Chapter 111: Black Sun, The Ministry of Magic Kneels
This was Voldemort's exclusive domain magic, Dark Invasion.
It was intelligence he had just obtained yesterday.
Moen's expression grew grave.
He could feel that every shadow contained a curse capable of corroding the soul.
"It seems it's time to get serious."
Moen pulled the bottle containing the [Dementor Slice Essence] from his pocket and crushed it in one go.
Gray.
Then, he slammed his cane heavily into the ground.
[Alchemy · Ultimate Mystery].
"Black Sun."
Hum—
Centered on Moen, a black sphere that seemed capable of devouring light expanded rapidly.
That was not darkness; it was an "absolute gravitational field."
The countless shadow blades shot by Voldemort were all twisted and elongated the moment they neared the black sphere, then forcibly sucked into it and decomposed into the most primitive magic factors.
The two forces collided in the air, devouring each other.
The Death Chamber trembled, and the veil swayed frantically.
Harry and the others were pressed to the ground by this terrifying energy fluctuation, unable to even lift their heads.
This was a battle of gods.
Just as the two sides were deadlocked and Moen felt his magic reserves rapidly depleting.
The sound of a fireplace bursting erupted above them.
A ball of scorching, sacred firelight illuminated the entire Death Chamber.
Fawkes the Phoenix appeared amidst the flames, singing a resounding battle hymn.
Immediately after, a tall old man wearing star-and-moon robes stepped out from the flames.
Albus Dumbledore.
He looked at Moen, who was clashing with Voldemort, a flash of surprise in his eyes, which immediately turned into stern anger—anger directed at Voldemort.
"It ends here tonight, Tom."
Dumbledore raised the wand.
Voldemort's expression changed drastically upon seeing Dumbledore.
He knew that if these two joined forces, he might really die here today.
"Moen White..."
Before retreating, Voldemort took one last deep look at Moen.
"I'll remember you. Our accounts are not yet settled."
Voldemort waved his robes violently, sweeping up the remaining Death Eaters—except for those knocked unconscious by Moen—and turned into a black whirlwind that shattered the ceiling of the Death Chamber and vanished into the night sky.
The pressure suddenly dissipated.
Moen pulled out his cane, his body swaying, nearly falling over.
That "Black Sun" move just now had almost drained all his magic.
"Are you alright, Moen?"
Dumbledore walked over quickly, wanting to help him.
"Don't touch me."
Moen waved his hand and steadied himself. He pulled a bottle of highly concentrated [Energy Potion] from his pocket and downed it in one breath.
"I'm fine, Professor."
Moen wiped the potion residue from the corner of his mouth, looking in the direction where Voldemort had disappeared, his eyes flashing with madness that had yet to fade:
"It's just... that transaction earlier hasn't been settled yet."
"But that's alright."
Moen turned his head, looking at the chaotic Death Chamber and the Death Veil that was still drifting.
"At least, I've already received the 'entry fee' for tonight."
Ministry of Magic Atrium.
The Ministry of Magic in the early hours of the morning was in shambles.
The golden fountain that symbolized the "Brotherhood of magic" had been smashed to pieces, and the floor was covered in scorch marks and broken glass.
Cornelius Fudge was wearing pajamas with a striped cloak over them, staring blankly at everything before him. Behind him, dozens of officials who had rushed over in their pajamas were whispering in terror.
They had all seen it.
The person who must not be named had just been here, in this very hall.
"He's back..." Fudge muttered to himself, looking as if he had aged twenty years in an instant, "Dumbledore was right... Potter was right... What have I done?"
"You did a stupid thing, Minister."
A calm voice came from beside a pile of rubble.
Moen White was sitting on the base of a broken statue, holding a handkerchief, wiping dust off his cane.
His trench coat was slightly damaged—traces left by the battle just now—but this only made him look even more arrogant.
"Mr. White..." Fudge looked at him as if grabbing a life-saving straw, "You... you were there! You fought those Death Eaters! You must testify for me! I... I didn't know..."
"Testify?"
Moen stood up, his leather shoes crunching on broken glass, and walked up to Fudge.
"I can testify, Minister. I can prove that you were a leader who 'arrived at the scene immediately and commanded heroically,' or I can prove that you were a sinner who 'delayed the battle because you were deceived.'"
Moen lowered his head, looking at this man who had completely lost his composure:
"It depends on... what kind of 'public relations fee' you intend to pay."
"What do you want? I'll give you anything!" Fudge no longer cared about the dignity of a Minister; if he stepped down, it would mean total ruin.
"It's very simple."
Moen held up two fingers:
"First, restore all of Dumbledore's positions. Although I don't like that old man, it's better for everyone if he's alive."
"Second, approve 'collaborative law enforcement authority' for the White Security Company. In other words, my Werewolf Guard can legally arrest Death Eaters on the streets when necessary."
"Third..."
Moen pointed to Lucius Malfoy, who was being escorted by Aurors not far away, looking ashen-faced. During the battle, he hadn't resisted crazily like Bellatrix, but had been subdued very "sensibly."
"...That is my important business partner. I don't want him to go to Azkaban."
"What?!" Fudge's eyes widened, "Lucius is a Death Eater! We all saw it!"
"No, Minister, you saw it wrong."
Moen bullshitted without changing his expression:
"Mr. Malfoy was under the Imperius Curse. And a very advanced one at that. As an Alchemy expert, I can issue a detailed 'Assessment Report on Long-term Mental Control by Dark Arts.'"
"Of course, as a 'victim,' the Malfoy family is willing to donate 50,000 Galleons to the Ministry of Magic as a 'post-war reconstruction fund,' to be used for repairing this hall, and... to compensate the frightened officials."
Fudge fell silent.
He looked at the escorted Lucius, then at Moen's eyes, which were full of implications.
50,000 Galleons.
This could fill the Ministry of Magic's huge fiscal deficit.
And if Lucius went in, the taxes from pure-blood families would also be affected...
"Imperius Curse..." Fudge wiped his sweat, his voice trembling, "Yes... this is reasonable. Mr. Malfoy is also a victim. We will... we will investigate thoroughly."
"A wise choice."
Moen patted Fudge on the shoulder, just like patting an obedient old dog.
"Congratulations, Minister. You've just saved your position. Tomorrow's The Daily Prophet will portray you as a wartime leader who 'turned back from the wrong path and turned the tide.'"
...
Three days later, Malfoy Manor.
This once gloomy and arrogant manor was now shrouded in gloom and misery.
Although Lucius had been "acquitted," he didn't feel relieved.
In the study.
Lucius knelt on the floor, trembling all over.
Narcissa was sobbing softly on the side.
Sitting in the high-backed chair at the head of the table was not Voldemort—he was still recuperating somewhere—but Moen White.
Chapter 112: Malfoy's 'Imperius Curse' and the War Tax
"Fifty thousand Galleons, Lucius."
Moen held a glass of red wine in his hand—a Goblinvintage from Malfoy's century-old private collection.
"This is the 'bail money' I paid on your behalf. Adding the previous interest, and the 'mental distress fee' for your attack on me in the Department of Mysteries..."
Moen took out a thick ledger and tossed it in front of Lucius.
"...The Malfoy family's current liquid capital is already in the negatives."
Lucius looked up, his usually well-maintained face now full of exhaustion and fear.
"Thank you... thank you for saving me, Moen." Lucius's voice was hoarse. "But the Dark Lord... he'll kill me! I botched the mission for the prophecy orb!"
"He won't kill you."
Moen said indifferently.
"Because he's short on money right now too. He's just been resurrected; he needs to recruit men and buy supplies. And you are his biggest financial backer."
"But I have no money left!" Lucius shouted in despair. "The money is all in your hands!"
"Exactly."
Moen set down his wine glass and leaned forward, his black eyes shimmering with a devilish light.
"Listen, Lucius. From today on, you are my 'agent' within the Death Eaters."
"Whatever Voldemort needs, you buy for him. wands, robes, Potions... procure them all from 'White Heavy Industries'."
"I will issue you 'fake high-value invoices' so you can show your loyalty to Voldemort. In reality, you will transfer the cost and profit of these supplies entirely into my account."
Lucius was stunned.
He looked at Moen in disbelief.
"You... you want to profit off the Dark Lord? You want to be an arms dealer playing both sides?"
"It's called a war dividend."
