are you leaving, Professor?" Moen's eyes seemed to be—

"I'll leave this place to you, Mr. White," Dumbledore's gaze remained gentle.

"Very well, Cornelius."

Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice steady:

"Since the evidence is conclusive, I admit it. This is the army I intended to build. Harry Potter was only acting on my instructions."

He still chose to take the blame for Harry.

"Ha!" Fudge shouted. "I knew it! Arrest him! Dawlish! Kingsley! Grab him!"

The two Aurors stepped forward.

"Even for you, Professor Dumbledore," Umbridge revealed a sinister smile, "it's impossible to take on the entire Ministry of Magic alone—"

"I think you've misunderstood, Dolores."

Dumbledore stood up.

In that instant, the air in the office seemed to freeze.

A magic power so massive it was suffocating erupted from that seemingly aged body.

Moen opened the Gate of Truth.

In his vision, Dumbledore was no longer an old man, but a dazzling, white radiance as hot as the sun.

"I have no intention of being sent to Azkaban."

Dumbledore said softly.

Fudge hadn't reacted yet: "What?"

"I said—I intend to make a run for it."

Before the words had even faded.

Fawkes, behind Dumbledore, suddenly let out a loud cry and swooped down.

Dumbledore raised his hand and grabbed the Phoenix's tail feathers.

Boom!

A flash of silver light.

The four Aurors who tried to rush forward, along with Fudge and Umbridge, were instantly sent flying as if hit by a heavy hammer, crashing into the walls and losing consciousness.

Only Moen remained.

Just a moment before the light erupted, the Black Ironwood Cane in his hand slammed into the floor.

[Alchemy Shield: Omni-directional Deployment].

The golden light shield blocked the shockwave.

He still stood steadily in place, not a single hair out of order.

The light dissipated.

Dumbledore and the Phoenix had disappeared.

The office was in shambles.

Fudge was groaning on the floor, and Umbridge was buried under a pile of books.

Harry watched all this, dumbfounded.

"Quite the style."

Moen retracted the shield, looked at the empty Headmaster's seat, and lightly clapped his hands.

"As expected of the greatest white Wizard of the century. Even his escape is so... magnificent."

Fudge scrambled up and roared in a fit of rage: "Where did he go?! Pursue him! Issue a warrant!"

"Save your breath, Minister."

Moen walked over to Fudge and helped him brush the dust off his clothes.

"You won't catch him. Besides, you have more important things to do now."

"What?"

"You've won." Moen pointed at the empty seat. "Dumbledore is gone. Hogwarts is now leaderless."

The corners of Moen's mouth curled into a dangerous arc:

"Don't you intend to... let your capable assistant, Madam Umbridge, take over this castle?"

Umbridge crawled out from the pile of books. Hearing this, her eyes instantly lit up.

"Headmaster? Me?"

"Yes." Moen looked at her, his eyes flashing with a cold light known as 'killing with praise', "The new Headmasterof Hogwarts. Isn't this what you've dreamed of?"

...That night, the notice board.

[Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight]

[Dolores Umbridge takes over as HogwartsHeadmaster.]

This news was like a heavy bomb, shattering the students' last hopes.

Dumbledore was gone.

Now, the castle had completely fallen into the hands of that pink devil.

But for Moen White, this was the beginning of the revelry.

Slytherin dungeons.

"Young master, Dumbledore is gone. Does that mean we have no more constraints?" Alfred asked.

"No."

Moen stood by the window, looking at the pitch-black night outside.

"The disappearance of constraints means that chaos has begun."

"Umbridge can't suppress this school at all. Fred and George will turn the school upside down, Peeves will go crazy, and the teachers will be passive and slack off."

"And in this unprecedented chaos..."

Moen took out the box containing the [Invisibility Cloak Analysis Diagrams] and the [marauders map replica].

"...I can finally, without any qualms, take those things I have coveted for so long."

[Current Draw Count: 40]

"Harry's nightmare is about to reach its climax."

Moen glanced at the alchemical compass, the needle of which was pointing towards distant London.

"Voldemort has already implanted the illusion of 'Siriusbeing tortured' into Harry. Savior will soon break down."

