Chapter 131: The Headmaster's Black Robe, Absolute Calm Agent, and the Audit of the Underground Armory
May 1st, evening.
The sunset was like blood, staining the towers of Hogwarts a dark red.
In the Headmaster's office, the giant stone gargoyle still guarded the entrance in silence, but the atmosphere inside the room was suffocatingly oppressive.
Severus Snape sat in the chair that Dumbledore had once occupied.
He looked thinner and paler than ever, his black robes hanging loosely on his frame.
His left hand was pressed tightly against his right arm, where the Dark Mark was burning fiercely, conveying Voldemort's overwhelming fury.
Gringotts had been robbed.
The Hufflepuff's Cup was gone.
The Dark Lord already knew that his Horcruxes were being hunted.
"He will come..." Snape muttered to the empty room, his forehead covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, "He will search every hiding place, and finally, he will come here."
"If I were you, Severus, I wouldn't be in such a rush to answer the call right now."
A calm voice came from the shadows.
Snape snapped his head up.
Moen was standing beneath the portraits of the former Headmasters, holding an exquisite silver pocket watch and checking the time.
"Why are you here?" Snape's voice was hoarse, "You should be setting up defenses. Potter... that idiot Pottermust be rushing here."
"The defensive works have already been taken over by Lupin."
Moen closed the pocket watch and walked to the desk.
"I came here to ensure that our 'key actor' doesn't forget his lines due to a mental breakdown before the final act begins."
Moen looked at Snape's bloodshot, deeply exhausted eyes.
This man had been walking on that tightrope for too long.
Voldemort's Legilimency was getting stronger, and although Snape's Occlumency was top-tier, under such extreme pressure, even the slightest emotional fluctuation could lead to total ruin.
"Your mental state is poor." Moen said bluntly, "Your fear, anxiety, and even that... complex emotion you have for Lily Potter, are all like a leaking sieve right now."
"If Voldemort were standing in front of you now, he would only need to look at you once to know you were lying."
Snape clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms: "I have no choice. I must go see him."
"You do have a choice."
Moen pulled an inconspicuous gray glass bottle from his pocket.
The liquid inside was viscous and still, without a single ripple, like a pool of stagnant water.
[Alchemy Potion: Absolute Calm Agent (Absolute Calm)]
[Ingredients: Extract of Draught of Living Death, Mandrake root fibers, and... a small amount of 'Dementor's Apathy'.]
"Drink it."
Moen pushed the bottle over.
"This isn't an ordinary sedative. It will temporarily sever the connection between the 'limbic system' and the 'prefrontal cortex' in your brain."
"Simply put..." Moen's gaze was cold, "...for the next six hours, you will lose the ability to generate any 'emotions'. No fear, no love."
"You will become a machine of pure logic. Even if Voldemort kills someone right in front of you, your heart rate won't increase by a single beat."
Snape looked at the vial of potion.
This was exactly what he needed right now.
The perfect disguise.
"What's the cost?" Snape asked, "A potion that forcibly strips away emotions must have significant side effects, right?"
"It might make you feel double the pain in the days after the potion wears off." Moen shrugged, "But compared to being discovered by Voldemort, what are these side effects?"
Snape was silent for two seconds, then pulled out the stopper and drank it in one gulp.
Just a few seconds later.
The anxiety, pain, and even the gloomy air on Snape's face all vanished.
His expression became as rigid as marble, his eyes hollow and calm, like a bottomless ancient well.
"How do you feel?" Moen asked.
"Very quiet." Snape's voice no longer trembled, sounding terrifyingly steady, "My thinking is very clear."
"Very good."
Moen nodded with satisfaction.
"Now, you can go report to Voldemort. Tell him Pottermight come to Hogwarts. Guide him to choose this place as the battlefield."
"Because only here..."
Moen looked at the grounds outside the window:
"...have I prepared enough 'audience' and 'funerals' for him."
Snape nodded, not saying another word. He turned into a cloud of black smoke, rushed out the window, and flew toward the Dark Lord's summoning site.
...
Eighth floor, Room of Requirement.
Moen did not leave the castle immediately.
He came to the eighth floor and walked three times in front of the wall opposite the tapestry.
"I need to inspect my... warehouse."
The door appeared.
Moen pushed the door open and entered.
This was no longer the "dump" it had been before, nor was it just the "training ground" for the D.A. army.
It had become a huge, busy wartime command center.
Dozens of hammocks hung from the ceiling, housing the students hiding from Carrow siblings.
A detailed map of Hogwarts hung on the wall, marked with various red crosses.
And on the other side of the room, wooden crates were piled high.
The crates were stamped with the logo of "White Heavy Industries".
Neville Longbottom was there, counting supplies.
He was much taller than before, with wounds on his face and tattered robes, but the look in that round-faced boy's eyes had completely changed.
It had become resolute, brave, and even carried a hint of murderous intent.
"Mr. White." Neville saw Moen and stopped his work.
"Just call me Moen, Neville."
Moen walked over and tapped an open crate with his cane.
Inside were dozens of black, fist-sized spheres neatly arranged.
[Alchemy Shock Grenade].
"Is the stock enough?" Moen asked.
"It's enough." Neville wiped his sweat, "We've used these'smoke balls' to blow up Carrow siblings' toilets three times this week. They now have to use detection spells every time they go to the bathroom."
"That was just a prank."
Moen shook his head and walked to another long, rectangular crate.
He opened the crate.
Inside were rows of silver tactical vests engraved with runes, similar to the ones Dobby wore, but lighter.
[Mithril Light Armor - Mass Produced].
"Distribute these tonight."
Moen looked at Neville:
"Give one to every student who remains at the school and is prepared to fight."
"Are we fighting tonight?" Neville's breathing quickened.
"Yes."
Moen surveyed the room.
Besides Neville, there were Ginny, Luna who insisted on coming back, Seamus, and others.
These children had gone through cruel tempering over the past year and were no longer students, but warriors.
"Harry Potter is on his way back. And Voldemort..."
Moen pointed to the ceiling:
"...he is right behind him."
"Neville, you are the commander here."
Moen patted Neville's shoulder, his [Dragon Might] restrained, transforming into a steadying force of support:
"When the battle begins, I need you to hold the castle's corridors and the Astronomy Tower. Don't fight head-on. Use this equipment, use the terrain."
"Remember, your mission is not to kill the enemy, but to survive."
"Only by staying alive can you enjoy the post-war dividends."
Neville nodded heavily: "Don't worry, Moen. We will hold it. The D.A. army has been preparing for this day."
Moen looked at these young faces.
He suddenly felt that this investment might have been the most correct one he had ever made.
These children were the future of Hogwarts and the cornerstone of his future business empire.
"Very good."
Moen turned and walked toward the door.
"I'm going to the main entrance to welcome Savior."
"Also..."
Moen's fingers gently stroked the top of his cane.
"...go check the 'welcome ceremony' I prepared for that group of Death Eaters, and see if the alchemy landmines have been buried."
The dark clouds of the great war were already pressing down on the towers of the castle.
And Moen, standing in the shadows, was smiling and waiting.
Chapter 132: Screams in the Corridor, Damaged Assets, and Expensive "Depreciation Fees
Late at night.
There were no lights in the corridors of Hogwarts, only the dim, flickering shadows cast by the torches on the walls.
The air was filled with an ancient scent of fear.
In this silence, a burst of suppressed sobbing sounded particularly jarring.
Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor, a thin, small first-year Hufflepuff girl was huddled in a corner, shivering.
Amicus Carrow had a cruel smile on his bloated, sagging face as he pointed his wand at her.
"Stop crying, Mudblood!" Amicus roared viciously. "I told you to practice Cruciatus Curse, and you dared to refuse? It seems you need to experience it yourself to understand the mercy of the Dark Lord!"
"No... Professor... please..." The girl covered her face in despair.
"Cruciatus Curse—"
Thump.
A dull but piercing sound of a cane striking the floor interrupted Amicus's spellcasting.
"Good evening, Professor Carrow."
Amicus turned around abruptly.
Moen White stepped slowly out of the shadows at the end of the corridor.