Moen stood up, walked over to Lucius, helped him up, and even tidied his messy robes.
"Don't worry, Lucius. As long as you're obedient, I guarantee you and Draco will survive until the end of the war, and be wealthier than before."
"But if you dare to play tricks..."
Moen's finger lightly brushed Lucius's neck, where there was an invisible alchemical collar, just like the ones on Peter and the Werewolf.
"...You'll find that dying at Voldemort's hands might be a mercy."
Lucius shuddered and lowered his head deeply.
"Yes... boss."
...Hogwarts, the end of the term.
The final day of departure.
The sun was bright, but a shadow hung over everyone's hearts.
Everyone knew that Voldemort was back.
Harry Potter carried his suitcase, walking on the path to the station.
He looked much more mature than before, and much gloomier.
Sirius's "fake death crisis" had made him realize his own recklessness, and the direct confrontation with Voldemort had shown him the gap in their power.
"Harry."
Moen stood at the school gate, still wearing his signature black trench coat.
"Are you going back to Privet Drive?"
"Yes." Harry stopped. He wasn't hostile as before, but spoke with a complex calm. "Dumbledore says it's safest there."
"Safety is relative."
Moen took a small box out of his pocket and handed it to Harry.
"Take it."
"What is this now?" Harry didn't take it. "A new monitor?"
"No. This is a 'Portable Alchemical Alarm Network'."
Moen stuffed the box into Harry's hand.
"Install it around your uncle's house. If anything unclean approaches, it will sound an alarm that only you can hear and automatically send a distress signal to the Order of the Phoenix... and me."
Harry looked at the box and remained silent for a long time.
"Why?" Harry asked. "You're clearly a Slytherin. You're clearly using me."
"Because you're my 'number one spokesperson', Harry."
Moen smiled. This time, there was less calculation and more frankness in his smile.
"If Savior dies, how will I sell my anti-Dark Arts products? Who will help me draw Voldemort's fire?"
"So, stay alive. Don't die too easily."
Moen patted Harry on the shoulder and turned toward the Slytherin carriage.
Harry gripped the box tightly.
"Thank you," he whispered to Moen's retreating back.
The train started.
The fifth school year ended in a haze of chaos and unease.
Moen sat in his compartment, watching the scenery fly by outside the window.
On his system panel, the 'Draw Count' that had returned to zero had jumped back up to '10' due to the massive influence of the 'Battle at the Department of Mysteries' and his operations over the past few days.
"Next semester."
Moen touched the documents in his pocket that he had 'conveniently' taken from the Ministry of Magic's archives.
It was information regarding Horace Slughorn.
"The secret of the Horcruxes... is inside that old walrus's head."
"And it's also time to find a heavyweight honorary chairman for my 'White Elite Club'."
July, Budleigh Babberton.
This was a lifeless Muggle village.
Night fell, and the wind was biting cold.
Even though it was summer, this chill felt as if it came from the depths of hell—the result of Dementors running rampant across Britain.
A pitch-black car stopped in front of a stone house that looked long abandoned.
Moen White pushed open the car door and stepped into the overgrown garden.
He wore a dark grey silk shirt with a light, spell-resistant trench coat over it, holding his Black Ironwood Cane.
"This place is really remote." Alfred followed behind, adjusting the alchemical monocle on the bridge of his nose. "Young Master, is the target inside?"
"Yes."
Moen looked at the tightly closed door, and True Sightactivated.
Through the door panels and the camouflage charms, he saw that the house hadn't been destroyed, but was filled with a certain... deliberate chaos.
"A frightened old collector is disguising himself as an armchair." The corners of Moen's mouth curled slightly. "Very creative Transfiguration."
Moen did not knock.
He extended his wand and lightly tapped the tip against the keyhole.
Gate of Truth — Structural Analysis: Unlocking.
*Click.*
The door opened.
The room was a mess.
The grandfather clock was smashed, piano keys were scattered across the floor, and the walls were splattered with red—
"Nice acting, Horace."
Moen stepped over a shattered chandelier and walked straight toward the lumpy, gaudily patterned chintz armchair in the center of the living room.
He didn't use a spell to force the other to reveal himself.
He simply took an exquisite crystal bottle from his pocket and uncorked it.
A rich aroma of wine with notes of oak-barrel aging instantly filled the room.
"1875 Goblin Berry Wine."
Moen swirled the bottle and spoke to the chair:
"This is a unique find I discovered in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. I think, for a gentleman of refined taste, wouldn't you rather come out for a drink than turn into a chair and grow mold?"
The chair stiffened for a second.
Chapter 113: The Old Walrus in the Sofa, the Acquired Network, and the Charred Finger
Immediately after, there was a violent distortion.
Cotton turned into velvet pajamas, and chair legs turned into feet wearing slippers.
A bald, bug-eyed, fat old man with a walrus-like mustache appeared in his place.
He was gasping for breath, still clutching a wand tightly in his hand, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
Horace Slughorn.
"Who are you?!" Slughorn pointed at Moen in terror, "A Death Eater? I'm telling you, I may be old, but I..."
"I am not a Death Eater, Professor."
Moen took two wine glasses from the only cabinet nearby that hadn't been "smashed" and poured wine calmly.
"I am Moen White. The current Chairman of the HogwartsBoard of Governors, and... your future employer."
"White?" Slughorn froze for a moment, then those shrewd little eyes lit up, "That White who monopolized the Wolfsbane Potion and broomstick markets? That young man who played Fudge like a fiddle?"
"Just an empty reputation."
Moen handed him a glass of wine.
Slughorn hesitated, a fear of poison.
Moen smiled and took a sip himself first.
Only then did Slughorn snatch the glass, drain it in one go, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Good wine... truly good wine..."
"Now that the wine is drunk, let's talk business." Moenfound an intact chair and sat down.
"I'm not coming out of retirement!" Slughorn immediately became alert. "If Dumbledore sent you, go back! I don't want to get involved in a war! Voldemort will kill me!"
"I'm not here to persuade you to go to your death, Horace."
Moen shook his head:
"I'm here to talk to you about an 'asset acquisition.'"
"Assets? I only have this fat and this pile of junk."
"No, you have connections."
Moen looked at this seemingly destitute old man:
"You've taught countless students. They are now high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Magic, Quidditch stars, famous editors... this network is a priceless treasure."
"However, this network is currently depreciating because of your hiding."
Moen leaned forward, the pressure of a capitalist making Slughorn find it difficult to breathe:
"I heard you like to collect 'outstanding people'? Like that Slug Club?"
"That's in the past..."
"Then let it be revived." Moen snapped his fingers. "I'll provide the funds."
"What?"
"I invite you back to Hogwarts to resume your post as Potions Class Professor. But I have one condition."
Moen took out a golden contract:
"You will reorganize the 'Slug Club.' But this time, it will be exclusively sponsored and named by the White Group."
"All party expenses, rare gifts, and even the appearance fees for those big shots you want to win over—I'll cover it all."
"And I will provide you with a full 'White Security Package.' A defense network composed of elite Werewolf Guards and anti-Dark Arts alchemy arrays—it's absolutely ten thousand times safer than this broken house of yours."
Slughorn's heart beat violently.
Safety, comfort, fine wine, and... this was simply the retirement life he dreamed of.
"But... Dumbledore..." He still wanted to be a bit reserved.
"Dumbledore has to listen to the Board of Governors too," Moen said indifferently.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the door.
"It seems our Headmaster has arrived as well." Moenlooked toward the door.
The door was pushed open.
Albus Dumbledore walked in, followed by Harry Potter.
"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore said with a smile, then saw Moen sitting inside, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "Ah, Mr. White. It seems your movements are always one step faster than mine."
"I'm just here to help the school with some 'talent recruitment,' Headmaster." Moen stood up.
Harry looked at Moen with a complex expression.
He hadn't expected to run into Moen here as well.
"Harry!" Slughorn's eyes went straight when he saw Harry. "This... this is Harry Potter!"
"Yes." Moen walked to Harry's side and patted him.
Slughorn looked at Harry, then at the golden contract in Moen's hand, and finally at Dumbledore.
That greedy soul, longing for comfort and fame, finally triumphed over fear.
"Alright!" Slughorn said loudly, "I'll go back! If even Mr. White says so... I suppose Hogwarts should be considered safe enough."
Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief.
He looked at Moen and nodded in thanks.
But Moen's gaze did not linger on Slughorn.
His eyes fell on Dumbledore's right hand.
That hand was charred and withered, as if burned by fire, emitting a sickening aura of death.
[True Sight] — Analysis.
[Curse Type]: High-level Dark Arts curse from the Resurrection Stone ring.
[Status]: Has spread, slowly consuming life force.
[Remaining Life]: Less than one year.
"You're injured, Professor." Moen suddenly spoke, pointing at the blackened hand.
Harry only then noticed and cried out, "Professor! Your hand!"
"A small accident." Dumbledore hid his hand in his sleeve, his expression calm. "As one gets older, one tends to get clumsy."
"Is that so?"
Moen walked up to Dumbledore and lowered his voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear:
"That ring... the Gaunt Family ring. You put it on?"
Dumbledore's eyes instantly became sharp.
"You know?"
"I know many things, Albus."
Moen looked at this old man who was approaching his end.
"You paid the price of your life just to see a deceased relative."
"It doesn't fit a businessman's logic. But... I admire it."
Moen took a small bottle containing a golden liquid from his pocket; it was Life Essence refined through the Gate of Truth.
"Take this. Although it can't save your life, it will make you less miserable in this final year."
Dumbledore took the bottle and gave Moen a deep look.
"Thank you, Moen. You... are becoming more and more unfathomable to me."
"Being unfathomable is a good thing."
Moen turned and picked up his cane.
"Since the interview is over, I'll be leaving first."
He walked to the door and looked back at Slughorn, who was busy questioning Harry.
"Professor Horace, remember our contract. After the term starts, remember to save a head seat for me at the first 'White-Slug Supper.'"
"Of course! Of course!" Slughorn said with a face full of smiles.
Moen walked out of the house into the cold night air.
"Young Master, Dumbledore's hand..." Alfred asked in a low voice.
"He's dying."
Moen's voice drifted away in the wind.
"The greatest White Wizard is about to leave the stage. The sky over Hogwarts is about to fall."
"However..."
Moen touched the unused Time-Turner in his pocket.
"...Before it falls, I have to borrow that Elder Wand in his hand... to play with for a bit."
"I heard Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has opened. As a major shareholder, I should go and cut the ribbon."
Chapter 114: The Club with a Name, The Peeping Tom Under the Invisibility Cloak
September 1st, Hogwarts Express.
The train sped along the winding tracks.
Although it was sunny outside, every passenger could feel the tension in the air.
New disappearances were reported daily in the newspapers, and Dementors loomed in the mist.
But in compartment C in the middle of the train, the atmosphere was so luxurious it felt like a vacation, not a flight.
It had been modified with an Undetectable Extension Charm, heavy velvet curtains hung, and the tables were laden with exquisite silver plates and sparkling wine.
Professor Horace Slughorn was comfortably nestled in a sofa, holding a glass of mead specially provided by White Winery, his face beaming as he looked at the carefully selected students around him.
"Ha! As I was just saying!" Slughorn laughed loudly, "Harry, you inherited your mother's talent! Lily was one of the most outstanding Potion students I've ever seen... until I met Mr. Moen, of course."
Slughorn looked flatteringly at Moen White, who was seated at the head of the table.
Moen, wearing a dark gray silk vest, wasn't holding a wine glass. Instead, he held a membership list for the "Slug Club(White-Sponsored Edition)" and was marking it with a golden pen.
"Professor, you flatter me," Moen said without looking up. "I'm just good at 'purification.' Whether it's Potions or people."
Sitting around were the "valuable" students:
Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom.
There were even two bewildered seventh-year students whose uncles held high positions in the Ministry of Magic.
"This gathering is really nice," Slughorn said, looking at the expensive refreshments on the table, all provided by Moen. "Moen, regarding the 'Potion Patent Sharing Program' you mentioned in your letter..."
"No rush, Professor," Moen closed the list. "When we get to school, I'll have someone deliver the contract to your office. For now, let's enjoy the journey."
Moen's gaze suddenly sharpened, sweeping over the empty luggage rack above the compartment.
True Sight activated.
He saw a folded human magnetic field—Harry Potter, draped in his Invisibility Cloak, curled up there, eavesdropping.
Wait, there was also a Harry sitting in the seat below?
Moen's lips curved slightly.
"Polyjuice Potion? Or... some kind of advanced decoy?". No, that was the real Harry.
No, that was the real Harry.
The one above... Moen distinguished carefully.
The one above was Draco Malfoy, using a listening charm.
"An interesting game of cat and mouse."
After the party, the students left one after another.
Moen stood up, not in a hurry to leave.
"Professor, I have a few words I'd like to discuss privately with my 'employee,'" Moen said to Slughorn.
"Of course, of course! You two chat!" Slughorn tactfully slipped away with a bottle of wine.
The compartment door closed.
Moen raised his staff and gently tapped the luggage rack.
"Come down, Draco. The hem of your Invisibility Cloak is showing."
The air twisted. Draco Malfoy ripped off his Invisibility Cloak—he had actually managed to get one too, though its quality wasn't as good as Harry's—and jumped down awkwardly.
Draco Malfoy ripped off his Invisibility Cloak—he had actually managed to get one too, though its quality wasn't as good as Harry's—and jumped down awkwardly.
His face was pale, his eyes dark-rimmed; he looked like he hadn't slept well all summer.
"Moen..." Malfoy's voice trembled, "Save me! I can't do it... I really can't!"
"Sit."
Moen pointed to the sofa opposite him.
"Voldemort gave you a task?" Moen asked, knowing the answer.
"Yes!" Malfoy pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing the hideous Dark Mark.
He cried like a helpless child, "He wants me to kill Dumbledore! If I don't, he'll kill my whole family! But... that's Dumbledore! How could I possibly kill him?"
"There's another task," Malfoy sobbed, "He wants me to fix the Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes and let Death Eaters into the school..."
"That cabinet?"
Moen picked up a cherry from the table and put it in his mouth.
"That cabinet was repaired by me two years ago."
Malfoy's crying stopped abruptly, and he stared at Moenwith wide eyes.
"Wh..." "That Vanishing Cabinet is now one of my'secret logistics channels'."
Moen explained calmly:
"I use it to smuggle some contraband alchemy materials from Knockturn Alley and, incidentally, transport high-end Potions produced at Hogwarts out to avoid taxes. It works perfectly, and I even installed soundproofing runes."
Malfoy's mouth hung open, feeling his worldview shattered once again.
What he thought was an "impossible mission" was just "daily logistics" to Moen?
"So, Draco."
Moen leaned forward, looking into Malfoy's eyes:
"You don't need to fix the cabinet. You just need to perform."
"Perform?"
"Exactly." Moen's eyes gleamed like a director's. "Voldemort doesn't expect you to actually kill Dumbledore. He just wants to punish your father, because Luciusmessed up the prophecy orb. He's sending you to your death."
"But we can use that."
Moen extended his staff and gently tapped Malfoy's chest:
"This school year, I want you to play the role of a 'pathetic wretch on the verge of collapse, trying his best but utterly failing to fix the cabinet.'"
"You need to appear anxious, gaunt, and neurotic. You'll spend a long time in the Room of Requirement, pretending to repair the cabinet that's actually already fixed."
"And even..." Moen smiled, "You can attempt a few clumsy assassinations. Like sending a poisoned necklace, or a bottle of poisoned wine. Of course, I'll make sure those things don't reach Dumbledore's lips."
"Why?" Malfoy asked blankly, "Why act?"
"To buy time."
Moen stood up and straightened his collar.
"Voldemort isn't ready for all-out war yet. We also need time to integrate our resources."
"Moreover, this act is also for Dumbledore."
Moen looked out at the fleeting scenery:
"That old man is dying. He's looking for a successor and making arrangements for his affairs. If you appear 'redeemable' enough, he might make some... interesting arrangements to save your soul."
"For example, having Snape do it instead of you."
Malfoy half-understood, but he grasped one key point: Moen could save his life.
"Then what should I do?" Malfoy wiped away his tears.
"Now, wipe your face and put on an 'I'm a Death Eater and I'm awesome' expression."
Moen opened the compartment door.
"Harry Potter is peeking from the next compartment. Go, Draco. Give him some 'clues' and let him think you're plotting some grand conspiracy."
