Chapter 1: pure-blood Glory
[Fantastic Beasts: Swooping Evil Spawn Point—Brain Cancellation Area]
In 1991, the London summer was as stifling as a steamer; even the birds were reluctant to stay in the sky for long.
Eleven-year-old Julian Alaric Rosier was lying on the large bed with pale gold silk curtains at Rosier Manor, staring blankly at the intricate family crest on the ceiling.
The air was thick with a mixture of expensive ambergris and aged Parchment. Julian moved his fingers, feeling this eleven-year-old body that was brimming with vitality.
Just a few minutes ago, he had completely integrated the memories of the body's original owner. After a period of mental preparation, he had accepted the fact that he was a "transmigrator."
The shrewdness from his past life's business dealings and the elegance of a pure-blood noble in this life intertwined in his mind, finally converging within his amber eyes.
"Knock, knock, knock." There was a knock on the oak door, the force restrained yet crisp, instantly pulling Julian's thoughts back to reality.
Then, an elegant female voice came from behind the door: "Julian, if you don't get out of bed now, that beginner's edition of the Standard Book of Spells your father ordered for you in Diagon Alley will be snatched by the apprentices at Borgin and Burkes to prop up table legs. Although that's just a joke, you should know that the House of Rosier is never late."
The owner of the voice was his—or rather, the original body's—mother, Isabella Rosier.
Julian rolled over and sat up, his light blonde, slightly curly hair falling messily over his shoulders. He stepped barefoot onto the cool wool carpet and walked to the full-length mirror.
The boy in the mirror had nearly perfect features. His amber pupils shimmered with a honey-like luster in the morning light, and the faint dimples that appeared when he smiled were enough to instantly soften any weak-willed woman.
Not bad, at least a little more handsome than he was in his previous life.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Julian was very satisfied. At the very least, based on these looks alone, he definitely wouldn't be hit with a random Avada Kedavra.
"I'm coming, Mother," Julian spoke, his voice carrying the clear brightness unique to a youth, yet possessing a steadiness that didn't match his age. He skillfully put on a silk shirt embroidered with the family crest while quickly sorting through the current situation in his mind.
The year Potter enters school. This isn't just a magical world; it's a massive gladiatorial arena filled with power struggles and bloodline politics.
When Julian pushed open the door, Isabella was standing in the shadows of the hallway, holding a wax-sealed letter.
She was wearing a deep green French-style dress today, the neckline adorned with fine pearls. Her amber eyes, identical to Julian's, held a mix of scrutiny and maternal love.
"The owl delivered this ten minutes ago; I imagine you've been waiting for it." Isabella extended a slender, somewhat pale finger and handed over the heavy letter.
Julian took the letter, his fingertips touching the slightly rough texture of the Parchment. The envelope was addressed in emerald green ink: Mr. Julian Alaric Rosier, Second Floor Bedroom on the Far Right, Rosier Manor, Wiltshire.
On the back was a shield crest featuring a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, surrounding a large letter 'H'.
"Hogwarts," Julian whispered the name, the corners of his mouth turning up into a standard smile.
"Your father is already waiting for you in the dining room downstairs. He specifically postponed his meeting at the Department of International Magical Cooperation today just to accompany you to Diagon Alley." Isabella reached out and gently smoothed the stray hairs at Julian's temples.
"Remember, Julian, you are a Rosier. No matter who you meet at school, even if it's 'the boy who lived,' you must maintain your dignity and pride. What we do is not follow the light, but become the light."
Julian nodded obediently, but he was sneering inwardly. Follow the light? No, what he wanted was to establish an order entirely his own in this soon-to-be turbulent world—one that transcended houses and bloodlines.
In his previous life, he was never one to settle down, and now that he had transmigrated, he was even further from being content with a quiet life.
The descent downstairs was slow. The walls of Rosier Manor were lined with portraits of past heads of the family, the figures in the paintings eyeing the young heir with critical gazes.