He was not wearing a school uniform, but had changed into a black tactical trench coat with dark silver armor plates, designed for ease of movement.
"White?" Amicus narrowed his eyes. The wariness in his eyes flashed and vanished, replaced by arrogance. "What? Is the Chairman of the Board of Governors here to manage my teaching now? The Dark Lord gave me the authority to punish students!"
"The authority was given by the Dark Lord, that is correct."
Moen walked up to the crying girl, without even glancing at her, and extended his cane to gently lift a corner of the girl's torn robe.
"However..."
Moen turned his head to look at Amicus, his eyes as cold as if he were looking at a financial report:
"...This student is 'property' of Hogwarts. More accurately, she is a 'potential asset' who may provide labor for the White Group in the future."
"If you torture her with Cruciatus Curse, you will damage her nervous system, causing her future work efficiency to drop by 40%."
Moen took a small notebook from his pocket; it was the "Asset Depreciation Record."
"Amicus, you are damaging my private property."
"Screw your property!" Amicus was enraged. He had long found this money-grubbing brat an eyesore. "This is wartime! I can torture whoever I want! Even you, White, if you dare to stop me, I will—"
Amicus raised his wand and pointed it at Moen.
"Foolish."
Moen sighed.
He did not draw his wand.
He just turned slightly and snapped his fingers.
Whoosh—thud!
In the darkness, two black figures dropped from the ceiling like ghosts.
They were two elite members of the Werewolf Guard, fully armed.
They had not transformed, but their strong physiques and alchemical equipment granted them terrifying speed.
One Werewolf instantly grabbed Amicus's wrist and twisted it hard.
"Crack!"
The wrist broke, and the wand fell to the ground.
The other Werewolf kicked Amicus in the back of the knee.
"Bang!"
This arrogant Death Eater Professor fell to his knees, letting out a scream like a slaughtered pig.
"Ah! My hand! How dare you touch me! I am one of the Dark Lord's men!"
"Make him shut up," Moen ordered indifferently.
One Werewolf pulled out a rag, used for cleaning cauldrons, and stuffed it hard into Amicus's mouth.
Moen walked up to the kneeling Amicus and looked down at him.
"Professor Carrow, let's settle the accounts."
Moen gently tapped Amicus's swollen face with his cane:
"Over this past year, thirty-seven students have been tortured by you with Cruciatus Curse. Fifty-two have been injured while in detention with you."
"According to the 'White Security Company Compensation Regulations'..."
Moen's cane pressed down hard, the mithril tip piercing Amicus's skin and resting against his cheekbone.
"...You need to pay 500 Galleons per person in 'medical expenses' and 'depreciation fees'."
"That is a total of 44,500 Galleons."
Amicus's eyes widened, he let out muffled cries, his eyes full of fear.
How could he have that much money?
"No money?"
Moen smiled, a smile that looked particularly sinister under the torchlight.
"If you don't have money, pay with your flesh."
"Break three of his ribs as a down payment."
Moen turned away, no longer looking at him.
Behind him came dull thuds and the sound of breaking bones.
The Hufflepuff girl fainted from fright.
"Take her to Madam Pomfrey," Moen said to the other Werewolf. "Put it on my tab."
Five minutes later, at the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower.
Moen adjusted his slightly disheveled collar and arrived there.
Alecto Carrow, Amicus's sister, was guarding the place, waiting to catch Harry Potter.
"Brother?" Alecto heard footsteps and thought it was Amicus. "Why are you only just arriving? That Potter might—"
She turned around, only to see a cold, stern face.
"Good evening, madam."
Moen smiled, holding something in his hand—it was Amicus, being dragged along the ground like a dead dog.
"Your brother owes me some money and is currently paying interest. I thought, as a family member, you might need to share some of the debt?"
"Amicus!" Alecto screamed, raising her wand to attack.
"Expelliarmus."
A red light struck first.
It wasn't cast by Moen.
It shot out from the shadows nearby.
Luna Lovegood walked out from behind the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.
She held her wand in her hand; although her eyes were still a bit dazed, her movements were exceptionally decisive.
Alecto's wand flew away.
"Thank you, Luna." Moen nodded in approval.
He stepped forward and kicked Alecto, who was trying to retrieve her wand, to the ground.
"It seems Ravenclaw students are not as weak as I imagined."
Moen looked at the two siblings lying on the ground and waved to the Werewolf Guard behind him.
"Pack up this trash."
"Send them to the dungeon. Don't let them die, and don't let them escape."
A glint flashed in Moen's eyes:
"When Harry Potter arrives later, he might want to 'land a few hits' on them himself. We need to leave some punching bags for Savior to vent on."
"Yes, boss." The werewolves dragged the two unconscious Death Eaters away.
The corridor returned to silence.
Luna put away her wand and walked to Moen's side.
"Is Harry here?" she asked.
"Soon."
Moen walked to the window, looking at the pitch-black grounds.
He could feel several hurried breaths approaching in the secret passage leading to the Hog's Head Inn.
"He will go to your common room first," Moen said to Luna. "He is probably looking for the Ravenclaw's Diadem."
Moen remembered he had told Harry and the others that the Ravenclaw's Diadem had been dealt with.
"Take him there, Luna."
Moen patted Luna's head:
"Take him to see that statue. It's part of the script."
"What about you?" Luna asked.
"I am going to the Great Hall."
Moen gripped his cane tightly, his gaze fixed in the direction of the castle gates.
"Voldemort's army has already reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest."
"As the 'landlord,' I have to go and support HeadmasterSnape."
"By the way..."
A look of arrogant amusement curled the corners of Moen's mouth:
"...I'm going to give those Death Eaters who think Hogwarts is a pushover an open lecture on 'Modern Warfare Defense Systems'."
"The show has begun."
Chapter 133 The Requirement Room's Armory, the Resistance's Point System, and the Final Supply
The portrait of Ariana in the Hog's Head Inn swung open like a door. A smell mixed with moldy earth and old stone rushed into their faces.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed behind Neville Longbottom, struggling forward in the dark and narrow secret passage.
By the light of his wand, Harry looked at Neville in shock.
Neville had changed.
There was a deep wound on his face, and his hair had grown long enough to cover his eyes. Although his robes were worn, a heavy belt hung around his waist, filled with various strange metal tubes and Potion bottles.
"You've come at just the right time," Neville gasped as he walked. "We're barely holding on… or rather, Carrow siblings are about to be tormented to death by us."
"What's that about?" Ron pointed at the shiny things on Neville's waist. "Are those bombs?"
"This is the [White Tactical Belt]," Neville patted the belt, a hint of pride in his tone. "It contains two bottles of powerful Blood-Replenishing Potion, three smoke bombs, and a spare alchemical dagger. That's 'employee benefits' from Moen."
"Employees?" Hermione frowned.
"We're here."
Neville pushed open the door at the end of the secret passage.
A burst of boisterous cheers instantly drowned them out.
Harry climbed out of the hole, straightened his body, and looked around. He was stunned.
Was this still the Room of Requirement he remembered?
It was no longer that cozy practice room, but a huge, well-organized wartime camp.
Dozens of hammocks hung in mid-air, and colorful house banners were still fluttering, although the Slytherin banner was hung in a corner.
But most striking were the mountains of wooden crates stacked against the wall.
The crates were printed with a conspicuous "W" (White Heavy Industries) logo.
Some crates were open, revealing bundles of [Mithril Bracers] and [Auto-Targeting Biting Cabbage (Improved Version)] inside; there was even a huge blackboard with today's "Task List" written on it.
Task 1: Sabotage Carrow siblings' megaphone — Reward: 50 White Points.
Task 2: Rescue first-years in detention — Reward: 100 White Points + one Healing Potion.
Task 3: Spill anti-slip alchemical oil in the hallway — Reward: 20 points.
"This is how we survive."
Neville walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and crossed off the "Sabotage megaphone" item.
"Moen White established a 'Resistance Point System.' As long as we cause trouble for the Death Eaters or protect vulnerable students, we can exchange for supplies from him."
Neville pointed to an alchemical cabinet in the corner that looked like a vending machine:
"That's the [Unmanned Supply Station]. Just insert the point card, and it can spit out food, Potion, or even the kind of tactical gear you saw earlier."