"This is also part of the plan, to keep Savior on alert."
Malfoy took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and once again put on that arrogant and gloomy expression.
"Understood, boss. I'm the best actor."
Watching Malfoy walk out, kick open the door of the next compartment, and then mock Harry with that vicious tone.
Moen nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good."
He touched the Time-Turner in his pocket.
"Sixth year, the script is written."
"Next, before the greatest White Wizard falls..."
"...get the Elder Wand in his hand."
Chapter 115: Charred Bones, the "Dialysis" of Alchemy, and the Handshake with the Elder Wand
Late at night.
In the circular room of the Headmaster's office, the air was stiflingly heavy.
The Phoenix Fawkes stood on its perch, emitting a low, mournful cry.
Albus Dumbledore lay half-reclined in his chair, his complexion ashen, his breathing shallow.
His right hand—the hand that had once cast countless great magic—was now charred and withered, like a piece of burnt deadwood, and that horrific necrosis was spreading from his wrist up his arm.
Severus Snape stood to the side, holding his wand and a bottle of golden Potion, sweating profusely as he chanted a complex counter-curse.
"I have done my best." There was a deep sense of frustration and anger in Snape's voice. "The curse has been temporarily sealed in one hand. But it will spread. This kind of curse... is irreversible."
"How much more time can you give me?" Dumbledoreasked weakly.
"One year," Snape said coldly. "Perhaps less, if you continue to neglect your own body."
"One year... is enough." Dumbledore closed his eyes.
"Perhaps, we could extend this deadline to 'natural death'?"
A sudden voice broke the tragic atmosphere.
The green flames in the fireplace suddenly surged. MoenWhite stepped out from the fire and brushed the soot off his body.
He was not wearing a school uniform, but rather the white Alchemy robe he used in the laboratory, carrying a heavy metal case in his hand.
"White?" Snape turned abruptly, his wand pointed at him. "Who let you in? This is..."
"This is a medical malpractice scene."
Moen ignored Snape's wand and walked straight to Dumbledore's side, lowering his head to examine the charred hand.
[True Sight]— Microscopic pathological analysis.
"The curse Voldemort placed on the Gaunt ring... is quite creative."
Moen extended a finger wearing the [Spirit-Binding Glove] and gently touched the charred skin.
"This is not just a toxin, but a form of 'entropy increase'. It is accelerating the passage of time for your cells, causing your body to begin rotting while you are still alive."
"Do you have a way?" Dumbledore opened his eyes. His azure eyes were weary, yet still sharp.
"Potion can only delay, not eradicate. Because Potion is a chemical reaction." Moen opened the metal case, which contained a set of precise, glowing silver surgical instruments. "But Alchemy... is the rewriting of rules."
"Professor, let's make a deal."
Moen picked up a scalpel engraved with runes and looked at Dumbledore:
"I will use my ability to help you construct a 'time loop barrier' to completely lock this curse below your wrist, ensuring it won't spread an inch within three years."
"In exchange..."
Moen's gaze fell upon the wand resting on the table to Dumbledore's left.
That wand made of elder wood, with its knobby protrusions.
The Elder Wand.
"...I want to borrow your wand to'study' for ten minutes. Right here, in front of you."
Snape looked at Moen warily: "What are you trying to do? That wand..."
"Give it to him." Dumbledore interrupted Snape.
The old Headmaster looked at Moen, a complex light flashing in his eyes.
He knew what Moen wanted, but he knew even more that the current situation required Moen's power.
"If I can live two more years, this deal is very worthwhile." Dumbledore pushed the Elder Wand over.
"A wise choice."
Moen was not in a hurry to take the wand.
He fulfilled the contract first.
"Severus, hold him down."
The scalpel in Moen's hand lit up with a blinding golden light.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Local law solidification.
He did not cut the skin, but instead used the tip of the blade to "carve" a circle of visible golden runes onto Dumbledore's wrist.
Those runes embedded themselves into the skin like red-hot iron brands, forming an impenetrable line of defense.
"Urgh..." Dumbledore let out a muffled groan.
The black aura of death trying to spread upwards hit the golden runes, emitting a sizzling sound, and then retreated helplessly back into the palm.
"Done." Moen put away the knife. "This hand is ruined, but your life is saved. As long as you don't do anything stupid like trying to cast magic with this hand, living to one hundred and fifty is no problem."
Snape examined the wound in shock.
It was indeed locked.
The spread of necrosis had stopped completely.
"Now, it is time for my payment."
Moen took off his gloves and even specifically used a cleaning spell to wash his hands three times.
Then, he reached out and slowly, solemnly grasped the Elder Wand resting on the table.
Boom!
The moment his fingertips touched the wood of the wand.
The entire Headmaster's office shook violently.
There were no sparks, nor any light.
But an indescribable feeling, as if gripping "power itself", surged instantly through his arm straight to Moen's crown.
It was an extreme arrogance, coldness, and power.
This wand was examining him.
It was evaluating whether this person holding it was qualified to be its master.
If it were an ordinary Wizard, they might be backlashed by this power.
But Moen possessed a formidable physical body, the endless energy of the [Magic Power Furnace], and the law suppression of the [Gate of Truth].
"Behave."
Moen let out a low shout, the golden vertical pupils in his eyes contracting sharply.
He forcibly suppressed the wand's restlessness.
[System Notification]
[Contact Successful!]
[Detected Supreme Relic: Elder Wand (Elder Wand)]
[Law Attributes]: Absolute Power, magic Power Amplification, Invincibility (Conceptual)
[Current Extraction Count: 15]
[Proceed with extraction?]
"Invest all of it." Moen ordered in his mind. "Only the core trait."
[Consumed Extraction Count x 15]
[Analyzing the magic circuit of the "Deathly Hallows"...]
[Extraction Successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Spell Maximization (Gold · Passive)
[Description]: Any magic you cast has its power automatically corrected to 2. When magic clashes, you possess absolute judgment advantage. 200%
[Bonus]: Recognition of the Elder Wand (Pseudo). Although you did not defeat Dumbledore, the wand has recognized your power level. When you use your own wand, you can also simulate a trace of the Elder Wand's pressure.
Moen let go.
In just ten seconds, he felt as if he had run a marathon; the cold sweat on his back had soaked through his robe.
But that feeling of being filled with power made him want to cast Fiendfyre at the sky to test it out.
"Is this... the power of the Deathly Hallows?"
Moen looked at the wand that had returned to calm, a flicker of wariness in his eyes.
This thing is a curse.
Whoever takes it dies.
But he had extracted the trait without needing to bear the curse.
This is the cheating aspect of the system.
"Thanks for the hospitality, Professor."
Moen took a step back, resuming that merchant's fake smile.
"Transaction complete."
Dumbledore looked at Moen, his gaze even deeper than before.
He could feel that in those few short seconds just now, Moen seemed to have "taken" something from this wand, yet the wand itself remained completely unharmed.
"You are a dangerous variable, Moen," Dumbledore said softly. "But I hope... you are on the side of the living."
"I am on the side of interests."
Moen picked up the case and walked towards the fireplace.
"As long as Voldemort wants to destroy the world, I will always be his enemy."
"Oh, right, Professor."
Before stepping into the green flames, Moen looked back:
"Regarding Draco Malfoy... he is repairing that Vanishing Cabinet.
"Give him a little hope. And also give Professor Snape... a chance to perform."
Having said that, Moen disappeared into the green flames.
In the office.
Snape stared fixedly at the fireplace: "He knows everything... Dumbledore, this boy is too terrifying."
Dumbledore looked at his own black hand, locked by the golden runes, and remained silent for a long time.
"Yes, Severus."
Dumbledore sighed: "But perhaps... only a monster can defeat a monster."
Chapter 116: The Vampire's Goblet, The Prince's Textbook
Christmas Eve.
Professor Slughorn's office, expanded by an Undetectable Extension Charm, had turned into a magnificent ballroom.
Emerald silk curtains hung from the ceiling, and never-extinguishing fairy lights burned inside red lanterns. The air was filled with the scent of expensive cigars, perfume, and that intoxicating aura of power.
This was the 'White-Slug Christmas Party'.
Moen White, as the exclusive sponsor, occupied the most central position in the ballroom.