In the dining room, a dignified man sat at the end of the long mahogany dining table—Alick Rosier. He was flipping through The Daily Prophet and only slightly raised his eyelids upon hearing footsteps.
"Sit down and eat breakfast," Alick said in a tone that brooked no argument. "After eating, we're going to Gringotts first, then to Ollivander's wand shop. I don't want to waste too much time on something like picking a wand. 'The wand chooses the Wizard' is an excuse for the mediocre. An excellent Wizard should make any piece of wood serve him."
Julian elegantly pulled out a chair and sat down, cutting into the perfectly cooked bacon in front of him. He didn't argue with his father's words, which were filled with pure-blood prejudice, but instead silently refined his plans in his mind.
In this world, power is the foundation, but connections and influence are the guarantees of longevity.
"Father, I heard that the Malfoy child is also starting school this year?" Julian asked, seemingly casually.
"Draco? Yes, Lucius mentioned it a few days ago." Alick put down the newspaper and stared sharply at his son. "The Malfoys may be a bit too ostentatious, but their foundation remains. At school, you can maintain a friendship with them, but don't let that arrogant boy lead you by the nose. The House of Rosier never takes a back seat to anyone."
"I understand, Father." Julian picked up his black tea, using the rim of the cup to hide a glint in his eyes. Draco Malfoy—a good entry point, but definitely not his only pawn.
The sun became even more scorching after breakfast. When they arrived at Diagon Alley via Floo powder, the noisy crowds and various wondrous magical items instantly filled Julian's vision.
The air was thick with the gunpowder scent of joke products, the hooting of owls, and the distinct malty aroma of the Leaky Cauldron.
"Gringotts first." Alick strode ahead, his silver-headed cane clicking sharply on the cobblestone road.
Julian followed behind, his appearance drawing the gaze of many passersby. It wasn't just because he was standing next to a high-ranking Ministry of Magic official, but also because of the boy's striking beauty and composed temperament.
Several young witches in robes couldn't help but whisper as he passed, a suspicious blush creeping onto their faces.
Julian keenly caught these gazes. He turned his head and gave those witches a perfectly timed smile—gentle, yet with a hint of aloofness.
This simple action left the girls stunned in their tracks; one even accidentally bumped into a pile of cauldrons by the roadside, causing a series of crisp metallic clatters.
"Mind your charm, Julian," Isabella chuckled in his ear, her tone carrying a hint of pride. "At Hogwarts, it will be your sharpest weapon, but also your biggest trouble."
"Trouble often comes with opportunity, doesn't it, Mother?" Julian responded softly, his gaze already shifting toward the white building at the end of the street—Gringotts. There lay not only the wealth of the Rosier Family but also the symbol of his first step in conquering this world.
Passing by the grim-faced Goblins, Julian stood before the high counter, watching a Goblin use his withered hands to check the Gold vault key. He knew that in this alley full of wonders, he was about to encounter those "old friends" who would be entangled with him for the rest of his life.
Chapter 2: First Encounter at Gringotts
The bronze doors of Gringotts slowly closed behind them, shutting out the bustle of Diagon Alley. The air cooled abruptly, carrying the damp, metallic scent unique to the deep underground.
The silence here was not the stillness of an empty place, but a solemnity suppressed by money and contracts, along with a greed exclusive to the Goblins.
Quills scratched against parchment, scales made faint clinking sounds as they rose and fell, and the greedy whispers of countless Goblins merged into a background noise that made one's scalp tingle.
Alick Rosier adjusted his unwrinkled cuffs and walked toward the highest central counter with his chin tilted up. His stride carried the arrogance unique to a pure-blood Wizard.
Isabella clutched her handbag, her critical gaze sweeping over the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable with the mixed odors here.
Julian, following half a step behind, seemed to be casually observing his surroundings, but was actually recording information at high speed. Every Goblin here represented the flow of wealth, and wealth was the lifeblood of power.
Just then, the double doors were pushed open again, and two figures—one large and one small—burst into this solemn territory.