"Get ready, Alfred."

Moen gripped his wand tightly:

"The moment Harry rushes out of the school... will be the time we march into the Ministry of Magic."

Chapter 107: The Twins' Curtain Call and the Scream in the O.W.L.s Exam Hall

May, O.W.L.s exam week.

With Dumbledore's departure, Dolores Umbridge finally got her wish and took the position of Headmistress.

Although she couldn't enter the Headmaster's office—the Gargoyle refused to open the door for her—it didn't stop her from turning Hogwarts into a high-pressure prison.

But this was only on the surface.

Just as Moen White had predicted, beneath the high pressure was a volcano about to erupt.

The fifth-floor corridor.

It had turned into a massive, foul-smelling, bubbling Magical Swamp.

This was the the Weasley twins' public declaration of war against Umbridge's new regime.

Filch was struggling to clean the swamp with a mop, but with every stroke, the swamp expanded a bit more.

Umbridge stood to the side, screaming in exasperation and waving her wand in an attempt to cast the Vanishing Spell.

"Evanesco!"

Splat.

Not only did the swamp not disappear, but it also spewed a jet of mud, coating Umbridge's face.

"It seems the Ministry's cleaning spells aren't very effective."

Moen White passed by with his "Disciplinary Committee."

He wore a crisp school uniform and held an evaluation report on "Swamp Ecological Development," completely ignoring Umbridge's pathetic state.

"White!" Umbridge screamed, wiping the mud off her face. "Have your Inquisitorial Squad clean this up! And go arrest those two Weasley bastards!"

"My apologies, Headmistress."

Moen stopped and gave an elegant shrug.

"My 'Inquisitorial Squad' is only responsible for maintaining order among students, not for handling... alchemical accidents."

Moen pointed at the swamp.

"This contains a high concentration of 'Self-replicating Alchemical Medium.' If you try to force a cleanup, it might submerge the entire castle. My suggestion is to cordon it off and use it as a new practical terrain for 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.' It fits your teaching philosophy perfectly, doesn't it?"

The surrounding students burst into laughter.

Umbridge trembled with rage but could do nothing to Moen.

Just then, a loud explosion echoed from the end of the corridor.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Fred and George sped through the corridor on their broomsticks.

They trailed long plumes of colored smoke behind them, as countless fireworks made of Dragon Fire (sponsored by Moen) darted around the castle, exploding into fire Dragons, wheels of fire, and screaming pig heads.

"Goodbye, Hogwarts!" Fred shouted. "We've had enough!"

"If you want to buy a Portable Swamp, go to Number 93, Diagon Alley!" George added. "Mention Harry Potter's name for a twenty percent discount!"

The two burst through the front doors and flew into the sky of freedom.

Moen stood by the window, watching the twins' departing figures with a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"That's some good advertising," Moen commented softly. "It looks like the grand opening of 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' will be very lively. My Angel Investment will be paying off soon."

The chaos continued.

But for the fifth-year students, the true hell was the O.W.L.s... A few days later, the History of Magic exam hall.

The Great Hall was as hot as a steamer.

All the fifth-years were scribbling furiously, answering questions about 'Uric the Oddball.'

Moen White sat in the back row.

He had finished long ago.

With his Photographic memory and Mind Palace, this kind of rote-memorization exam was effortless for him.

He was now drawing a map of the Department of Mysteries on the back of his parchment, calculating the optimal intrusion route.

[Current Draw Count: 42]

The chaos during this period had earned him quite a few rewards from sign-ins.

Suddenly.

A dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor came from ahead.

Harry Potter had fallen off his chair and collapsed heavily onto the floor.

He clutched his face with both hands, rolling in pain on the ground and letting out suppressed screams.

"Potter!" Professor Tofty cried out in alarm, running over.

Moen stopped writing.

He activated True Sight.

He saw the black mist belonging to Voldemort churning violently around Harry's brain, constructing an incredibly realistic illusion:

The dark Department of Mysteries, shelves full of crystal balls, and... Sirius Black being tortured by Cruciatus Curse.

"Finally connected."

Moen watched the agonizing Harry with cold eyes.