He wore a deep purple velvet suit, a golden snake brooch pinned to his collar—a piece of the Slytherin legacy—and held a glass of blood-red wine in his hand.
Beside him, Luna Lovegood was wearing a dress that looked like it was made of layers of silver fish scales, resembling the skin of some deep-sea creature. In reality, it was a high-end item gifted by Moen. She was happily telling a House-elf a joke about 'goblins' teeth hidden in Christmas pudding.'
"Mr. White."
A tall, pale, Gaunt man with dark circles under his eyes approached.
He held a glass of bright red liquid, his eyes staring hungrily at Luna's fair skin.
Sanguini, a true Vampire, was a rare guest invited by Slughorn.
"Your dance partner... smells very sweet." Sanguini revealed his fangs, his voice raspy.
"Put away your teeth, Sanguini."
Moen didn't even lift his eyelids, just gently swirled the wine glass in his hand.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)]—Targeted release.
A scorching aura, belonging to an apex predator, instantly locked onto the Vampire.
In that instant, Sanguini felt he was not facing a human teenager, but a scorching sun burning.
"She is my 'partner'." Moen said coldly, "If you dare touch a hair on her head, I will stuff you into that cauldron filled with garlic juice and turn you into a specimen."
The Vampire trembled, retreated in fear, and shrank into a corner to eat meat pies.
"Does he not like me?" Luna asked curiously.
"No, he just suddenly felt like going vegetarian." Moensmiled gently.
Just then, Harry Potter squeezed through the crowd.
He looked a bit disheveled, seemingly trying to avoid the girls attempting to cast Love Potions on him.
"Hi, Moen. Luna." Harry greeted.
"Good evening, Savior." Moen looked at Harry, his gaze falling on the *Advanced Potion-Making* book stuffed in his robe pocket.
This semester, relying on this old book signed 'Half-Blood Prince,' Harry had shone in Potions Class, even winning Felix Felicis.
"Your Potions Class grades are good this semester, Harry." Moen said meaningfully, "It seems you've found a... very good 'tutor'."
Harry subconsciously covered his pocket, looking at Moenvigilantly: "It's just an old book. There are some notes in it."
"Notes?"
Moen chuckled, leaned close to Harry, and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Harry, have you ever thought about who that 'Half-Blood Prince' is?"
"The person who invented Dark Arts spells like 'Sectumsempra' and had a genius approach to improving Potion..."
Moen's gaze went past Harry, looking at Severus Snapestanding in the corner, staring at the room with a gloomy face.
"...Perhaps he is right in front of you?"
Harry followed Moen's gaze and saw Snape's greasy face.
"Snape?! Impossible!" Harry almost shouted, "The owner of that book is a genius! Snape is just a..."
"Prejudice will blind you." Moen stepped back, "Be careful, Harry. Some spells are poisonous. If you don't want to die inexplicably... it's best not to use them randomly."
Just then, a commotion came from outside the door.
Filch was dragging someone by the ear, dragging him into the ballroom.
"Professor! I caught this one! He tried to break in!"
It was Draco Malfoy.
He looked terrible. Pale, deep eye sockets, clothes somewhat messy, completely lacking the usual demeanor of a young master.
"Let go of me, you filthy Squib!" Malfoy struggled, "I just... I just wanted to come and join the fun!"
The whole room went quiet. Slughorn looked embarrassed.
"Well, well." Slughorn smoothed things over, "Since he's here, he's a guest..."
"Throw him out."
A cold voice sounded.
Moen White walked out of the crowd and stood in front of Malfoy.
"Moen..." Malfoy looked at him, a signal for help flashing in his eyes; it was acting, but also real fear.
"Slytherin does not welcome uninvited guests, especially those..."
Moen used his cane to lift Malfoy's chin, looking at his decadent appearance:
"...those failures who can't even tidy up their own appearance."
"Draco, your recent performance has disappointed me. Your Potions Class grades have dropped, and your mental state is like an addict."
Moen's voice was stern, like a leader disappointed in someone not living up to potential:
"Get back. Don't appear at my banquet until you've figured out what you should be doing."
Snape walked over.
"I will take him, Mr. White." Snape said coldly, "I happen to have some words for him."
Snape grabbed Malfoy's arm and dragged him out of the room.
Harry watched this scene, his suspicion deepening.
"What are they plotting..." Harry whispered to Hermione, "Malfoy looks like he's having a breakdown. And Snape... I'm going to eavesdrop!"
Harry put on the Invisibility Cloak and followed quietly.
Moen watched the place where Harry disappeared, the corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied smile.
"That's it."
Everything was going according to the script.
The more broken Malfoy appeared, the more Harry would suspect him.
And the more Harry stared at Malfoy, the more he would ignore the real problem.
Dumbledore's death countdown.
"Young Master." Alfred appeared silently behind Moen, "Professor Snape just sent news. Headmaster Dumbledore's hand... has worsened."
"As expected."
Moen watched the red wine swirling in his hand.
"That curse is irreversible. My Alchemy can only delay, not cure."
"Prepare, Alfred."
A glint flashed in Moen's eyes:
"After Christmas, I'm going to the ruins of the Gaunthouse."
"The Resurrection Stone ring has already been taken by Dumbledore and the Horcrux part destroyed, but he left that piece there or has already hidden it in the Golden Snitch."
"I need to go confirm..."
Moen touched the [Time-Turner] in his pocket.
"...whether the second Deathly Hallows can really pull the souls of the dead back from that world."
"After all..."
Moen looked at Luna beside him; she was staring blankly at the mistletoe on the ceiling.
"...some people, like Luna's mother, might deserve a 'return ticket'."
Chapter 117: Black Residue in the Ruins, The Bezoar Bill
January, Little Hangleton.
Snowstorms.
Moen White stood before the ruins of the Gaunt shack.
Only a few rotten pillars and rubble remained, covered in heavy snow, looking desolate and eerie.
"This is the home of Voldemort's mother."
Moen used his Black Ironwood Cane to brush away the snow, revealing the scorched earth beneath.
Although the ring, which served as a Horcrux, had already been taken by Dumbledore, intense and sickening Dark Arts radiation remained here.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Trace Backtracking.
In Moen's vision, the magical particles remaining in the air began to recombine.
He seemed to see the scene where Dumbledore had broken the curse at this location, and saw how that withered black hand had been entangled with death.
"High-level Wither Curse." Moen squatted down and collected a bit of black soil in an alchemy vial. "Fused with Voldemort's hatred for lineage and fear of death. A very good sample."
He stood up and dusted his hands.
The Resurrection Stone was gone.
But that didn't matter.
He had already confirmed the flavor of that "Law."
"As long as Dumbledore is still wearing that ring, the Resurrection Stone won't be able to escape."
Moen turned and left the ruins.
"Let's go, Alfred. Back to school."
"Recently, a kind of pink 'poison' seems to be popular at Hogwarts—love Potion. I need to go back and see if my Potion orders have been snatched up."
March 1st, Ron's birthday.
Hogwarts, Slughorn's office.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, but the atmosphere was not relaxed.
Harry Potter had just brought Ron, who had accidentally ingested chocolates containing a powerful love Potion, here.
Ron was currently acting like a lovesick fool, hugging a cushion, shouting Romilda Vane's name with a flushed face.
"Oh, youth." Slughorn chuckled, preparing an antidote. "Just one cup of specially made pick-me-up, and he will forget that girl."
Ron drank the antidote and finally sobered up, followed by a wave of immense shame.
"To celebrate your birthday, and also to calm your nerves." Slughorn took a dusty bottle of wine from the cabinet. "How about some of this? Oak-aged mead. I had intended to give it to Dumbledore..."
Harry looked at the bottle.
He remembered Hermione saying that Malfoy was buying some kind of cursed necklace. His intuition told him this wine was wrong, but he had no proof.
Slughorn uncorked the bottle and poured three glasses.
"Cheers!"
Just as Ron raised the glass and was about to drink, Bang!
The office door was kicked open.
There was no knocking, nor any polite greeting.
Moen White strode in, his black trench coat bringing a cold gust of wind.
The Black Ironwood Cane in his hand was like a bolt of black lightning, instantly striking the wine glass from Ron's hand.
Crash!
The glass shattered on the floor.
The amber liquid splashed onto the carpet, emitting a hair-raising hissing sound. The carpet was instantly corroded, creating a black hole and emitting pungent, poisonous smoke.