The massive figure almost blocked the light from the doorway—Rubeus Hagrid, even taller than described in the original books.
A few strands of straw were stuck to Hagrid's moleskin coat, and his tangled beard looked like a thicket of black bushes. In the shadow of this mountain of flesh stood a thin, small boy.
The boy wore a pair of round glasses held together with tape and an old shirt that was far too large for him. He was looking up at everything around him with a face full of shock.
Harry Potter!
Upon seeing the newcomer, Julian's pupils contracted slightly for a moment before he quickly regained his composure. The protagonist's appearance was even earlier than expected.
"Oh, Merlin's beard." Alick had clearly noticed the commotion at the door as well. He stopped in his tracks and let out an undisguised sneer. His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally piercing in the cavernous hall.
"The Hogwarts gamekeeper... bringing what? A Mugglestray?"
Hagrid clearly heard him. His face, hidden beneath his beard, turned bright red, and he nervously rubbed his large hands, which were the size of trash can lids.
Harry flinched sensitively, instinctively hiding behind Hagrid. His emerald-green eyes were filled with unease and fear of the unfamiliar environment.
This was a perfect opportunity.
Julian did not join in his father's mockery. Instead, he frowned slightly, appearing somewhat helpless at his father's rudeness. He released his loosely clenched hand and stepped forward. He didn't walk directly toward them but moved in an elegant arc, stopping exactly three paces away from Hagrid and Harry.
A social distance that was neither aggressive nor too close—this was the experience Julian had gained from his previous life.
"Father is just a bit... allergic to non-traditional styles of dress." Julian's voice was clear and gentle, possessing a strange soothing quality that instantly broke the awkwardness.
Julian turned sideways, his back to his father, and gave Harry an apologetic smile with a hint of playfulness. "I hope that didn't scare you. Hello, I'm Julian. Julian Rosier."
He extended his hand. It was long, fair, and the nails were trimmed neatly and roundly, forming a sharp contrast with Harry's hands, which were slightly rough from years of housework.
Harry was stunned. Since entering this strange world—and even in his entire life—hardly anyone besides Hagridhad treated him with such equality, respect, and even a touch of warmth.
Especially this boy in front of him; he looked like a little prince straight out of a fairy tale book, so bright and polished that Harry felt inferior, yet the smile in his eyes was genuine.
"Uh... hello." Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers in a bit of a panic, then hesitantly shook Julian's hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
Whoosh!
The moment the name was spoken, Julian felt the surrounding air seem to freeze for a second. Several nearby Goblins stopped what they were doing, and even Alick, not far away, jerked his head around.
Julian's expression control was perfect. He didn't show the uncomfortable fanaticism or shock that others did; he simply raised an eyebrow slightly, the smile in his eyes deepening as he gave Harry's hand a small squeeze.
"Potter? The Harry Potter?" Julian spoke in an 'oh, it's you' tone that was neither exaggerated nor cold. "It's a pleasure to meet you. It seems the rumors are true; you do have... very impressive eyes."
He avoided that damned scar, which was the cleverest strategy. Everyone else was staring at the scar, treating him like some rare animal or museum exhibit, but Julianchose to look at his eyes, treating him like a person.
Harry visibly relaxed, his tense shoulders dropping. His favorable impression of this blonde boy soared in that instant. "Thanks. I mean... I'm glad to meet you too."
"Is this your first trip to Gringotts?" Julian released his hand and naturally turned his gaze toward the wary-looking Hagrid. He gave a slight bow, a standard aristocratic salute that was as smooth as flowing water.
"Hello, Mr. Hagrid. I've heard my elders mention you—the most loyal gatekeeper of Hogwarts."
Hagrid had been staring warily at this 'little Rosier brat' with his black beetle-like eyes. He knew the Rosier Family all too well; they were among Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers. But this little fellow... he was too polite, so polite that the'stay away' Hagrid had ready was forced back down.
"Er, yeah, hello," Hagrid muttered, awkwardly returning a clumsy nod. "We're here for the... you know, Harry's vault. And some Hogwarts business."