"This…" Ron's mouth hung open. "This is too… too cool! I want points too!"
"This is war, Ron." Hermione looked at those weapons, her expression complex. "Moen has turned the resistance into a… mercenary game."
"But it kept us alive."
Ginny Weasley squeezed out from the crowd; her hair was a bit messy, but her eyes were bright.
"Harry!" She rushed over and gave Harry a hug.
"Ginny…" Harry was a bit at a loss. "Does… Moen come here often?"
"He rarely shows his face." Ginny let go of Harry and pointed to the ceiling. "He's like a ghost. But he always knows what we need. Last time, before Luna was taken away, it was he who gave Luna that amulet."
"By the way, where is Luna?" Harry asked.
"I'm here."
An ethereal voice sounded.
Luna Lovegood was sitting on a pile of crates labeled "High-Explosive Alchemical Materials," swinging her legs.
She was unharmed, even looking a bit chubbier, having eaten too well at the Moen Manor.
"Moen just took Carrow siblings away." Luna said.
Just as everyone was exchanging information in a flurry of voices,
Hum—
A huge alchemical projector in the center of the room suddenly activated automatically.
A blue light projected into mid-air; it was the image of Moen White.
The room instantly fell silent.
The members of the D.A. instinctively looked at the image; that was their "patron" and also their "arms dealer."
Moen in the image was standing on a high tower somewhere in the castle, with the pitch-black night sky and the assembling Death Eater army in the background.
"Good evening, everyone in the D.A."
Moen's voice clearly spread throughout the room:
"If you are seeing this recording, it means—the bespectacled troublemaker has returned."
Harry: "…"
"This means the incubation period is over. Total war is about to begin."
Moen in the image waved his hand.
Several locked large iron crates in the corner of the Room of Requirement suddenly popped open automatically.
Click! Click!
Inside were rows of brand-new, cold-glinting [Black Ironwood Standard wands (Mass-Produced Version)] and [Dragon-Hide Tactical Trench Coats].
"This is the final supply."
Moen's voice became serious and cold:
"Voldemort is right outside. He has brought Giants, the remaining Werewolves, and Dementors."
"You only have half an hour to change."
"Neville Longbottom."
Neville, being named, straightened his back.
"Take your people and hold the Astronomy Tower and the covered bridge. Do not let the Death Eaters rush into the Great Hall."
"Remember, the equipment on you is very expensive. I don't want to see them become unclaimed relics."
"As for Harry Potter…"
Moen in the image turned his head, his black eyes seeming to pierce through time and space, staring directly at Harrystanding in the crowd:
"…I will wait for you in the Great Hall. Professor Snape has a'story' to tell you."
"Don't be late."
Bzz—
The image disappeared.
The room fell into a brief silence, followed by an outbreak of preparation clamor.
Students rushed to the crates, put on the dragon-hide trench coats, and picked up the special spare wands.
They were no longer shivering children, but a well-equipped army.
"This is insane," Ron said while putting on the trench coat. "I feel like we're about to rob Gringotts."
"We just finished robbing it," Harry reminded him.
Harry watched the busy classmates around him, a warm current surging in his heart.
Although Moen's methods were full of the stench of money, and although he treated everything as business… he had indeed armed everyone.
"Let's go."
Harry gripped his wand and said to Hermione and Ron:
"Go find the Ravenclaw's Diadem. Then… go to the Great Hall."
"I want to ask Snape what kind of story he wants to tell."
Neville was distributing alchemical grenades: "Harry! Take this!" He shoved two black spheres into Harry's hands. "Moen said this thing can blow off a Giant's toes!"
Harry took the grenades; they were heavy.
"Thanks, Neville."
He turned to look at the door.
The door of the Room of Requirement opened.
Outside the door was not a corridor, but a battlefield.
And in the center of the battlefield, that Slytherin who controlled everything was waiting for the final opening act.
Chapter 134: The Crossed-Out List, Luna's Resort, and the Headmaster's Final Performance
Outside the Room of Requirement.
The corridor was empty, save for the occasional sounds of explosions and screams in the distance.
Harry Potter had just taken a step when he suddenly stopped. He spun around violently and grabbed Ron and Hermione, who were about to rush toward the stairs.
"Wait." Harry panted, the hot blood in his brain cooling slightly. "We don't need to go find the Ravenclaw's Diadem."
"What?" Ron braked to a halt, nearly crashing into Hermione. "But didn't you just say..."
"I was too hasty just now, my mind was a mess."
Harry leaned against the wall, steadying his breathing, and pulled the crumpled Horcrux list from his pocket:
"diary — destroyed."
"Ring — Dumbledore handled it."
"Locket — in Moen's hands."
"Cup — we destroyed it at Gringotts."
Harry's finger paused on the "Diadem" entry, his expression complex:
"The Diadem... Moen said in the Two-Way Mirror that he had already taken that thing from the Room of Requirement long ago. He said he had already... 'handled' it."
"He really took it?" Hermione was somewhat incredulous. "That's a relic of a Hogwarts founder!"
"He's a lunatic who dares to slice up Dementors." Harrygave a bitter smile. "Collecting a diadem is nothing to him. And... since he said he handled it, then it really is handled. In this regard, he never lies."
"Then that only leaves us with..." Ron swallowed hard.
"That snake." Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "Nagini. And Voldemort himself."
"And Harry."
A light, airy voice cut in.
Luna Lovegood stood behind them.
She was wearing the dragon-hide tactical trench coat that Moen had given her; it looked a bit big, but a dreamy smile hung on her face.
"Moen said you are the final key." Luna looked at Harry. "But he didn't say whether this key is for opening the door or locking it."
"Luna," Hermione looked at her, "have you really been... at Moen's house all this time?"
"Yes."
Luna nodded, her eyes full of nostalgia. At this life-or-death moment before the battle, her tone sounded as if she were describing a spring outing:
"It's very big there. There are no Wrackspurts. Moenprepared a special room for me, and the ceiling is painted with real stars. Every morning, a butler named Alfredbrings hot pudding."
"I also saw the dragon that flew away from Gringotts." Luna gestured. "It lives in the back garden now. Moenhealed its eyes, and it's gained a bit of weight; it's currently helping Moen guard the vault."
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
They had been eating tree bark in the wilderness, sleeping in tents, and being hunted by snatchers.
And Luna was at Moen's estate... feeding dragons, eating pudding, and watching stars?
"This isn't fair!" Ron roared indignantly. "I want to be kidnapped by Moen too!"
"That was 'political asylum', Weasley."
Harry took a deep breath, suppressing the absurdity in his heart.
Moen White... that man really had arranged everything.
He was like a brilliant chess player, placing everyone in the most suitable position.
"Let's go." Harry gripped his wand again, his eyes turning firm. "Since we don't need to look for the Horcrux, let's get down to business."
"Go to the Great Hall. Go find Snape."
"I want to ask him which side he is really on."
...
The Great Hall foyer.
When Harry and his group arrived, it was already shrouded in an eerie, confrontational atmosphere.
Professor McGonagall stood at the top of the stairs, her wand pointed forward. Behind her, Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout had also hurried over.
And opposite them stood a single person.
Severus Snape.
The current Headmaster.
He looked gloomier than ever.
That black robe wrapped around his gaunt body like a bat ready to strike.
"They say you killed Dumbledore." Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with extreme anger. "If you have any conscience left, Severus, step aside. We are going to protect the students."
"I am in charge here, Minerva." Snape said coldly, his voice terrifyingly steady—the effect of an absolute calming agent. "The Dark Lord is coming. Your resistance is meaningless."
"That is our choice!"
Professor McGonagall waved her wand violently.
A whip of fire roared out.
Snape raised his wand—it was an exquisitely precise defensive spell.
He didn't even counterattack, just blocked continuously.
"Coward!" Harry rushed out from under his Invisibility Cloak and roared.
Snape's eyes flickered. He saw Harry.
Those green eyes.
"Potter..." Snape murmured.
Just as Professor McGonagall prepared to cast the next spell, Snape suddenly moved.
He did not attack Professor McGonagall.