Silence filled the room.
Ron stared stiffly at the black hole on the floor, his face turning even whiter than before.
If he had drunk that wine...
"Poison!" Harry shouted, drawing his wand.
Slughorn sat on the floor in fright, dropping the wine bottle, spilling more poisonous wine.
"Who?! Who poisoned my wine?!" the old walrus screamed in terror.
"That remains to be seen from the source of this wine, Professor."
Moen retracted his wand, staring coldly at the foam on the floor.
"Powerful mixed poison. Not only highly toxic, but also mixed with a curse that simply cannot be undone."
He turned his head to look at Harry:
"It seems your intuition was right, Potter. Someone wants to kill Dumbledore. And Mr. Weasley..."
Moen glanced at the still-shivering Ron:
"...is just an unlucky'side effect'."
"It's Malfoy!" Harry roared angrily. "I know it's him! He's fixing that cabinet in the Room of Requirement! He wants to kill us!"
Moen did not refute it.
Because it was indeed Malfoy's doing.
Although Moen had told him to "act," the pressure on the kid was too great, coupled with the pressure from Voldemort, and he had actually procured a bottle of poisoned wine, attempting to send it to Dumbledorethrough Slughorn.
"This is a serious 'production accident'." Moen cursed Malfoy's stupidity in his heart.
If Ron had really been poisoned to death, the Order of the Phoenix would have gone crazy, which would not be conducive to him doing business in the middle.
"Saving lives is the priority."
Moen took a black, stone-like object from his pocket.
A bezoar.
"Although he didn't drink it, inhaling the poisonous gas is also harmful."
Moen shoved the bezoar into Ron's mouth.
"Keep it in your mouth. This is a top-grade bezoar from White Pharmaceuticals; it can neutralize the toxins in the air."
Ron held the stone in his mouth, looking at Moen with tears of gratitude. He had been saved again.
One hour later, the corridor.
Professor McGonagall and Snape arrived.
They sealed the office and took away the poisoned wine.
Harry stood in the corridor, staring fixedly at Moen.
"You knew all along, didn't you?" Harry asked. "You knew it was Malfoy. You've been shielding him."
"I am managing him."
Moen stopped, turned his head, his eyes indifferent:
"Harry, if I handed Malfoy over now, he would go to Azkaban. And then what? Voldemort would send another, crazier, more hidden assassin. Perhaps next time, the one poisoned would be Hermione, or Ginny."
"Keeping Malfoy around, at least I know what he's doing. This is called risk control."
"That's attempted murder!" Harry yelled.
"As long as no one is dead, it's just 'attempted'." Moenadjusted his gloves. "Besides, this incident has given us a very good excuse."
"What excuse?"
"Strengthening security."
Moen looked out the window.
"I will use this as a reason to apply to the Board of Governors to have my Werewolf Guard officially take over the Hogwarts kitchens and logistics channels. From now on, all food and drinks must be tested by 'White Security' before being served."
"You see, Harry."
Moen's mouth curled up, revealing that infuriating smile:
"Every crisis is a business opportunity."
Harry looked at him, feeling a deep sense of powerlessness.
On Moen's chessboard, even assassination and poison were just bargaining chips for expanding his territory.
Slytherin dungeon, late night.
Draco Malfoy knelt before Moen, crying with snot and tears.
"I... I was just too scared... The Dark Lord said if I didn't do it, he would kill my mother..."
Moen sat in a chair, holding the wand that had been stained with poisoned wine, sterilizing it with alchemy flames.
"Fool."
Moen scolded coldly.
"I told you to 'act,' not to actually kill anyone. Do you think Dumbledore is a fool?"
"If Ron Weasley had died today, do you know what the consequences would be?"
Moen stood up and kicked Malfoy on the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.
"Arthur Weasley would go crazy, the Order of the Phoenixwould launch an all-out war, and my business would be severely affected."
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Malfoy curled up on the ground.
"One last time, Draco."
Moen squatted down, grabbed Malfoy's hair, and forced him to look into his eyes:
"Focus on fixing your cabinet. Stop doing these little tricks."
Although it was already fixed, he had to pretend to be fixing it.
"That night... is almost here."
Moen let go, stood up, and looked at the calendar on the wall.
"When that time comes, I will let you see with your own eyes what a real regicide is."
"It's time to go and see Dumbledore off."
Chapter 118: The Vanishing Cabinet's Toll, the Last Supper
June 30th, Dusk.
The air at Hogwarts was muggy and heavy, the low pressure before a storm making it hard to breathe.
Harry Potter was hurrying through the entrance hall, clutching his Invisibility Cloak tightly in his hand.
He had just received a note from Dumbledore: tonight, they were going to search for the Horcrux hidden in the sea cave.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry, Mr. Savior?"
A voice caused him to brake hard.
Moen White stood in the shadows of the marble staircase, holding his golden pocket watch as if counting down.
"Moen?" Harry looked at him warily. "I have urgent business. Dumbledore is waiting for me."
"I know he's waiting for you."
Moen closed the pocket watch and walked up to Harry.
He was dressed exceptionally formally today, as if preparing to attend a grand funeral.
"You're going to that cave, right? To get Slytherin's Locket."
"How do you..." Harry started to ask, then immediately shut his mouth.
In front of this man, secrets seemed meaningless.
"Save your energy, Harry."
Moen pulled a plain-looking, rusty fake locket from his pocket.
"No need to go. That one is a fake."
"What?!" Harry's eyes widened.
"The real locket was recovered by me from Grimmauld Place two years ago," Moen said flatly, as if mentioning he'd picked up some trash. "The soul inside has been drained by me and turned into my alchemical fuel. Now, that cave only contains a basin of disgusting poison and a worthless imitation."
Harry's head spun. "Then why didn't you tell Dumbledore?!"
"Because this is a 'necessary process.'"
Moen's gaze became deep.
"Dumbledore needs this 'mission' to complete his final curtain call. He needs to drink that poison to weaken himself, making the 'plan' look natural."
"If he were at full strength now, Malfoy and Snapewouldn't have a chance to act. And if they don't act, the 'The Unbreakable Vow' will kill Snape."
"If Snape dies, who will be the mole by Voldemort's side? Who will protect you?"
Harry felt a chill run through his body.
"You mean... Dumbledore will... tonight..."
"He's doing it willingly, Harry." Moen patted Harry's shoulder. "This is the ending he chose. A self-sacrifice for the greater good."
"Take this."
Moen handed Harry a bottle of golden potion.
"[Powerful Antidote - Modified]. After he finishes drinking the poison in that cave, pour this down his throat. It will clear his head a bit, at least enough to give him the strength to finish his last words."
Harry held the potion bottle, his hands trembling.
"You've arranged everything..." "I'm just managing risks."
Moen turned and walked toward the dungeons.
"Go, Harry. Accompany that old man on his final journey. As for the school..."
A flash of severity crossed Moen's eyes.
"...I will take care of receiving those 'uninvited guests'."
...Late at night, eighth floor, Room of Requirement.
Draco Malfoy stood before the massive black Vanishing Cabinet, his whole body shaking like a leaf.
His face was deathly pale, and he held the 'Hand of Glory' for light.
"It's time, Draco."
Moen White sat on an old sofa atop a pile of junk, holding a glass of red wine like an aristocrat watching a play.
"Open it."
Malfoy swallowed hard and tremblingly chanted the spell.
"Har-Harmonia Nectere Passus..."
The cabinet door gave a low hum and then slowly opened.
A cold burst of black mist surged out.
Immediately after, a pale hand gripped the edge of the cabinet door.
Bellatrix Lestrange's crazed face appeared first, followed closely by Fenrir Greyback, the Werewolf leader, Alecto Carrow, and several other vicious Death Eaters.
They were finally in.
Hogwarts' defenses had been breached from within.
"Hahahaha!" Bellatrix let out a shrill, manic laugh. "We're in! Where's Dumbledore? I'm going to kill him!"
"Quiet, Bella."
A cool voice interrupted her revelry.
The Death Eaters whipped their heads around, their wands pointing in unison at Moen atop the junk pile.
"White?!" Bellatrix gritted her teeth. "What are you doing here? Trying to be a hero?"
"I'm here to collect the 'toll'."