"That must be a very important mission." Julian nodded without prying, then turned to Harry with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The underground carts here are very exciting. If you like roller coasters, you'll love them. But I suggest you hold on tight; I heard about some poor soul who threw up his breakfast all over his Dragon-hide boots last time."
Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud. Much of the suffocating feeling brought on by the strange environment dissipated. "Really? I'll be careful."
"Julian."
Alick's voice came from behind, filled with obvious displeasure and urgency. He had finished his business and was staring coldly in their direction.
"It looks like I have to go." Julian gave Harry a helpless shrug, a gesture that made him seem more vibrant and less like a distant aristocrat. "I hope to see you again on the Hogwarts Express, Harry. We can talk about more interesting things than vaults then."
"Definitely," Harry blurted out, his tone more eager than he had anticipated.
Julian turned and left, his golden hair catching the light. As he walked back to his parents, he could feel that gaze watching his back.
"What were you doing?" Alick lowered his voice, his tone stern. "That's Potter, and that Half-giant. A Rosier does not need to curry favor with such people."
Chapter 3: Ebony and Will
"Father, you taught me to understand my enemy before he understands me." Julian looked up, the gentleness on his face instantly fading, replaced by a startling calmness and precocity.
"the chosen one seems... very much lacking in love, and easily guided. Instead of letting Dumbledore completely control him, why not plant a different seed in his heart? This is far more valuable than mere arrogance, isn't it?"
Alick was stunned for a moment, looking at his eleven-year-old son, a flash of surprise in his eyes, which then turned into a hint of appreciation. He patted Julian's shoulder and said nothing more.
When they walked out of Gringotts, the sunlight was still dazzling. Julian squinted, his fingers gently caressing the Galleon in his pocket. The first move had been made, with no regrets. Harry Potter was now not just a symbol, but a name in his address book.
Leaving the suffocating underground air of Gringotts, the midday sun spilled like molten gold onto the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. Alick Rosier glanced at his pocket watch, a Goblin-made artifact over three hundred years old, with planets slowly moving on its dial.
"I have a few deals to handle in Knockturn Alley, regarding the... legalization of a collection of Defense Against the Dark Arts items your grandfather left behind." Alick's voice was very low, carrying the coldness and secrecy of the adult world.
"Isabella will go to Madam Malkin's for your robe fabric, as for you, Julian, since you insist on choosing your own wand — this is a sign of independence for the men of House of Rosier — then, take this."
He slipped a small, heavy money pouch into Julian's hand, containing exactly seven Galleons, no more, no less, precisely the price of a wand. This extreme precision and control was Alick's consistent style.
"Meet at Flourish and Blotts in half an hour. Don't disappoint me; choose a wand worthy of your surname."
Watching his father's dark silhouette disappear around the gloomy corner leading to Knockturn Alley, Julian's perfect smile relaxed slightly. This free time without his parents was exactly what he needed.
He turned and walked towards the small, dilapidated shop on the south side of the street. The golden sign above the door was peeling, reading: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Pushing open the door, a crisp "ding-a-ling" echoed from deep within the shop, reverberating through the narrow space and stirring up a visible cloud of dust. The shop was small, with nothing but a long, one-legged bench.
Thousands of narrow boxes were stacked almost to the ceiling, creating a precarious sense of oppression. The air was filled with the scent of old wood, mysterious spices, and a more ancient, purer magical fluctuation.
It was quiet here, but not empty.
In the shadow of the towering pile of wand boxes stood a small girl with a messy head of thick brown hair.
The girl was standing on tiptoes, trying to see what was behind the counter, clutching a newly bought wand tightly in her hand, her face filled with excitement, nervousness, and an urgent desire to prove herself.
"...Yes, vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Mr. Ollivander said it's perfect for those with great ambition!" The girl seemed to be talking to herself, or perhaps practicing a speech to the air, her words astonishingly fast,
"I've memorized all the spells in'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1,' and I hope this wand can keep up with me, after all, I tried practicing Lumos with an old chopstick at home, though it didn't work, but the book says..."