"This is the script Voldemort prepared for you, Harry. A trap that doesn't exist, yet is enough to drive you mad."

Harry was sent to the Hospital Wing.

Moen handed in his paper and didn't follow.

He knew what Harry would do next; he would find a way to confirm if Sirius was at home... Umbridge's office.

Harry and Hermione were trying to use the Floo powder in Umbridge's fireplace to contact Grimmauld Place.

However, they were caught.

This time, they were truly caught. Umbridge burst in, bringing Goyle and Crabbe with her.

"I wanted to contact Dumbledore!" Harry was pinned to a chair, still lying.

"Liar!" Umbridge slapped Harry hard across the face. "Who were you trying to contact? Sirius Black?"

Harry was shocked. How did she know?

"Cruciatus Curse..." Umbridge raised her wand, actually intending to use an Unforgivable Curses on a student.

"Ahem."

The office door was pushed open again.

Moen White walked in. He didn't even knock.

"White!" Umbridge's hand jerked in fright, nearly dropping her wand. "You... how did you get in?"

"The door was unlocked."

Moen walked into the room, glanced at Harry tied to the chair, and then at Umbridge holding her wand.

"Madam Headmistress, using an Unforgivable Curses in school... that's a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Are you sure you want to ruin your future for the sake of a few children?"

"They're plotting a rebellion! They're contacting Dumbledore!" Umbridge shrieked.

"No."

Hermione suddenly spoke up, a flash of desperate wisdom in her eyes as she looked at Moen:

"We weren't contacting Dumbledore. We wanted to... to go see that Secret Weapon."

"Secret Weapon?" Umbridge froze.

"Yes," Hermione began to weave the lie. "The weapon Dumbledore left behind. It's in the Forbidden Forest."

Umbridge's greedy eyes lit up. If she could get that weapon... "Take me there," Umbridge ordered. "Potter, Granger, lead the way! White, you too..."

"I'll pass."

Moen interrupted her, sitting down on the sofa with a relaxed posture.

"I'm not interested in this 'wilderness survival.' Besides, I should stay here and watch over this office for you. After all..."

Moen pointed to the fireplace.

"...what if one of Dumbledore's people really does pop out?"

Umbridge hesitated for a moment, but her greed for the weapon overcame her suspicion.

"Fine! You stay here! The rest of you, follow me!"

Umbridge marched Harry and Hermione into the Forbidden Forest.

She didn't know that Hagrid's Giant brother, Grawp, and a herd of angry Centaurs were waiting for her there.

Moen was left alone in the office.

He stood up and walked to the fireplace.

He didn't use Floo powder.

He took out the Alchemy Compass that had been vibrating.

"Sirius is at Grimmauld Place, perfectly safe."

Moen looked at the display on the compass, then out the window toward the Forbidden Forest.

"But Harry doesn't know that. He's convinced Sirius is being tortured at the Ministry."

"Once he gets rid of Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest, he'll take the elites of the D.A. and fly straight to Londonon Thestrals."

Moen straightened his trench coat and pulled a black mask from his pocket.

It wasn't a Death Eater's mask.

It was a half-face mask inscribed with Golden Alchemical Runes.

"It's time for me to head out too."

Moen's figure twisted and vanished into thin air.

"Voldemort, Dumbledore, and... those ancient laws."

"Tonight, we're going to redistribute ownership of this world."

Chapter 108: The Masked Director and Lucius's "Liquidated Damages"

Late at night.

The London night sky was clear and cold.

Six figures riding Thestrals streaked across the sky above the Thames, landing beside a deserted visitor entrance telephone booth.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

This fledgling D.A. squad, fueled by sheer courage, rushed into the black door that represented the highest secrets of the wizarding world.

"This way!" Harry led the way with practiced ease, guided by the connection from his dreams through the empty hall and into the golden lift, straight down to the ninth basement level.

Department of Mysteries.

This black door had appeared in his dreams countless times.

When they pushed open the door, passed through the circular hall full of spinning rooms, and traversed the creepy Brain Room, they finally reached their destination.

The Hall of Prophecy.

It was a room as grand as a cathedral, yet eerie and ice-cold.