Moen stood up from the sofa, his Black Ironwood Canetracing an elegant arc in the air.
[Gate of Truth] — Spatial Seal.
Although he didn't seal the exit, he locked down the surrounding objects to prevent these lunatics from blowing up the room; this was his warehouse, after all.
"Everyone."
Moen looked down at the intruders from his height.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. I am the Chairman of the Board of Governors here, Moen White."
"I have a few rules I expect you to follow."
Greyback let out a roar, baring his yellow fangs. "Rules? I want meat! I want to crush the students' bones!"
He lunged at Malfoy, who was closest to him.
"Kneel."
Moen merely flicked an eyelid.
[Dragon Might (Blue, Growth Type)] — Directional Suppression.
Boom!
Greyback felt as if a mountain had been dropped on his back. Before he could even touch Malfoy, his knees buckled, and he slammed heavily onto the floor, cracking the tiles.
"I said, rules."
Moen's figure vanished instantly, reappearing the next second in front of Greyback, his foot stepping firmly on the Werewolf's head, pinning him to the ground.
"First, the castle's maintenance costs are very high. No large-scale destruction of public property."
"Second, no indiscriminate killing of students. They are all my potential customers."
"Third, your only target is Dumbledore."
Moen looked up at Bellatrix.
"Understood? You madwoman."
Bellatrix gripped her wand so hard her knuckles turned white.
She wanted to kill him, wanted to kill this arrogant brat.
But she remembered Voldemort's command: 'Do not touch Moen White unless he acts first. I still have a use for him.'
"Go!" Bellatrix shrieked. "To the Astronomy Tower! The Dark Mark has already risen!"
The Death Eaters bypassed Moen and rushed out of the Room of Requirement.
Malfoy remained where he was, his legs too weak to move.
"Draco."
Moen gave him a nudge with his foot.
"Follow them. This is your stage. Remember what I taught you—it's a performance. You don't need to actually kill anyone; you just need to hold your wand, tremble, cry, and show your struggle."
"Snape will take over everything at the final moment."
"Go."
Malfoy took a deep breath, picked up his fallen wand, and stumbled after them.
Moen stood alone in the empty Room of Requirement.
He tidied the tip of his shoe that Greyback had dirtied.
"Alfred."
"I'm here, Young Master," the butler's voice came through the two-way mirror.
"Notify all D.A. members. Tell them... the practical exercise has begun."
"Have them intercept any straggling Death Eaters. As for the Astronomy Tower..."
Moen looked out the window. There, a massive green skull was floating above the tower—the summons of death.
"...We don't need to interfere there."
"That is a farewell ceremony between two great Wizards."
Moen walked out of the room, heading toward the Astronomy Tower.
But he was in no hurry.
He walked slowly, as if passing through a corridor leading to a new era.
Because he knew that once tonight passed, once that white-bearded old man fell from the tower... the old order would completely collapse.
And the 'Black Gold Era' belonging to Moen White would officially arrive.
"Goodbye, Albus," Moen said softly, looking at the mark. "Rest assured, I will manage Hogwarts well. Better than when you were here."
Chapter 119: Falling Stars, The Werewolf's Breach of Contract Penalty
Midnight.
At the top of the Astronomy Tower, the green Dark Mark, like the skull of Death, emitted a faint, chilling light in the night sky.
Moen White did not ascend to the top of the tower.
He stood in the shadows of the lawn below the tower, head tilted upward, his [True Sight] penetrating layers of stone walls, clearly capturing everything happening at the top.
He saw Draco trembling, saw Dumbledore, though weak, still attempting to use this to preserve Draco's soul.
He saw the other Death Eaters clamoring.
Finally, he saw Severus Snape rush to the top of the tower.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A blinding green light illuminated the entire night sky.
In that instant, even Moen could not help but hold his breath.
The old man who had guarded Hogwarts like a Giant for half a century was struck by the spell, his body flying backward like a kite with a broken string, falling slowly and powerlessly.
Thud.
It wasn't a very loud sound.
Albus Dumbledore's body fell onto the grass at the foot of the tower, limbs splayed, those cerulean eyes still open, but devoid of any luster.
"It's over."
Moen closed his eyes and sighed softly.
He felt no sorrow, only the solemnity of witnessing the wheels of history rolling over.
"It is also a beginning."
Moen opened his eyes again, golden light flashing and vanishing in his pupils.
"Now, this school... is completely under my control."
...
castle corridor, melee.
The Death Eaters rushed down from the tower like madmen; they were reveling, destroying.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were fighting back desperately.
The training results of the D.A. were showing; using the [Alchemy Shield] and [Stupefy] provided by Moen, they were surprisingly managing to hold off this group of vicious adult Dark Wizards.
Until Fenrir Greyback rushed out.
This bloodthirsty Werewolf leader did not abide by Moen's "rules."
He saw Bill Weasley, and that craving for fresh meat made him lose control.
"Fresh meat!" Greyback roared, pouncing on Bill and biting into Bill's face.
"Ah—!!!" Bill screamed and fell to the ground.
"Hahahaha!" Greyback, his mouth full of blood, prepared for a second bite.
"I remember saying, damaging my 'assets' at will is forbidden."
A voice as cold as a hellish wind exploded in the corridor.
Greyback's movements froze.
He turned his head abruptly and saw Moen Whitestanding at the end of the corridor, holding that Black Ironwood Cane which was dripping with blood of unknown origin.
"White!" A flash of fear crossed Greyback's eyes, but it was immediately drowned out by bloodlust. "Dumbledore is dead! The Dark Lord has won! Your rules no longer apply!"
"Is that so?"
Moen's figure vanished instantly.
[Half-Giant Speed].
The next second, he appeared in front of Greyback.
He did not use his wand, but instead reached out with his dragon-hide gloved right hand, grabbed Greyback by the throat, and lifted the two-hundred-pound Werewolf off the ground with one hand!
"Ugh—!" Greyback struggled desperately, his sharp claws raking at Moen's arm, but they couldn't even tear Moen's trench coat.
"Contract breakers must pay liquidated damages."
Moen looked into Greyback's bloodshot eyes.
"Since you like biting people so much..."
Moen's left hand swung the wand violently, and a sharp mithril spike popped out from the tip.
"...Then I shall confiscate your teeth."
Pfft!
The wand stabbed fiercely into Greyback's mouth.
Accompanied by a dull cracking sound and a shrill whimper, all the Fangs in Greyback's mouth were forcibly smashed.
"Get out."
Moen flicked his hand, tossing the blood-covered, unconscious Greyback out the window like trash.
"If you don't want to die, take your people and get out of my castle."
The remaining Death Eaters, Alecto Carrow and the others, were scared out of their wits.
This kid was too ruthless! Even more ruthless than the Death Eaters!
They didn't dare to continue fighting and scrambled toward the main gate.
...
Edge of the grounds, near Hagrid's hut.
Harry was chasing Snape.
"Coward! You killed him! If you're a man, fight me!" Harryroared, continuously casting hexes.
Snape easily deflected all the spells; his face was twisted, full of pain and anger.
"Don't—call—me—a—coward!"
Snape waved his wand, knocking Harry to the ground.
Just as he was about to leave, he saw Moen standing in the shadows at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Snape's footsteps faltered.
The two looked at each other across the burning Hagrid's hut.
Moen did not move to stop him; he just nodded slightly and made a "please" gesture.
"Well done, Severus. Go complete your undercover mission."
Snape understood that look.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the despair surging in his heart, turned, and taking the already broken Draco Malfoy with him, vanished into the darkness via Apparition.
Moen watched them disappear.
Then, he walked over to Harry, who had fallen to the ground.
Harry lay on the grass, weeping bitterly. He had lost his last protector.
"Get up, Harry."
Moen did not help him up, just said coldly.
"Dumbledore is dead. But that doesn't mean you are dead too."
"Look at who that is." Moen pointed not far away; Hagridwas rushing out of the burning hut, Fang barking wildly.
"Your friends are still fighting. Bill Weasley is seriously injured. If you only know how to cry here, then you have truly failed that old man's sacrifice."
Harry raised his head, his face covered in tears and mud.
"Moen... Snape... he is a traitor..."
"I know." Moen squatted down and pulled a golden locket from his pocket—the real Slytherin locket, already purified.
"Take this."
"What?"
"A reminder."