She spun around abruptly, almost bumping into Julianwho had just entered.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, her brown eyes wide, then quickly scrutinized Julian from head to toe.
Evidently, Julian's well-tailored silk shirt and overly refined face made her pause, but she quickly reverted to her rapid-fire speaking style, "Are you a new Hogwartsstudent too? I'm Hermione Granger. Are you here to buy a wand? I've already bought mine, though it took several tries, but Mr. Ollivander said that's normal..."
Hermione Granger. The future Miss Know-It-All, the brains of the Golden Trio.
Julian looked at the girl in front of him, still with two large front teeth, a childish face, but bright eyes, and quickly assessed her in his mind. She was currently just a little hedgehog, extremely insecure due to her Mugglebackground, and could only arm herself with an excessive display of knowledge.
"Julian Rosier." Julian nodded slightly, his tone gentle and composed, not showing the slightest impatience due to her chatter. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Your pronunciation is very standard; I imagine even without a wand, your theoretical knowledge already surpasses most new students."
Hermione's face instantly flushed, not from shyness, but from the excitement of being acknowledged. In this unfamiliar magical world, it was the first time someone had praised her knowledge, rather than being surprised by her background.
"Really? I was still worried about my enunciation and accent, you know, the long vowel in 'Wingardium Leviosa'..."
"Good afternoon."
A ghostly voice suddenly came from behind the counter, interrupting Hermione. Garrick Ollivander's large, silvery, moon-like eyes gleamed in the dimness; he had appeared there at some point, holding a tape measure.
"Rosier." The old man's voice was hoarse with age. "I remember your father's first wand, hawthorn, Unicornhair, a somewhat... arrogant combination. And your mother's, willow, very suitable for delicate spells."
His pale fingertips almost touched Julian's nose, his gaze scanning him like an X-ray. "So, let's see what you need. Hold out your dominant hand."
Julian extended his right hand. The tape measure began to dance automatically on his arm, measuring from shoulder to fingertip, then from wrist to elbow, and even, absurdly, the distance between his nostrils.
"I think you need something... powerful." Ollivandermurmured, turning to weave among the precarious shelves, pulling out several boxes.
"Try this. Beechwood, dragon heartstring, nine inches. Give it a wave."
Julian took the wand; as soon as he waved it, the nearby vase exploded into dust with a "bang." Hermione flinched back, covering her mouth.
"No, no, clearly not." Ollivander snatched the wand away, almost immediately handing him another. "Maple, Phoenix feather, seven inches. Try it."
This time, before Julian had even fully grasped it, the wand slipped from his hand as if oiled, bouncing twice on the floor.
"A picky customer, very picky." The light in Ollivander's eyes grew brighter; he seemed to enjoy the challenge. He rummaged deep in the shelves for a long time, finally emerging with a dusty black box.
"This one... I made it a long time ago, but it never found its owner. Perhaps today is its day." Ollivander said softly, opening the box.
Lying on faded red velvet was a wand as black as night, smooth all over, without any carvings, yet exuding a chilling, austere beauty.
"Ebony, dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarter inches, unyielding." Ollivander's voice became serious. "Ebony is best suited for those who are true to themselves and do not waver. It is very good for battle magic and Transfiguration. Take it and try."
The moment Julian's fingers touched the cold wood, a surge of warmth instantly coursed from his fingertips throughout his body. It was power, pure, obedient, and strong. He felt as if the wand was an extension of his arm, a materialization of his will.
He gave a gentle wave.
There were no cliché sparks or rainbows. Instead, the dust in the air instantly stopped dancing, then rearranged itself according to a strange geometric pattern, condensing into a translucent, silver-gray eagle.
It silently circled the narrow shop once, then elegantly dissipated over Julian's shoulder.
"Wow..." Hermione let out a genuine gasp of admiration, her eyes sparkling as she stared at Julian. "Was that... was that an advanced application of Transfiguration? Materializing intangible magic? I've read about similar theories in 'Transfiguration Today'!"