His wand whipped backward, striking the two Death Eaters behind him who were preparing to ambush Professor McGonagall—although Carrow siblings had been caught by Moen, there were other followers.
The two Death Eaters screamed as they crashed into the wall.
Then, Snape turned into a cloud of black smoke, smashed directly through the high window of the Great Hall, and flew out.
"He ran!" Ron shouted.
"No, he's drawing the enemy away."
A cold voice sounded from the railing on the second floor.
Everyone looked up.
Moen White was standing there, holding a glass of red wine, as if the breathtaking duel just now was merely an appetizer.
"Moen?" Professor McGonagall looked at him in surprise.
"Good evening, Professor."
Moen walked slowly down the stairs, the sound of his leather shoes striking the marble clearly audible.
"Headmaster Snape's term... has ended."
Moen walked to the center of the hall, looking around at the panic-stricken students and teachers.
"From now on, Hogwarts is under a 'wartime state of emergency'."
"According to Board Resolution No. 101..."
Moen raised his cane and struck it heavily on the ground.
Hum—
The castle's defensive barrier emitted a low roar.
That was the sound of the alchemy array Moen had long since laid out being activated.
"...I, Moen White, am taking over the castle's defense."
"Professor McGonagall." Moen looked at this GryffindorHead of House. "Please organize the lower-year students to evacuate through the secret passage in the Hog's Head. That is the only safe route."
"As for those staying to fight..."
Moen looked at Harry, then at Luna, Neville, Ginny, and the others behind him.
"...Go get your equipment. The White Heavy Industriesweapon crates have been opened."
"This is war, everyone."
A hint of golden light flashed in Moen's eyes:
"Not for honor, and not for justice. But for survival."
Just then.
A high-pitched, cold, sound like fingernails scraping against glass suddenly rang in everyone's minds.
That was Voldemort's voice.
"I know you are preparing to resist..."
"Hand over Harry Potter... and I will not harm you..."
"I give you one hour..."
The Great Hall was deathly silent.
Everyone's gaze was fixed on Harry.
"There!"
Beside the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson suddenly stood up, screaming and pointing at Harry:
"He's there! Catch him! Hand him over to the Dark Lord!"
Harry subconsciously raised his wand. The Gryffindorstudents immediately blocked Harry's front.
"Are we going to fight?" Ron rolled up his sleeves.
"No."
Moen turned around, looked at Pansy, and then looked at the Slytherin students who were itching to move.
"It seems some people have forgotten the rules I set."
Moen sighed and waved his hand at the shadows behind him.
"Alfred, and Lupin."
"Yes, young master."
"Take Miss Parkinson, and all the students who want to surrender..."
Moen's tone was as indifferent as if he were dealing with expired goods:
"...Please escort them all to the dungeon. It's cool there, suitable for helping them calm down."
"As for the other Slytherins..."
Moen looked at Malfoy, the boy who was trembling.
"Draco, do you want to go to the dungeon, or do you want to pick up your wand and defend your school like a man?"
Malfoy looked at Moen, then at Harry.
He
"I... I'll listen to you, Moen."
"Very good."
Moen turned to face the door.
"One hour."
"Enough for us to turn this castle into a solid fortress."
Chapter 135: The Hour of Truce, the Out-of-Control Time-Turner, and New York Harbor in the Mist
Hogwarts fell into a brief and suffocating silence.
Voldemort's voice had just faded away; he had given the defenders one hour to surrender Harry Potter.
The Great Hall had been turned into a temporary field hospital.
Madam Pomfrey and the volunteers from Slytherin were busy treating the wounded.
the Weasleys was gathered together; Fred was injured, but fortunately, Moen's equipment had saved his life, and he was currently receiving treatment.
Moen White left the Great Hall alone.
He did not go to the front lines to organize the defenses, but instead came to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor, his private alchemy laboratory.
"Young Master." Alfred stood guard at the door, his expression grave. "Are you certain you want to do this? The magical environment right now is extremely unstable."
"It must be done, Alfred."
Moen pushed the door open and walked into the room filled with precision instruments.
"Although Voldemort has temporarily retreated, I have discovered a problem."
Moen walked to the experimental table, looking at the "Slytherin Locket (Empty Shell)" and "Ravenclaw Diadem (Empty Shell)" sealed within the alchemical array.
"Although his soul has been sliced up, the 'primordial connection' between him and Harry is even deeper than I imagined. If I forcibly kill Voldemort, Harry will die too. This would cause my 'Savior IP' assets to drop to zero."
"I need to find a method capable of stripping away the primordial soul. Modern magic cannot do it, and Dumbledore cannot do it either."
Moen took the golden "Time-Turner" from his pocket.
"I need to go to the'source' to take a look."
Moen's eyes flashed with a frantic desire for knowledge: "I want to trace back to the moment in time when Tom Riddlecreated a Horcrux to analyze the fluctuations of the laws at that instant. Or... go and find older records regarding 'Obscurus', that form of pure magic."
"That is too dangerous." Alfred warned.
"High risk, high reward."
Moen picked up the Black Ironwood Wand and injected the aura of the Elder Wand and the'spell maximization' characteristic he had 'borrowed' from Dumbledore into it.
"[Gate of Truth]— Time anchor locked."
Moen began to turn the hourglass.
One turn.
Two turns.
Three turns...
The surrounding air began to distort, and golden runes darted wildly around the room.
However, an accident occurred.
Just at the moment Moen was preparing to activate it, from the direction of the Forbidden Forest outside the castle, Voldemort seemed to sense some kind of threat and let out a heaven-shaking roar.
A massive wave of Dark Arts energy struck the defensive barrier of Hogwarts.
Boom!
The castle shook violently.
The alchemical array in the laboratory instantly lost stability due to this external magical impact!
"Warning! Timeline deviation!" The system in Moen's mind gave a frantic alarm.
The Time-Turner in his hand began to spin frantically, moving so fast that its shadow couldn't be seen, and the golden sand grains turned into a scorching stream of light.
"Damn it! The brakes have failed!"
Moen tried to stop the magical output, but that massive energy formed a vortex, sucking him entirely into it.
"Alfred! Keep the business safe! Wait for my return!"
This was the last sentence Moen left behind.
The next second.
Golden light exploded.
Moen White's figure disappeared into thin air from the Room of Requirement.
Only the wreckage of the broken Time-Turner remained, smoking as it fell to the floor.
Who knows how much time had passed.
Damp and cold.
This was Moen's first sensation after regaining consciousness.
There was no smell of gunpowder from Hogwarts, nor the smell of blood.
Instead, there was a strong...
Moen opened his eyes abruptly.
He realized he was not standing in the castle, but on a pier filled with thick fog.
Beneath his feet were wet wooden planks, and in the distance, the dull sound of a ship's whistle drifted over.
Woo—
"Where is this?"
Moen stood up quickly, the Black Ironwood Cane sliding into his hand instantly, and he looked around vigilantly.
The crowd around him were not Wizards wearing robes, but Muggles wearing grey coats, flat caps, or bowler hats.
They hurried along, carrying suitcases, their expressions weary and numb.
Moen looked down at his own attire.
Fortunately, he was accustomed to wearing a suit and trench coat, so he did not appear out of place.
He walked to a newsstand by the pier and picked up a newspaper.
It was not The Daily Prophet.
It was The New York Times.
Moen's gaze swept over the front page, and his pupils constricted sharply.
The date printed clearly above was: November 5, 1926.
"1926..."
Moen put down the newspaper, looking at the Statue of Liberty looming in the mist in the distance, as well as the skyscrapers under construction.
"I have not only crossed space, but I have also crossed time."
"This time... the stakes are huge."
But he did not panic.
On the contrary, the corners of Moen's mouth slowly curled into an extremely interested arc.
1926.
That was a crazy era.
The eve of the Great Depression, the golden age of jazz.
It was also... when Gellert Grindelwald was ravaging Europe.
"System, check status."
"[Current Location]: United States, New York."
"[Current Time]: 1926."
"[System Update]: Enabling [Echoes of History] mode."
"[Current Draws]: 0."
"Penniless, no identity, stranded in a foreign land."