Thousands of dust-covered glass spheres sat on shelves that stretched beyond sight, with faint candlelight reflecting off the glass in a ghostly blue glow.

"Row 97..." Harry counted the numbers on the shelves, his heart thumping like a drum, "Over there."

They found it.

However, Sirius was not there.

The floor was empty—no blood, no torture devices, only a thick layer of dust.

"Harry..." Hermione's voice trembled slightly, "This isn't right. No one is here."

"But I saw it!" Harry looked around anxiously, "He was being tortured right here! Voldemort is torturing him!"

"Harry!" Ron suddenly pointed to a small glass sphere on the shelf, "This one... has your name on it."

Harry leaned in to look. The yellowed label read:

To: The Dark Lord and Harry Potter. S.P.T. Written by: Sybill Trelawney.

Harry reached out and, as if possessed, gripped the glass sphere.

The moment he took it down.

"Well done, Potter."

A drawling voice, filled with malice and triumph, came from the shadows behind them.

"Now, turn around. Give it to me."

Twelve dark figures emerged from behind the surrounding shelves.

They wore masks with only their eyes exposed, wands pointed at the six surrounded students.

The leader removed his mask.

Lucius Malfoy.

A victor's smile hung on that pale, pointed face.

And beside him was a witch with disheveled hair and a crazed look in her eyes: Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Give it to me, Potter," Lucius said, reaching out his hand, "if you don't want your friends to die here."

"Where is Sirius?" Harry gripped the prophecy sphere tightly.

"That traitor?" Bellatrix let out a shrill, hysterical laugh. "He's at home sleeping! It seems our savior is not only a baby but a dreaming fool! The Dark Lord merely implanted a few images in your mind, and you came running like a good little boy!"

Harry felt the blood in his veins freeze.

Moen was right.

It was a trap. Like a fool, he had led his friends straight into a trap.

"Stop wasting time, Lucius!" Bellatrix raised her wand. "Avada—"

"Wait!" Lucius stopped her. "We need that sphere! That's what the Dark Lord wants!"

Just as the two sides were at a standoff and Harry was preparing to shout the signal to smash the shelves.

Tap, tap, tap.

The crisp, rhythmic sound of a cane tapping against the floor rang out abruptly in the deathly silent hall.

The sound wasn't loud, but it felt as if it were tapping directly on everyone's hearts.

All the Death Eaters turned their heads in shock and suspicion.

At the end of row 96, a tall, slender figure stepped out from the dark shadows.

He wore a pitch-black, slim-fit trench coat with silver patterns and black leather gloves.

On his face was a golden alchemical mask that only covered the upper half, revealing a cold jawline and that signature, unsettling smile.

"The way these prophecy spheres are displayed is truly unscientific."

The masked Moen lightly tapped a nearby shelf of glass spheres with his cane, creating a tinkling sound.

"If one is accidentally knocked over, these tens of thousands of spheres will all shatter like dominoes. As a taxpayer, I am concerned about the Ministry of Magic's warehouse management."

"Who are you?!" Bellatrix shrieked. "Kill that meddling brat!"

Two Death Eaters immediately turned, firing two streaks of green light toward Moen.

"Reflect."

Moen didn't even draw his wand. He simply raised his cane casually and drew a circle in the air.

A golden mirror-like shield appeared out of thin air.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The two Killing Curses were precisely deflected, shooting toward the ceiling and shattering a chandelier.

"That voice..."

Lucius Malfoy stared intently at the masked man.

That build, that cane, and that aura of a 'creditor' that made his very soul tremble.

"Whi... White?" Lucius stammered.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy."

Moen did not remove his mask, but his voice was full of mockery:

"What a coincidence. Are you here for the night shift as a security guard too? However, I recall that according to our 'Commercial VAM Agreement,' if the Malfoy familybecomes involved in 'terrorist activities' leading to asset depreciation, you are to pay triple the liquidated damages."

Moen approached step by step. The pressure from the mixture of [Dragon's Awe] and [Half-Giant Bloodline] forced the surrounding Death Eaters to retreat involuntarily.

"Triple liquidated damages, Lucius."