"Marvelous, truly marvelous. Your talent in Transfiguration is entirely on par with your Professor McGonagall." Ollivander clapped his hands, his silver eyes fixed deeply on Julian. "Ebony has found its companion. Remember, Mr. Rosier, this wand will not tolerate any form of weakness. The fact that it chose you means you possess a... resolute heart."
Julian paid the seven Galleons, feeling the warmth of the wand in his palm. A resolute heart? Of course. A resolute heart that desired to control everything.
As he walked out of the shop, Hermione was still by his side, seemingly not yet recovered from the shock of the scene she had just witnessed.
"Um... Rosier?" she began hesitantly, twisting the hem of her clothes. "You must have practiced for a long time at home, right? I mean, that magic just now looked so skilled. I... I'm a little worried if I can keep up, after all, no one in my family understands magic."
Julian stopped, turned, and looked at this future talented Witch, who at this moment was as fragile as a blank sheet of paper.
"Miss Granger."
Julian bent down slightly, bringing his gaze level with hers, Hermione's nervous face reflected in his amber eyes.
Chapter 4: Animagus
"Talent determines your ceiling, but hard work determines your floor. And you, clearly, possess a weapon more formidable than most—your mind." Julian reached out, lightly pointing at the book Hermione was clutching.
"If I were you, I would channel this anxiety into a drive for reading. Besides, if you ever want someone to discuss Chapter Three of 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1' with, you're welcome to find me. I don't mind conversing with an intelligent person."
Hermione froze, then a brilliant, almost dazzling smile bloomed on her face—the relief of being understood and accepted. "Thank you! I mean... of course! I'll finish it! Chapter Three is about the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, right? I've already previewed half of it!"
"I look forward to your insights." Julian straightened up, gave an elegant wave of farewell, and turned toward Flourish and Blotts.
Behind him, Hermione Granger hugged her book tightly, watching the blond boy's retreating back. She made a silent vow: she would memorize that book until she knew it backwards and forwards; she absolutely could not lose face in front of that elegant Rosier.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Julian's mouth. Excellent—the seeds of 'recognition' had been planted in the future genius girl.
The midday sun felt like a layer of thick, hot syrup, viscously flowing into every crevice of the cobblestones in Diagon Alley.
A long queue had formed in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The cloying scent of vanilla mixed with the sulfurous fumes drifting from the nearby cauldron shops, creating a strange, drowsy summer atmosphere.
Julian was in no hurry to head to Flourish and Blotts, which was currently packed with the smell of sweat and musty books. He found a relatively cool corner—happily in the shadow of an ancient Corinthian column—and leaned back elegantly, fiddling with the newly purchased ebony wand in his hand.
The wand flipped nimbly between Julian's fingers like a black conductor's baton. As someone who had once navigated the treacherous waters of the business world, observation was his instinct.
"That fat man in the purple velvet robes, clutching his pocket tightly with shifting eyes—a classic nouveau riche. High probability he just withdrew a large sum from Gringotts and is worried about being robbed," Juliansilently labeled the passersby in his mind.
"The Witch on the left with three screaming children, brow furrowed, shopping list longer than her robes... Is that Mrs. Weasley? No, the red hair isn't vibrant enough. The robes are old but the material is decent; likely a member of some fallen minor family."
Just as his gaze lazily swept over a group of first-years arguing over the price of toads, a slight commotion across the street caught his attention.
It wasn't some earth-shattering explosion, but rather a sense of incongruity.
A cat.
A black-and-white cat was perched on the steps in front of Eeylops Owl Emporium. It wasn't curled up sleeping like an ordinary cat, nor was it staring at the owls in their cages and drooling. On the contrary, it sat bolt upright, front paws together, its posture as elegant as a noblewoman having afternoon tea.
What Julian found most intriguing was its gaze. There was no animalistic ignorance in those deep blue eyes; instead, they held a hair-raising, intensely human sense of—disdain.