Moen adjusted his collar, looking at this New World full of opportunities and easy pickings.
"But that won't stump a capitalist."
Just then, a young man carrying a brown, old suitcase, wearing a peacock-blue coat with messy hair, was walking out of the customs passage in a somewhat dazed manner, nearly bumping into Moen.
Newt Scamander.
Moen looked at that battered suitcase, a glint of sharpness flashing in his eyes.
He knew that the suitcase contained an entire zoo.
"It seems my first 'angel investment' has been found."
Moen stood in the crowd, the Black Ironwood Cane in his hand tapping lightly on the ground, blocking the young man carrying the battered suitcase.
"Sir?"
The young man stopped, clutching the suitcase in his arms somewhat flusteredly.
He was wearing a peacock-blue coat, a scarf, and his hair was messy; his eyes were always evasive, not daring to meet anyone's gaze.
Newt Scamander.
A dropout from Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts, who later became a famous Magizoologist, and the author of that textbook "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" that Harry Potter used in school.
At this moment, he was carrying a suitcase full of illegally imported magical creatures, trying to sneak into the United States, which had very strict checks on such things.
"Your suitcase."
Moen pointed his wand at the lock of the suitcase.
"If it were an ordinary person, they might think there were just a few old clothes inside. But I heard... the sound of some kind of claws scratching against wood."
Newt was startled and hurriedly looked down to check: "Oh, thank you, it's a bit... the lock is broken."
Chapter 136: The Escaped Niffler, the Mobile Zoo, and the First "Angel Investment"
Just then, a small claw with black fur and a snout as long and flat as a platypus's stubbornly reached out from a crack in the suitcase.
Niffler.
A magical creature with a pathological obsession for anything shiny, such as gold coins and jewelry.
"If you don't want to be detained on the spot by the customs officers over there," Moen stepped forward, subtly blocking the view of the people around them, "I suggest you keep it held down."
Newt hurriedly stuffed the claw back in, looking at Moenwith embarrassment: "Thank you... Are you a Wizard?"
"One of your own." Moen replied briefly, "From Britain?"
"Yes." Newt breathed a sigh of relief; in his view, countrymen were always easier to talk to, "I'm here to... to buy a birthday present."
"Stop lying, Mr. Scamander."
Moen looked at this clumsy liar and shook his head helplessly.
"The United States Magical Congress of the United States of America is ten times stricter with magical creatures than Britain. If they discover you've brought an entire zoo in, you'll go straight to prison."
"Let's go. We need to get out of here."
Moen led Newt through customs quickly, using a bit of Confundus Charm.
...
The streets of New York.
Even in 1926, the prosperity of New York was staggering.
Skyscrapers were rising from the ground, and Ford Model T cars shuttled through the streets.
Moen walked in front, while Newt followed behind carrying the suitcase, like a primary school student who had done something wrong.
"Um... Sir?" Newt couldn't help but ask, "May I ask your name?"
"Moen White."
Moen stopped in front of the World War I memorial plaza.
There was a group of people gathering here, led by a fanatical-looking middle-aged woman who was handing out flyers and shouting, "We need a Second Salem!"
Second Salem.
An anti-Wizard extremist organization composed of "No-Majs" (the American term for Muggle).
"A bunch of lunatics who have no magic but are extremely sensitive to it." Moen commented.
Just then, an accident happened.
At the feet of the woman who was giving the speech, there was a donation box filled with coins.
The silver coins glittered in the sunlight.
"Clink."
Newt's suitcase suddenly made a crisp sound.
The latch sprang open.
A black afterimage "whooshed" out.
It was the Niffler.
It rushed toward the donation box like a cannonball, nimbly diving into the crowd.
"No! Atai!" Newt exclaimed, about to chase after it.
But he was held back by Moen.
"Don't move." Moen pressed down on Newt's shoulder, "Using a wand to catch a platypus in the middle of the street? Do you want us to be in the headlines tomorrow?"
"But it's stealing money!" Newt was sweating profusely with anxiety.
"Then let it steal."
Moen watched the little guy who was already like a fish in water among the crowd, frantically stuffing silver coins into the pouch on its belly, a hint of appreciation flashing in his eyes.
"Don't you think... its business acumen is very strong?"
Moen adjusted his gloves, his figure flickering.
[Half-Giant Speed].
He didn't chase it clumsily like Newt; instead, he anticipated the Niffler's escape route—it would definitely go to the nearby bank, where there was more gold.
Just as the Niffler was clutching a pile of coins, preparing to slip between the legs of two passersby.
A hand in a black leather glove precisely and mercilessly grabbed the scruff of its neck, lifting it into mid-air.
"Squeak, squeak, squeak!"
The Niffler struggled desperately, the silver coins in its belly clattering as they fell.
"Caught you, you little thief."
Moen looked at the little thing that was still trying to reach out and grab his cufflinks.
[Contact Successful!]
[Special magical creature detected: Niffler]
[Extractable Traits]:
[Blue] Gold Scent: Natural radar sensing for precious metals.
[Purple] Minor Spatial Pocket: Its belly is an Undetectable Extension storage bag, capable of holding things a hundred times its size.
[Current extraction attempts: 0]
"Tsk, no attempts left." Moen felt some regret.
He carried the Niffler back to the alley and threw it back into Newt's arms.
"Manage your employee, Mr. Scamander." Moen took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands, "This kind of unorganized and undisciplined behavior would result in a total bonus deduction at my company."
"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Newt hurriedly stuffed the Niffler back into the suitcase and cast several reinforcement spells.
Just then, a woman wearing a grey trench coat and a bell-shaped hat, holding a hot dog in her hand, walked over. She looked at the two of them with sharp, vigilant eyes.
Tina Goldstein.
Former Auror, demoted for attacking a Muggle to save someone.
She had been monitoring this anti-Wizard organization.
"Who are you?" Tina held up the hot dog she hadn't finished eating, but that didn't affect her "I'm a cop" aura, "What's in that suitcase?"
Newt stuttered nervously: "N... nothing... I think it's a... pet."
"I'm his investor, Ma'am."
Moen White stood in front of Newt, acting extremely natural.
His expensive suit and the arrogance that radiated from his bones made him look like a young tycoon from Wall Street.
"This Mr. Scamander is a zoologist from Britain. I'm planning to fund him to open an... 'Ecological Zoo' in New York."
Moen smiled and took a business card out of his pocket—one he had printed in 1998, but with a retro style that was universally applicable—and handed it to Tina.
"White Multinational Trading Company. We operate legally and pay taxes on time."
Tina took the business card skeptically.
"White? Never heard of it."
"Because we just arrived." Moen pointed to the bank behind him, "In fact, we were just about to go to the bank to open an account and deposit some... start-up capital."
"The bank?" Tina glanced at Newt's tattered suitcase, "Are you sure?"
"Of course."
Moen turned his head to look at the magnificent... Stanick National Bank.
He was currently penniless because 1998 Galleons couldn't be used here, and the Pound Sterling version wouldn't work either.
But he had Alchemy.
And those "treasures" inside Newt's suitcase.
"Mr. Scamander." Moen whispered to Newt, "You should have an Occamy in your suitcase, right?"
"Yes... yes I do." Newt was bewildered.
"The Occamy's eggshells are pure silver." Moen's eyes flashed with a hint of sharpness, "Lend me a few eggshells. In return, I'll help you get rid of this troublesome female Auror, and... give your suitcase, which is always breaking, a comprehensive security upgrade."
Newt was stunned.
"How did you know Occamy eggs are silver? And... how did you know the suitcase needed an upgrade?"
"Because I'm a professional."
Moen patted Newt on the shoulder and led him toward the bank entrance.
"Let's go, let's turn those eggshells... into the most common currency of this era: US dollars."
Moen pushed open the doors of the bank.
The prosperity before the Great Depression hit him in the face.
"What a... good era for plundering."
Chapter 137: Pure Silver Eggshell, The Disappearing baker
New York, Steen National Bank.
Marble columns supported the magnificent dome, and well-dressed bankers were busy behind the counters; the air was filled with the scent of money mixed with cigars.
Moen White sat in the VIP reception room with Newt Scamander.