Moen stopped five meters away from the Death Eaters, gesturing to the surroundings with his cane:

"If you don't want to go bankrupt tomorrow morning, you'd better tell your friends to... put their wands down."

The room fell into an uproar.

Harry and the members of the D.A. were stunned.

At this life-and-death moment, Moen was actually discussing liquidated damages with Death Eaters?

"You again, you little half-breed!" Although Bellatrix had just been released from prison, she had heard of Moen's exploits. She was a lunatic; she didn't care about money.

"Who do you think you are? Do you want to die too?" Bellatrix waved her wand frantically, "Crucio!"

This time, Moen didn't block.

— [Time 0.5 Seconds] activated.

His figure flickered slightly, and the red curse passed through his afterimage.

In the next second, he had already appeared in front of Bellatrix, less than half a meter away.

Slap!

Moen's dragon-hide gloved left hand struck Bellatrix's face hard.

This slap utilized [Half-Giant Strength].

Bellatrix was sent flying, crashing into a shelf as hundreds of glass spheres shattered over her.

"This is the so-called pure-blood elite?"

Moen shook his hand, looking at his glove with disgust.

"Can't even manage proper magic control, only capable of barking like a mad dog."

Moen turned around, his back to the terrified Death Eaters, and looked at the dumbstruck Harry.

"Harry."

Moen's voice sounded slightly distorted through the mask:

"Did you get what you wanted?"

Harry held up the prophecy sphere in his hand and nodded.

"Good."

Moen pointed toward the exit behind him:

"Take your people and get out. Don't get in the way here."

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I have my own business to discuss."

Moen tilted his head, glancing at the Death Eaters who were closing in again and at Lucius's venomous gaze.

"Besides, I need to go to the room next door to... pick up some stock."

Next door were the Death Chamber and the Time Room.

"Get the boy! Don't let him escape!" Lucius roared. He didn't dare touch Moen, but he had to get the prophecy sphere.

"Confringo!" Harry shouted.

The D.A. began to fight back. Shelves collapsed, glass spheres shattered, and the white mist of prophecies filled the air.

Chaos erupted.

Amidst the chaos, Moen did not join the battle.

Like a ghost, he moved through the battlefield toward the black archway leading to the Death Chamber.

There was a veil there.

The boundary between life and death.

And his true objective for tonight.

"Lucius."

Before stepping through the archway, Moen took one last look back at Malfoy, who was directing the battle.

"Remember to protect your face. Tomorrow's headline in The Daily Prophet will need a clear photograph."

With that, Moen vanished into the darkness.

Leaving behind a group of Wizards in a chaotic brawl and a Ministry of Magic on the brink of complete collapse.

Chapter 109: The Whispers Behind the Veil, The Creditor Who Refuses Default

Death Chamber.

This was a vast, circular room resembling an ancient Roman coliseum.

In the center of the room was a huge stone pit, and at the bottom of the pit stood an ancient stone archway.

A tattered Black veil hung from the archway, and although there was no wind, the veil swayed gently.

Faint, indistinct whispers emanated from behind the veil.

They were the voices of the dead.

Moen White stood alone at the edge of the stone pit, ignoring the roar of battle coming from the distance behind him. He removed one corner of his alchemical mask, revealing his lips, and exhaled a breath of stale air.

"Is this the end?"

He stared at the veil.

The [Gate of Truth (Gold)] spun wildly in his pupils, attempting to parse the structure of this gateway, but all that fed back was a garble of data representing "nothingness."

This thing did not belong to magic; it belonged to the laws of the universe.

[System Prompt]

[Detected underlying logic node of the world: Gate of Death]

[Danger Level]: Immeasurable (Instant Death Determination)

[Extract?]

"All inventory," Moen commanded in his mind, "plus the rewards I just got from beating up Bellatrix. Invest it all."

[Consuming extraction attempts x 45]

[Probability stacking... Breaking the limit!]

[Extracting safety fragments from the concept of 'Death'...]

Hum—

A chill that made Moen's soul tremble drilled into his brain along his line of sight.

He felt as if he were walking on the edge of a cliff, with one foot already stepping into the void.