Yes, disdain.
The cat was staring at a passing wizard dressed in garish pink robes and doused in excessive cologne. Its gaze was as if it were looking at a walking pile of trash.
When the wizard accidentally tripped over his own robes and stumbled, nearly falling, the cat even tilted its head slightly and let out a faint 'pssh' sound. Its whiskers twitched with what looked suspiciously like a cold smirk.
"Interesting." Julian raised an eyebrow, a glint of curiosity flashing in his amber eyes.
He straightened up and walked across the bustling crowd with his long legs encased in expensive dragon-hide boots, heading straight for the cat. He stopped two paces away. He didn't make stupid 'kitty-kitty' noises like an ordinary child, nor did he try to pet its head.
He simply leaned down, hands in his pockets, and met the cat's gaze with an equal, even slightly teasing look.
"Good taste," Julian lowered his voice, speaking at a volume only the two of them—one human, one cat—could hear. He jerked his chin toward the direction the pink-robed wizard had disappeared. "That pink really is a disaster. It's practically a terrorist attack on the retinas."
The black-and-white cat visibly stiffened. It slowly turned its head, those deep blue cat eyes staring intently at Julian. After a few seconds of silence, it didn't run away; instead, it narrowed its eyes slightly, sizing up the blond boy before it.
The feeling of being scrutinized grew even stronger. Julian could almost read the meaning in its eyes: 'Oh, a brat who knows his stuff? Not bad looking, either.'
The cat suddenly stood up. It didn't meow, but instead walked to Julian's feet with a peculiar, runway-model-like gait. It lightly brushed its fluffy tail against Julian's calf—a gesture like a polite touch, or perhaps a marking.
Immediately after, it performed an action that confirmed Julian's suspicion—it raised a front paw and pointed toward a shop at the end of the street with a sign that read 'Blankey's Magical Menagerie.' Then it looked back at Julian, its eyes carrying a hint of provocation and invitation: 'Dare to follow and see?'
"An Animagus?" Julian chuckled inwardly. "And an unregistered one? The world outside Hogwarts truly is full of surprises."
Before he could react, the cat moved like a black-and-white bolt of lightning, nimbly weaving through the crowd and disappearing toward the pet shop in a few leaps. It left behind only a faint scent of high-end perfume in the air, one that didn't belong on this street.
Julian straightened his back and brushed off non-existent dust from his trousers, a playful smile playing on his lips.
In this magical world full of rules and dogmas, meeting a 'kindred spirit' drifting on the edge of those rules was more exciting than buying a good wand.
Just as Julian was about to follow, a voice interrupted his decision.
"Julian!"
Chapter 5: 'Chance' Encounter on the Train
Alick Rosier's voice drifted over from a distance. His father was standing at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, holding several heavy parcels, looking at his pocket watch with a somewhat impatient expression. Clearly, the half-hour was up.
"It seems the exploration will have to be postponed." Julian looked regretfully at the pet shop's sign, imprinting it deeply into his mind.
He adjusted his expression, putting back on that well-behaved and perfect noble mask, and turned to walk toward his father. But in his heart, a new plan had already begun to take shape. That cat, or rather, that woman, was definitely worth a return visit.
...
August at Rosier Manor was like an isolated island forgotten by time.
The sunlight here seemed to have been filtered through thick velvet curtains, becoming pale and lacking warmth. For an ordinary eleven-year-old boy, this would likely be hellishly dull, but for Julian, it was the perfect breeding ground for dormancy and tempering.
After returning from Diagon Alley, for an entire month, he hardly stepped foot out of the study.
That Ebony Wand was like a wild horse; at the beginning, it even resisted his magical output, and his fingertips often felt a burning sting.
Perhaps due to natural talent, or having an adult soul, Julian possessed a profound understanding of the essence of magic, especially in Transfiguration.
Secondly, his talent in Runic Script far exceeded that of ordinary people, and he could often resonate with it, which provided Julian with great assistance in his magical cultivation.