Newt looked uneasy, clutching his suitcase tightly as if it contained a bomb that could explode at any moment—which, in reality, was not far from the truth.
"Sir, are you sure this... is legal?" Newt asked in a low voice.
"In the United States, if you have money, it's legal."
Moen straightened his cuffs and looked at the bank manager named Bentley in front of him.
The manager was eyeing these two "Brits" with a suspicious gaze.
"Mr. White," Manager Bentley tapped the table, "you said you wanted to deposit some 'precious metals' as startup capital? But I don't see cash, nor do I see gold."
"I'm accustomed to carrying raw materials."
Moen turned his head to look at Newt: "Mr. Scamander, give me that egg."
Newt hesitated for a moment, reached his hand into the slightly open gap of the suitcase, and pulled out an egg the size of an ostrich egg, shimmering with a pure silver light.
An Occamy egg.
Manager Bentley frowned: "What is this? An Easter egg? We don't accept handicrafts."
"This is pure silver."
Moen took the egg.
In that instant, [Gate of Truth (Gold)] flashed in his eyes.
"Material reshaping."
Moen's fingers brushed lightly over the eggshell surface.
There was no incantation, nor the glow of a wand.
In Manager Bentley's horrified gaze, the silver egg deformed and elongated like melting wax, impurities were removed, and the molecular structure was rearranged.
In just three seconds.
The egg turned into a rectangular standard silver brick stamped with exquisite patterns.
Clang!
Moen slammed the silver brick onto the table.
"99.9% purity," Moen said indifferently, "at today's market price, how much is this worth?"
Manager Bentley took the silver brick with trembling hands and took a bite, nearly breaking his teeth.
"Good heavens... it's real! This quality... it's worth at least two thousand dollars!"
In 1926, two thousand dollars was a huge sum of money.
"Very good." Moen leaned back in his chair, "Open an account. The name is 'White Investment'."
Just as Manager Bentley was scrambling to get the documents, Newt suddenly let out a short exclamation.
"It ran away!"
"What?" Moen turned his head.
The door to the reception room was ajar, and a small, furry black claw had just retracted.
Niffler.
It had smelled it—the scent of the vault.
"Damn it." Moen sighed.
"I'll go catch it!" Newt grabbed his suitcase and rushed out.
Moen didn't move. He looked at the pile of documents on the table, then at the unfinished paperwork.
As a capitalist, he couldn't leave until the money was in his pocket.
"We need to speed things up, Manager." Moen tapped his fingers on the table, "I'm in a hurry."
...
Bank lobby.
Chaos had already begun.
Newt was chasing the Niffler, which had burrowed into the vault passage, through the crowd. On a bench, a chubby man with a mustache, carrying a similar brown suitcase, sat looking dejected.
Jacob Kowalski.
A dreamer who had just been refused a loan by the bank, and also a talented baker.
"Hey, buddy." Jacob looked at Newt rushing past him, holding a silver coin dropped by the Niffler, looking bewildered.
A few minutes later.
Moen walked out of the reception room with the newly opened passbook and a thick stack of dollar bills.
He saw a mess.
Alarm bells were ringing.
Security guards were blowing whistles.
And on the steps at the bank entrance, Newt was being held tightly by the arm by the female Auror, TinaGoldstein.
"You are suspected of violating Article 3A of the Statute of Secrecy!" Tina said sternly, "Using magic in front of a No-Maj! Come back to the Congress with me!"
Newt held his suitcase, looking innocent: "I was just looking for my..."
"Your pet."
Moen walked over. He carried a cane, his expression calm, as if the chaos behind him had nothing to do with him.
"Mr. White!" Newt looked as if he had seen a savior.
Tina turned her head and stared at Moen: "Are you his accomplice? The so-called investor?"
"I am also his legal advisor."
Moen walked up to the two, his gaze sweeping over the wand in Tina's hand; although she had been demoted, she still carried it with her.
"Madam, I believe this is a misunderstanding. My client was just chasing a... squirrel that had run off."
"Squirrels don't stuff gold bars into their stomachs!" Tinasneered, "Come with me. Don't force me to use force."
Moen looked at Tina.
He could certainly take action.
With his current strength, defeating a demoted Auror was easy.
But he didn't.
His gaze turned toward the end of the street.
There was an inconspicuous building there, the Woolworth Building.
The headquarters of the Magical Congress of the United States of America of the United States.
And also the location where Percival Graves—that is, Gellert Grindelwald—was disguised.
"Since you insist."
Moen raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but a mysterious smile hung on the corner of his mouth.
"Then let's go to the Congress and talk. I also happen to want to see the American magical laws."
"Lead the way, Miss."
Tina was stunned; she clearly hadn't seen such a cooperative suspect.
She waved her wand, casting some kind of binding spell on the two—to Moen, this spell was as weak as spider silk, and he could break free at any time—and then escorted them toward the Woolworth Building.
At the moment of turning, Moen looked back at the street.
The chubby baker, Jacob Kowalski, was carrying a brown suitcase, disappearing into the crowd with a look of horror.
And the suitcase Newt was holding...
Moen activated [True Sight].
That was Jacob's bakery case.
The suitcases had been swapped.
"Interesting plot correction force." Moen thought to himself.
"But it doesn't matter. The suitcase is safer in that Muggle's hands."
"The point now is..."
Moen looked at the towering building.
"...to go meet that first Dark Lord."
...
Magical Congress of the United States of America of the United States, underground floor.
It was resplendent here, filled with the gaudiness of the Art Deco style.
A huge magical barometer hung in mid-air, with the needle pointing to "Severe Threat".
Tina escorted the two into an office that looked like an interrogation room.
Standing there was a man in a black-and-white suit, with a meticulous hairstyle and a powerful aura.
Percival Graves.
Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"Tina." Graves turned around, his voice low and magnetic, "Weren't you transferred to the wand Permit Office? Why did you bring these two here?"
"They have a suitcase full of magical creatures, sir!" Tinaplaced Newt's suitcase on the table, "And they caused a riot in the bank! Even used magic in front of a No-Maj!"
Graves's gaze did not look at the suitcase.
His eyes moved past Newt and fixed firmly on Moen White.
Chapter 138 Gellert Grindelwald, Murtlap Venom
As Grindelwald, he possessed a near-beastly intuition for the aura of the strong.
From this boy who looked only in his teens, he caught a scent that was extremely dangerous, even causing him to feel a trace of... excitement.
It was the scent of his own kind.
Not the kind of rule-abiding Wizard, but the kind of ambitious person who attempted to break the rules and reshape the world.
"What is your name?" Graves walked up to Moen, his deep eyes seemingly wanting to see through Moen's soul, though he was actually using Legilimency.
[Multiple Mind Core (Purple · Ultimate)] — — Automatic Defense.
Moen's brain instantly constructed a maze, blocking Graves's probing outside.
"Moen White."
Moen looked directly into Graves's eyes without avoiding his gaze.
"A... free trader from Britain."
Moen specifically emphasized the word "free."
"Free?" Graves repeated the word playfully, a subtle smile curling the corners of his mouth. "In this world full of laws and oppression, freedom is an expensive luxury, Mr. White."
"I have money."
Moen pulled a stack of freshly exchanged US dollars from his pocket, spinning them between his fingers.
"Besides, I have heard that the United States is a place full of dreams. For example..."
Moen leaned closer to Graves, whispering in a tone only the two of them could understand: "...For example, breaking the Statute of Secrecy and letting Wizards rule the world?"
Graves's pupils contracted sharply.
He stared fixedly at Moen.
This boy... knew who he was?
Just as the atmosphere was strained to the extreme.
Tina opened that case.
"Look! This is the evidence!" she shouted.
The case opened.
There were no roaring beasts.
Only a pile of neatly arranged bread and donuts that emitted an alluring aroma.
The room fell into dead silence.
"This..." Tina was dumbfounded.
"It looks delicious." Graves withdrew his gaze from Moen, picked up a donut, and said in a mocking tone, "Miss Goldstein, is this what you called 'extremely dangerous magical creatures'?"
"No! This is impossible! The case was taken by mistake!" Tina explained in a panic.