Countless faces of the dead flashed before his eyes, trying to pull him in.

"Get back."

The [Pure Blood (Curse)] and [Magic Power Furnace] within Moen erupted simultaneously, forcibly stabilizing his soul anchor.

[Extraction successful!]

[Congratulations, you have obtained the trait]: Netherwalker (Gold · Law Class)

[Effect 1 - Spirit Touch]: You can touch souls, ghosts, and Dementors as if they were physical entities.

[Effect 2 - Death Immunity (One-time / Extremely long cooldown)]: When you suffer an instant-death law attack (such as the Killing Curse or being sucked into the veil), you can force an immunity once and enter an "ethereal" state.

[Side Effect]: Your body temperature will be permanently lower than normal, and you will easily attract the undead.

Moen took a deep breath, feeling a heavy coldness added to his body.

But he had no time to ponder it carefully.

Boom!

The doors of the Death Chamber were burst open.

Harry and Neville, carrying an injured Hermione, stumbled in.

Following closely behind were Lucius and Bellatrix.

"Run, Potter! You have nowhere left to run!" Lucius roared in frustration, his handsome face scorched Black by something.

Harry was forced to the edge of the stone pit.

"Give me the prophecy orb!" Lucius extended his hand.

Just then, a door on the ceiling opened.

Five figures descended from the sky.

"Get away from my godson!"

Sirius Black roared as he landed, a red beam of light knocking Lucius back.

Immediately following, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsleyjoined the battle.

The Order of the Phoenix had arrived.

The Death Chamber instantly turned into a battlefield.

The light of spells flew wildly across the stone steps, and the sound of explosions was deafening.

Moen did not reveal himself.

He put his mask back on and retreated into the shadows behind the archway, like a patient Grim Reaper, waiting for that crucial moment.

The battle intensified.

Sirius was dueling his cousin, Bellatrix.

The two leaped and dodged on the stone steps, beams of light intersecting.

"Come on! Is that all you can do?" Sirius laughed mockingly, with his usual arrogance, "You couldn't even beat that kid named White!"

These words stung Bellatrix.

The slap she had received from the masked mysterious person just moments ago made her feel deeply humiliated.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Bellatrix shrieked, not using Stupefy, but going straight for the Killing Curse.

Sirius dodged to the side.

But he made a mistake—he was too careless.

Bellatrix's second spell followed close behind, a powerful red stunning spell.

Bang!

It hit him square in the chest.

The smile on Sirius's face froze. He lost his balance and fell backward.

And behind him was the archway hung with the Black veil.

"No—!!!" Harry let out a heart-wrenching scream, wanting to rush over.

But it was too late.

Sirius's body traced an arc in the air, slowly and irreversibly falling toward that curtain of death.

Once passed through, it was eternal death.

Lupin closed his eyes in despair. Bellatrix wore a look of ecstatic joy.

However.

Just at the moment Sirius's back was about to touch the veil.

A foot in a Black leather shoe suddenly extended from the shadows behind the veil.

Bang!

That foot kicked Sirius's butt fiercely and mercilessly.

This kick was extremely forceful, carrying the [Half-Giant Strength].

Sirius, who had been falling backward into the world of death, was forcibly kicked back!

He flew over the archway like a sandbag, landed heavily on the stone steps, rolled several times, and finally collapsed at Harry's feet, coughing up blood.

"Who?!"

Bellatrix's smile froze on her face.

Everyone in the room was stunned.

The figure wearing half a golden mask and a Black trench coat walked slowly out from the shadows behind the archway.

He leaned on a cane, standing on the edge of life and death, radiating an aura even colder than a Dementor.

"Mr. Black."

From beneath the mask came Moen White's cold, slightly displeased voice:

"I checked the ledgers. You still have three outstanding loans for the renovation of Grimmauld Place, as well as fifty years of asset management fees that haven't been paid."

Moen pointed his cane at Sirius, who was lying on the ground looking bewildered:

"You want to die just like that?"

"White Investment Company does not accept—bad debts."

"Mo... Moen?" Harry looked at the figure, tears still hanging on his face, completely dumbfounded.