Moen stuffed the locket into Harry's hand:
"Dumbledore's task for you was to find the Horcrux, right? He drank the poison in that cave and exchanged it for a fake. That made him very desperate."
"But you can tell his spirit in heaven..."
Moen stood up, looking at the burning flames:
"...The real Horcrux has already been recovered by us."
"This is war, Harry. In war, only those who survive have the right to grieve."
"Go back to the castle. It needs a... leader."
Harry clutched the cold locket, looking at Moen's indifferent profile.
He suddenly stopped crying.
An unprecedented hardness grew in his heart.
He climbed up, wiped away his tears, and ran toward the castle.
...
A few days later, Dumbledore's funeral.
A white tomb stood by the Black Lake.
People from the entire Wizarding world had come.
Moen White was wearing a solemn black suit, standing on the outermost edge of the crowd.
He didn't go to squeeze into the front, but stood under a beech tree, watching the white coffin slowly close.
"He was a great Wizard." Lupin stood beside Moen, his eyes red. "He gave me a job, gave me dignity."
"Yes." Moen nodded. "He was a respectable opponent, and also... not too bad a business partner."
"What now?" Lupin asked. "The Order of the Phoenix has lost its leader, the Ministry of Magic is in chaos. Voldemortwill be acting openly soon."
Moen turned around, with his back to the funeral scene.
"Next, it is 'my turn'."
Moen took a list out of his pocket.
It was the "White Group Wartime Mobilization Order."
"Notify all factories to run at full capacity. Protective gear, antidotes, alchemical weapons... I want to fill the inventory."
"Notify The Daily Prophet to start serializing 'A Survival Guide Under the Dark Lord's Tyranny,' create anxiety, and promote our products."
"Notify Sirius, tell him to raise the protection level of Number 12, Grimmauld Place to the maximum. That will be the last fortress of the Order of the Phoenix."
Moen gripped his wand tightly, his eyes flickering with an ambition never seen before:
"Although Dumbledore is dead, the vacuum he left behind must be filled by someone."
"Voldemort wants to rule the world?"
Moen sneered, looking at the Dementors circling in the sky in the distance.
"He'll have to ask me, the world's largest creditor, if I agree first."
Chapter 120: The Minister's Last Supper, The Rejected Requisition Order
July 31st, the eve of Harry Potter's birthday.
The night in London was sultry and humid.
The streets of the Muggle world were sparse with pedestrians, and the air was thick with an indescribable, terrifying atmosphere.
The news was still scrolling about the collapse of the Brockdale Bridge.
White Tower was located on the top floor of London's financial district.
Moen White was sitting behind an exaggeratedly long obsidian desk, with a huge floor-to-ceiling window behind him, overlooking the night view of all London.
He was wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, signing a document regarding the "Security Upgrade for Gringotts Underground Vaults."
"Young Master, the guest has arrived." Alfred's voice came from the doorway.
"Let him in." Moen did not even look up.
The door opened.
Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Minister for Magic, strode in.
He looked terrible; his lion-like mane had become gray and messy, his face was etched with deep wrinkles, and his yellowish-brown eyes were bloodshot, revealing a desperate ruthlessness.
He leaned on a cane, followed by two nervous-looking Aurors.
"Good evening, Minister." Moen put down his quill, interlaced his fingers, and said, "Visiting so late, it seems the situation has deteriorated to the point where even you cannot sleep?"
"Cut the crap, White."
Scrimgeour did not sit down, instead slamming a document stamped with the purple seal of the Ministry of Magic onto the desk.
"This is the 'Wartime Emergency Supplies Requisition Order'."
Scrimgeour's voice was hoarse and authoritative:
"In view of the current state of emergency, the Ministry of Magic has decided to legally requisition all factories under 'White Heavy Industries' that produce Wolfsbane Potionand offensive Alchemy items such as defensive cloaks."
The office was deathly silent.
Alfred adjusted his monocle, his hand quietly reaching for the holster at his waist.
Moen looked at the document without getting angry.
He even smiled, smiling as if he were looking at an ignorant child.
"Requisition?"
Moen extended a finger and gently pushed the document back.
"Mr. Minister, I think you have misunderstood something."
"Even in a wartime state, the inviolability of private property is the cornerstone of a commercial society. What is the difference between your current behavior and those Death Eaters who break into people's homes to rob them?"
"This is for the survival of the wizarding world!" Scrimgeour roared, his cane striking the floor heavily, "Voldemort is recruiting! If we don't have enough equipment, how can we win?!"
"That is your problem, not mine."
Moen stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and turned his back to Scrimgeour.
"My factories are legal commercial institutions. You can place an order, and I will give you a five percent discount. But if you want to get something for nothing..."
Moen turned around, his eyes instantly becoming cold and biting:
"...Even if you are the Minister, I can have Gringotts freeze all the Ministry of Magic's accounts by tomorrow morning, leaving your Aurors unable to even collect their wages."
"You dare threaten the government?!" The Aurors behind Scrimgeour drew their wands.
Click.
There was no light from spells.
Only a few crisp sounds of mechanical chambering.
Out of the shadows of the room walked four Werewolfbodyguards wearing black tactical vests.
In their hands, they held not wands, but large-caliber alchemical firearms modified by Alchemy.
The dark muzzles were pointed at Scrimgeour's head.
"This is not called a threat; this is called deterrence," Moensaid indifferently.
Scrimgeour stared at Moen, his chest heaving violently.
After a long while, he waved his hand, signaling the Aurors to put away their wands.
"White..." Scrimgeour's voice softened, carrying a hint of pleading, "We need help. Harry Potter... he is the only hope. I still have to go to The Burrow tonight to read Dumbledore's will. If you could..."
"I don't care what Dumbledore left for Harry."
Moen walked back to the table, took a black business card from the drawer, and handed it to Scrimgeour.
"But I can give you a piece of advice, Minister."
Moen looked at this old lion who was about to reach his end, a flicker of imperceptible pity flashing in his eyes.
"Your time is running out."
"Death Eaters have already infiltrated the upper echelons of the Ministry of Magic. Your current persistence is like building a castle on the beach."
"This business card is for the White Family's 'Estate Trust Service'."
Moen stuffed the business card into Scrimgeour's breast pocket:
"If you unfortunately... die in the line of duty, I can help you properly handle your affairs and protect your family from being purged. In exchange, I need you to hand over the key to the 'Auror Secret Intelligence Network' held by the Ministry of Magic."
"You think I will die?" Scrimgeour stared with wide eyes.
"Everyone dies, Minister," Moen said softly, "The difference is whether the death has value."
"If, when Voldemort points his wand at your throat and demands the whereabouts of Harry Potter, you can keep your mouth shut..."
Moen gave a salute:
"...then I will hold the grandest funeral for you for free."
Scrimgeour looked at Moen, and in that instant, he seemed to see his own end in the young man's eyes.
He did not speak again, nor did he mention the requisition again.
He gave Moen a deep look, turned, and left with the Aurors.
Watching Scrimgeour's retreating back, Moen sighed.
"A tough guy. Pity, he doesn't know how to adapt."
"Alfred."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Notify the factories to enter'Silent Mode.' Transfer all core production lines to that safe house protected by the Fidelius Charm."
Moen looked out the window.
"If I haven't miscalculated, tomorrow... the Ministry of Magic is going to change."
...
The next day, The Burrow.
A grand wedding was being held here.
The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour.
White tents, golden chairs, and guests dressed in their finest.
Harry had taken Polyjuice Potion and turned into a red-haired relative of the Weasley family, sitting next to Ron.
"Look! Who is that?" Ron pointed at the sky in surprise.
A luxurious carriage pulled by four black Thestrals descended from the sky, landing steadily on the grass.
The carriage door opened, and Moen White stepped out.
He was not wearing traditional robes, but a meticulously tailored silver-gray suit, with a white rose pinned to his chest.
"Why is he here?" Hermione said nervously, "Doesn't he dislike these kinds of occasions?"
Moen walked straight to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and handed over an exquisite gift box.
"Happy wedding, Mrs. Weasley," Moen smiled, "This is a small token of my regard."
Mrs. Weasley opened the box, looking somewhat flattered.
Inside, there were no gold or jewels, but a small-looking, folded tent.
"This is?"
"[White Heavy Industries · Wilderness Survival Shelter (Supreme Edition)]."