"Enough."
Graves waved his hand.
"Since there is no evidence, let them go."
He turned around, his back to the crowd, but his voice was clearly transmitted to Moen: "Mr. White. Although you are free now, I suggest that while you are in New York... you should act with caution."
"Recently, something in the shadows has been awakening."
"If you are interested..."
Graves looked back, a Grindelwald-style invitation: "...We can find a time to chat about business regarding 'freedom'."
Moen adjusted his collar, picked up his cane, and bowed slightly to Graves.
"I would be delighted to, Mr. Director."
Moen led Newt out of the office.
In the corridor.
Newt wiped his sweat: "The case! My case is in the hands of that No-Maj! We must go find him! If the animals inside get out..."
"Don't rush, Newt."
Moen looked at the stack of dollars in his hand, then looked at the system panel.
[Daily Check-in: Magical Congress of the United States of America Headquarters of the United States]
[Reward Obtained: Draw Count + 2]
[Current Count: 2]
"We have money, we have people, and we have clues."
Moen looked at the bustling night view of New Yorkoutside the window.
"First, we go find that baker. Then..."
"...We go catch that thing hiding in the shadows of New York."
On the streets of New York.
The night was deep, and the streets after the rain reflected the dim, yellow light of the streetlamps.
Just after walking out of the Woolworth Magical Congress of the United States of America building, Newt Scamandergrabbed Moen's sleeve anxiously.
"Mr. White, you were in the bank just now... that manager saw you cast magic! In the United States, this is a serious crime! Miss Tina will definitely find out!"
"Relax, Newt."
Moen White adjusted his collar, his expression calm: "The moment I left the bank reception room, I had already cast a silent 'Confundus Charm' on Manager Bingley."
"Now in his memory, that silver brick is an inheritance left by his grandmother, and I am just an ordinary British gentleman who came to handle a deposit. As for those silver coins... he will think that he miscounted the money himself."
Moen tapped the ground lightly with his cane: "In this world, memory is the most unreliable thing; just like an account book, it can be 'balanced' at any time."
Newt breathed a sigh of relief, but he immediately became anxious again: "The case! My case is still in the hands of that No-Maj! If we don't find him quickly, the Murtlap inside might bite him!"
"Follow me."
Moen took out the silver [Tracking Compass]; he had casually left a mark when he repaired Newt's case.
"The positioning shows that the case is in a place full of yeast and a musty smell. I think that is Mr. Kowalski's apartment."
...
14th Street, a dilapidated apartment building.
When the two arrived, a series of crashing sounds and a man's screams were already coming from upstairs.
"Ah! Let go! Damn thing!"
Newt's expression changed, and he rushed up the stairs.
Moen followed unhurriedly behind.
The apartment door was ajar.
The room was in a mess. Furniture was knocked over, and glass shards were everywhere.
That chubby baker, Jacob Kowalski, was lying on the ground, and a pink monster that looked like a rat but had anemone-like tentacles on its back was biting his neck tightly.
A Murtlap.
"Don't move! I'll handle it!" Newt raised his wand, wanting to cast a spell.
"Too slow."
Moen's figure flashed by.
He did not use his wand, but instead reached out his left hand, which was wearing a special dragon-hide glove.
[Half-Giant Strength] + [Magical Creature Affinity(Reverse Deterrence)].
Moen grabbed the Murtlap by the neck.
That fierce beast was like a toy in his hand; it was instantly squeezed until its eyes rolled back, and it let go of its bite.
"Squeak..." The Murtlap emitted a sound of begging for mercy.
"Is this a Murtlap?"
Moen held up this ugly creature, observing the tentacles on its back through [True Sight].
"Is this the creature that can extract 'Murtlap Essence' capable of treating Dark Arts wounds? Very valuable. If I were to farm them on a large scale in my pharmaceutical factory..."
"Please put it back in the case, Mr. White!" Newt opened the case with a pained expression; it had returned to that space filled with animals.
Moen casually threw the rat inside, then looked at Jacob on the ground.
Jacob's face was pale, his wound was bleeding, and he was convulsing.
"He is poisoned." Newt checked. "After a Murtlap bites someone, it causes exhaustion, and even some... hallucinations."
"No, if this venom is handled properly, it is a potent anti-curse agent."
Chapter 139: The Mind-Reading Waitress and the Brain's Firewall
Moen crouched down and pulled a golden potion from his pocket—part of the stock he had brought with him from Hogwarts—and dripped a single drop onto Jacob's wound.
The wound healed instantly.
Jacob stopped twitching, but he still stared blankly at Moen and Newt, muttering to himself: "I must be dreaming... I want to open a bakery..."
"Poor No-Maj."
At that moment, a stern voice came from the doorway.
Tina Goldstein had caught up again.
She looked at the messy room and the injured Jacob, her brow furrowed.
"You've caused trouble again." Tina sighed. "We can't leave him here. He's seen too much, but I can't erase his memory because I can't use a Memory Charm freely right now, and he needs to rest."
"Take him with you."
Moen stood up and clapped his hands.
"To your place, Miss Goldstein."
"What?!" Tina's eyes widened.
"Don't you want to keep an eye on us?" Moen said matter-of-factly. "What could be safer than keeping suspects right under your nose? Besides..."
Moen glanced out the window: "...The landlady seems to be coming up to collect rent. If you don't want to explain why the room was torn apart, we'd better disappear now."
...
Tina's apartment.
It was a cozy little room. A fire was burning in the hearth, and a sweet aroma of cooking wafted through the air.
"Queenie! We have guests!" Tina called out.
A witch wearing a pink silk dress, with blonde hair and blue eyes, so beautiful that one couldn't look away, walked out.
Queenie Goldstein.
Tina's sister.
She was not only a beauty but also a natural and extremely powerful Legilimency master.
She could hear people's inner thoughts anytime, anywhere, without even needing a wand or eye contact.
"Oh, a baker, a zoologist..."
Queenie's charming large eyes swept over Jacob and Newt, and she revealed a sweet smile: "...and a No-Majwho doesn't want to open a bakery, and a Briton worried about his Erumpent being in heat in his case."
Newt awkwardly covered his case. Jacob looked at Queenie with a face full of infatuation, as if he had seen an angel.
Finally, Queenie's gaze fell on Moen White.
Her originally relaxed smile suddenly froze.
She looked at Moen, her brow slightly furrowed, as if she were looking at an ancient book that was locked and written in a language she had never seen before.
"You..." Queenie was somewhat confused. "I can't see what you're thinking. Or is it... do you have many rooms in your mind?"
Moen sat on the sofa, twirling his cane, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
[Multiple Mind Core (Purple · Extreme)]—Mind Maze activated.
[Occlumency], though not fully mastered, was enough to simulate with multi-threaded thinking.
On the surface of his mind, Moen was deliberately playing a fake, dull memory: "Analysis of Cotton Futures Price Trends in the 1926 New York Financial Market."
"You are very special, Miss Goldstein."
Moen looked at Queenie: "Prying into a gentleman's mind at will is not very polite behavior. Especially when this gentleman is thinking about how to short the stock market tomorrow."
"Shorting?" Queenie blinked. "So many numbers... like a waterfall. Don't you feel tired?"
"How could making money be tiring?"
Moen had no hostility.
On the contrary, he was very interested in Queenie's ability.
[Scan Target]: Queenie Goldstein
[Characteristics Discovered]:
[Gold] Natural Legilimency: No spell needed, passively receiving the surface thoughts of everyone around. This is a gift, and also a curse. She cannot turn off this ability, just like living in a room full of noise.
"Another Gold one." Moen calculated in his heart, "And an extremely rare mental-type talent."
He walked up to Queenie and took out an alchemical earring he had picked up in Knockturn Alley and never used.
"A gift for you, beautiful lady."
"What is this?" Queenie asked curiously as she took it.
"A [Mental Filter]," Moen explained. "It can help you block out those noisy, meaningless inner thoughts around you. Letting you hear only what you want to hear."
Queenie looked at Moen in surprise.
She was indeed in pain, surrounded by countless voices every day.
She put on the earring.
Instantly, the world became quiet.