Sirius scrambled up, clutching his aching butt, feeling as though his bones were cracked. He looked at the teenager who had saved his life but also kicked him half to death, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.

"You damn... capitalist." Sirius cursed, but his tone was full of the relief of having survived a disaster.

"Enough nonsense."

Moen looked up at Bellatrix, who was standing opposite.

"Since you don't want to die, then get to work."

Moen raised his cane, and the tip of the cane lit up with a dazzling golden light.

"That crazy woman, and Lucius..."

"...Take them all down. As debt repayment."

Bellatrix looked at Moen, the madness in her eyes turning into a deep wariness. She recognized that figure, the person who had knocked her flying in the Department of Mysteries.

"Retreat!" Bellatrix shrieked, "The Master is coming! He is coming!"

Yes.

The temperature in the air plummeted.

Harry's scar began to ache violently.

A tall, thin figure materialized at the top of the stone steps.

Voldemort had arrived.

But this time, no one died. Sirius was still alive, and the D.A. army, though injured, were all safe.

Moen stood before the archway, looking at Voldemort high above.

The [Netherwalker] trait made him seem even more like a master of death than Voldemort at this moment.

"It seems I have to fight that battle I didn't want to fight."

Moen sighed, took out the Black Ironwood Wand from his pocket, and combined it with his cane, turning it into a long-handled warhammer-like weapon.

"Hasn't Dumbledore arrived yet? This old man always likes to make a grand finale."

Moen shouted to Sirius and Lupin:

"Take the children and get out! This is no place for you!"

"What about you?" Harry shouted.

"I'm waiting for my 'opponent'."

Moen looked at Voldemort, golden vertical pupils flashing behind his mask.

"Since he wants a show, I'll give him a Ragnarok."

Chapter 110: The Golden Ratio of Death

Department of Mysteries, Death Chamber.

The air was torn apart.

Voldemort stood at the top of the stone steps, his black robes swirling like smoke. He was in no hurry to make a move, his red snake-like eyes fixed intently on the man wearing half a golden mask below.

Behind him, Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters were trembling as they retreated; they knew that the battle to come was not one they could interfere in.

"You are interesting."

Voldemort's voice was soft, as if caressing a poisonous snake, echoing through the empty Death Chamber.

"You smell of my Horcrux... you smell of the blood of ancient creatures... you even smell of death itself. What are you?"

"I am your creditor, Tom."

Moen stood at the bottom of the stone pit, right next to the veil of the Death Chamber. He held his Black Ironwood Cane horizontally in front of him with one hand. The mechanical parts of the wand body sprang open, revealing the dark red Alchemy core inside, looking like a spear poised for action.

"And, my interest rate is very high."

"Insolent!"

Voldemort swung his yew wand violently.

There was no incantation warm-up.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A thick, destructive green light erupted instantly, moving more than twice as fast as it had against Harry just moments ago.

Harry screamed in the distance: "Dodge!"

Moen did not dodge.

In his pupils, a golden Alchemy array spun crazily.

[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Material Reconstruction · Absolute Defense.

"Rise!"

Moen stomped his left foot heavily on the ground.

The black stone floor in front of him seemed to turn into liquid, instantly shooting upward, restructuring its molecular structure within a thousandth of a second to become a half-meter thick wall of ultra-high-density diamond with a mirror-smooth surface.

Boom!

Clang—!!!

The Killing Curse struck this "physical shield."

The green light exploded, shattering the diamond wall, and countless crystalline fragments scattered like shrapnel.

But amidst the rain of fragments, Moen remained unscathed.

"Physical laws are still effective," Moen commented flatly.

"Dead things cannot stop me!"

Voldemort was enraged. He raised his wand with both hands, and black magic condensed around him into a huge, burning fire snake.

Fiendfyre.

The fire snake roared as it charged toward Moen, burning the rocks along the way into lava.

"Playing with fire?"

Moen sneered. His internal [Primary Fire Immunity] made him unafraid of high temperatures, but he wasn't foolish enough to physically resist Fiendfyre.

He raised his wand, pointing the tip at the incoming fire snake.

[System Extraction · Reverse Application]

[Characteristic Loading]: Hellfire (from Hungarian Horntail).