She could only hear the sound of Tina cooking in the kitchen, and Jacob's simple praise.
"My goodness..." Queenie looked at Moen gratefully, "Thank you! This is too precious!"
"Just a small gift."
Moen stepped back, hiding his merits and achievements.
"In exchange, we need to stay here for a few days. And..."
Moen's gaze became profound: "...I heard that your Magical Congress of the United States of America is currently hunting a Dark Wizard named 'Grindelwald'?"
"Perhaps we can talk about this topic."
Dinner began.
Jacob was eating pies made by magic, and Newt was worried about his case.
And Moen, while elegantly cutting his steak, was perfecting his "Hunting Plan" in his mind.
"Tomorrow." Moen looked at the night outside the window.
"I'm going to meet that orphan hiding in the alley, Credence. Before he explodes, I want to give him an... employment contract first."
Late at night.
In Tina and Queenie's apartment, the lights had been extinguished.
Jacob Kowalski was lying on the bed in the guest room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had gone mad.
"Mr. Kowalski?"
Newt Scamander walked over on tiptoe and pointed to the brown leather case placed in the center of the carpet.
"In order to ensure everyone's safety, I think I need to... go inside and check. Do you want to come along?"
Jacob was stunned: "Go inside? Into the case?"
"Of course."
Moen White's voice came from the shadows.
He was not asleep, still wearing that shirt, holding a glass of water in his hand.
"This is no ordinary case, Jacob. This is a... 'Portable Ecological Circulation System'."
Moen put down the water glass, his eyes flashing with a look of inquiry.
He had long wanted to see the internal structure of this case. This was crucial for the future research and development of spatial products for his [White Heavy Industries].
Newt opened the case and actually walked inside as if going down stairs.
"Come on in." Newt's voice came from the case.
Jacob followed cautiously.
Moen followed closely behind.
Inside the case.
The moment Moen's feet touched the ground, even he couldn't help but let out a sigh of admiration.
This was not just a room.
This was a world.
Above was a simulated starry sky, and beneath his feet was soft earth.
It was divided into different ecological zones: bamboo forests, deserts, snowy areas, and grasslands. The air was filled with the scents of various strange plants and the low growls of beasts.
Chapter 140: The Thunderbird's Storm and the Parsed Laws of Space
[ Gate of Truth (Gold) ] — — Spatial Architecture Analysis.
Golden light swirled in Moen's pupils.
What he saw was not the scenery, but countless complex and exquisite spatial folding runes.
"A genius design." Moen walked into Newt's little shed, his fingers tracing the bottles and jars filled with herbs. "Using the magic fields of different creatures to support a subspace, forming a self-sufficient cycle. Mr. Scamander, your attainments in spatial Alchemy are enough for you to be the Headmaster at Hogwarts."
Newt scratched his head, feeling a bit shy. "I just... wanted to give them a home."
"Look at that!" Jacob pointed at a huge, glowing creature floating in mid-air.
That was a Nundu, its breath carrying deadly toxic gas, but under Newt's soothing, it was like a big cat.
There were also Graphorns, the last breeding pair.
But what caught Moen's eye the most was the area that occupied the largest space — — the wilderness of Arizona.
A huge golden bird with three pairs of wings was standing on a rock.
When it flapped its wings, lightning and storms were instantly generated in the surrounding air.
Thunderbird.
Its name is Frank.
"It's so beautiful..." Jacob stared, dumbfounded.
Moen walked over.
The Thunderbird turned its head vigilantly, its sharp eyes fixed on Moen.
It sensed the [ Dragon Might ] on Moen.
That was the aura of another top predator.
Boom!
The clouds around the Thunderbird began to gather, and lightning crackled between its wings.
"Don't be nervous, big guy." Newt tried to soothe it.
"Let me handle it."
Moen raised his hand, signaling Newt to step back.
He did not use his wand, nor did he release Dragon Might to suppress it.
He just calmly extended his right hand, wearing a dragon-hide glove, palm upward, making an equal and inviting gesture.
[ Magical Creature Affinity (Purple) ] — — Natural Resonance.
Moen looked into the Thunderbird's eyes and said softly:
"You really want to go home, don't you? Back to the Arizona desert, back into the storm."
The Thunderbird tilted its head.
It felt a kind of... promise from this human.
It slowly lowered its head, and its huge beak gently touched Moen's palm.
The electric current traveled through Moen's arm to his whole body, but he did not pull back.
[ Contact Successful! ]
[ Legendary Creature Detected: Thunderbird ]
[ Current Draw Count: 2 ]
"Worth a try." Moen thought to himself.
[ Consumed Draw Count x 1 ]
[ Draw Successful! ]
[ Congratulations on acquiring the Trait ]: Storm Perception (Purple)
[ Description ]: You have extraordinary sensitivity to changes in airflow, lightning, and weather. You can predict storms in advance and even guide the direction of lightning to a certain extent.
Moen withdrew his hand, a tingling sensation still lingering on his palm.
This was worth it.
"Its name is Frank," Newt said, walking over. "I came to the United States just to send it home."
"It will go back." Moen looked at the giant bird. "And, it will soon do us a big favor."
Credence would truly go berserk, and he was counting on it to use the Obliviation Rain to cleanse New York.
Next, Moen visited the habitat of the Demiguise and the nest of the Erumpent.
Finally, he stood before a mass of black, fluid substance floating in mid-air.
Obscurus.
This was separated by Newt from a deceased Sudanese girl.
Moen's eyes instantly became solemn.
This was one of the ultimate goals of his trip.
"This thing... is a product of pure magic run amok." Moenfelt that destructive energy through the protective shield. "It is a parasite, and also the embodiment of the host's pain."
"Yes," Newt said sadly. "It breeds in places without love and eventually devours the host."
"If there is no love..."
Moen's fingers tapped gently on the protective shield, a trace of cold calculation flashing in his eyes:
"...then replace it with 'control'."
"Mr. Scamander, this sample is very enlightening to me. Perhaps I can find a way to let an Obscurial live past ten."
Newt looked at him in surprise. "Really?"
"I am a businessman; I do not make false promises."
Moen turned and looked towards the exit.
"Alright, the tour is over."
Moen clapped his hands, returning to that capitalist indifference:
"Now, let us return to the real world. Let's take stock of your 'inventory'. I have a premonition that you..."
Newt's face turned pale instantly. "Oh, no..."
The three of them climbed out of the case.
In Tina Goldstein's apartment, sunlight barely penetrated the grey smog unique to New York.
Newt Scamander knelt on the floor, the brown suitcase wide open.
He was sticking his head into the case, conducting a "roll call" that filled him with despair.
"Niffler... is missing."
"Bowtruckle... Pickett is here."
"Erumpent... Oh, Merlin, it ran away! It's in heat!"
"And the Demiguise and the Occamy..."
Newt pulled his head out of the case, looking with a pale face at Moen, who was drinking coffee, and Jacob, who was eating breakfast.
"Mr. White... the situation is worse than I imagined. Yesterday, when Mr. Jacob opened the case, at least four high-risk magical creatures ran into downtown New York."
Jacob looked guilty. "Sorry, buddy. I thought that was my bread."
"As expected."
Moen White put down his coffee cup, his expression calm.
He had long known the nature of the plot.
If the animals didn't run, how would the story begin? If the story didn't begin, how could he fish in troubled waters?
"This is a crisis, Mr. Scamander. But it is also an opportunity."
Moen stood up and put on that black trench coat, which still looked too stylish and expensive for 1926.
"Do you want to catch these four creatures in this strange city, avoiding the eyes of Muggle police and the Aurors of the Magical Congress of the United States of America?"
"Yes, I must catch them back!" Newt said anxiously.
"Relying on just us few is not enough."
Moen picked up his cane, walked to the window, and watched the bustling street below.
"We need eyes and ears. We need intelligence. We need the 'local snakes' here."
"And..." A glimmer of far-sightedness flashed in Moen's eyes, "Since I have come to this era, I cannot return empty-handed. I am going to establish a branch here."
"For the future of 1998, we need some... American allies."
"Let's go." Moen waved his hand. "Bring the case. We are going to a good place."