[Alchemy Enhancement]: Oxygen Stripping.

"Extinguish."

Moen swung his wand sharply, drawing a vacuum circle.

There was no water, nor was there ice.

The moment that giant Fiendfyre snake rushed within five meters of Moen, the air around it was instantly sucked dry.

Without oxygen, the flames, even Fiendfyre, became water without a source.

Whoosh...

The arrogant fire snake, before it could even touch the corner of Moen's clothes, just abruptly, almost comically... fizzled out.

Only a few wisps of black smoke drifted awkwardly in the air.

The whole place was deathly silent.

Harry and Sirius, hiding behind the rocks, looked as if their eyes were about to pop out.

What kind of magic was this?

They had never seen any Wizard "snuff out" Fiendfyredirectly!

Voldemort's expression finally changed.

He realized that the opponent in front of him was not using conventional magic at all.

"You... are desecrating magic!" Voldemort roared.

"I am parsing magic."

Moen moved.

[Half-Giant Speed] erupted.

He became like a black cannonball, crushing the rocks beneath his feet as he charged directly at Voldemort on the high ground.

Since trading ranged blows was too time-consuming, he would go for melee.

Voldemort clearly did not expect any Wizard to dare to close the distance. He fired three Cruciatus Curse spells in succession.

Moen's figure flickered strangely in the air.

[Sand of Time] — Time of 0.5 seconds.

All three red lights hit his afterimage.

In the blink of an eye, Moen had already charged in front of Voldemort.

He gripped the heavy Black Ironwood Cane with both hands, leaped high, and using the potential energy of the fall, smashed it fiercely toward Voldemort's head!

This blow, carrying the monstrous strength of a Half-Giantand the weight of the wand itself, was enough to smash a rhinoceros into pulp.

"Protego!"

Voldemort was forced to defend. A silver shield appeared above his head.

Boom—!!!

The wand slammed into the shield.

A massive shockwave swept across the entire Death Chamber.

The surrounding glass bulbs shattered, and even the edge of the stone pit cracked.

The stone steps beneath Voldemort collapsed instantly.

The Dark Lord was hammered half-deep into the ground by that single blow!

"Not bad strength."

Voldemort raised his head, his red eyes no longer filled with contempt, but with intense murderous intent.

He seized this close-quarters opportunity, and the tip of his wand suddenly turned into a green light sword, stabbing toward Moen's heart.

Moen flipped his wrist, blocking with his wand.

Sizzle—

The wand and the staff rubbed against each other, sparking deadly friction.

Their faces were less than ten centimeters apart.

"I see you, White..."

Voldemort launched [Legilimency] at this moment.

His powerful mental energy pierced into Moen's brain like a drill.

"Let me see who you really are... your fears... your secrets..."

Moen did not avert his gaze.

Instead, he opened his eyes wide, and the [Gate of Truth] constructed a complex maze made of countless numbers and formulas deep within his pupils.

"Want to see my brain?"

A crazy smile curled the corners of Moen's mouth:

"Then pay up, Tom!"

[Multiple Mind Core (Purple · Extreme)] — Mental Data Torrent.

Moen did not defend, but outputted in reverse.

He took the millions of business reports, Gringottsexchange rate fluctuation charts, and Alchemy molecular structure diagrams he had processed over the years, and shoved them all into Voldemort's brain along the mental connection like spam email!

"Ah—!!!"

Voldemort screamed, violently pushing Moen away and staggering backward.

He felt like his brain was about to explode.

Those dry, meaningless data streams, such as "Q3 1994 Dragon Skin Market Fluctuation Analysis," were assaulting his soul, making him feel nauseous and dizzy.

This was a dimensional strike against the Dark Lord; using big data to overstuff him.

"What's wrong, Tom?"

Moen landed, elegantly flicking his wand.

"Don't understand? This is the essence of modern business."

"I will kill you!!!"

Voldemort was completely insane.

He no longer held back his strength.

He spread his arms, his whole body floating in mid-air.

The surrounding darkness began to surge, and the shadows in the Death Chamber seemed to come alive, turning into countless black blades that shot toward Moen, covering the sky.