"Fera Verto."
Inside the study, a silver turtle originally used as a paperweight twisted painfully under the light of the spell; its shell rapidly elongated and thinned, and its limbs retracted.
Finally, with a crisp "ding," the silver turtle transformed into an exquisite silver teapot with a crackle-glaze pattern.
A layer of fine sweat broke out on Julian's forehead, but he didn't stop. Instead, he continued to wave his wand, and the teapot instantly disintegrated, turning back into the turtle. Only this time, a ring of patterns in the shape of a teapot lid appeared on the turtle's back.
"It's not just a change in form, but a restructuring of essence." He murmured to himself, his fingers stroking the smooth surface of the wand. This feeling of controlling matter was fascinating, far more intuitive and shocking than manipulating numbers on the stock market in his past life.
Alick Rosier would occasionally appear at the door like a ghost, scrutinizing his son's progress with those critical eyes.
As the head of a Pure-blood family, he never gave praise easily. Even when he saw Julian successfully transform a rat into a goblet, with the texture of fur still retained on the cup's walls, he merely gave a slight nod before turning to leave.
This was the love of a Pure-blood family, cold and hard like an uncut piece of black bread. Furthermore, if you lacked talent, the end result you faced would be heartless abandonment.
...
September 1st, King's Cross Station.
The air was filled with the smell of coal smoke and engine oil.
The barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10.
The Rosier family did not rush in noisily like the Weasley family; instead, they walked through with composure.
"Remember your status." Before passing through the barrier, Alick straightened Julian's collar one last time, his tone serious. "Slytherin is the first choice; Ravenclaw is acceptable. If you end up in Gryffindor... then you'd better pray your Transfiguration is good enough to turn yourself into a lion."
"Don't worry, Father." A confident arc curled at the corner of Julian's mouth.
Passing through the barrier, the bright red hogwarts express came into view, puffing out white steam. The platform was crowded with cats, owls, and wizarding robes of various colors.
The farewell was brief and restrained. Carrying his trunk, which had been cast with an Undetectable Extension Charm, Julian boarded the train alone. He was in no hurry to find a seat; instead, he stood in the corridor, watching the weeping mothers and embarrassed children outside through the window, his heart completely unmoved.
He needed to find that key node.
The train slowly started, and the scenery outside began to accelerate backwards. Julian straightened his well-tailored black robes, which had a silver family crest pinned to the chest.
He walked slowly along the corridor, his gaze scanning each compartment.
Finally, in a compartment at the rear of the train, Juliansaw that messy black head.
"May I come in?"
Julian slid open the door, his voice clear and bright, breaking the slightly awkward chewing sounds inside the compartment.
Harry's mouth was stuffed with half a pumpkin pasty, and sitting next to him was a freckle-faced, red-haired boy holding a corned beef sandwich he was about to bite into.
Their laps were piled with colorful snack wrappers, looking as if they had just looted a candy trolley.
"Julian!" Harry cried out in surprise, nearly choking on the pasty. He hurriedly brushed the crumbs off his legs, his eyes lighting up. "Of course! Come in! I was wondering if you'd be in another carriage."
Julian smiled and entered the compartment, elegantly closing the door and gently placing his trunk on the rack. His movements were out of place in this environment full of snack crumbs, yet strangely, he did not seem obtrusive.
"Long time no see, Harry." He sat in the empty seat opposite Harry, his gaze naturally turning to the red-haired boy. There was no hint of disdain in his eyes; instead, they held a friendly curiosity. "This must be a member of the Weasley family? That signature red hair."
Ron Weasley was stunned. He was long used to Pure-blood Wizards like Malfoy mocking his family's poverty or looking down on his second-hand robes.
But this boy before him, who looked even more aristocratic than Malfoy, had not a hint of malice in his tone.
"Er, yeah... I'm Ron. Ron Weasley." Ron wiped his hands somewhat awkwardly, the tips of his ears turning a bit red.
"Julian Rosier." Julian extended his hand. That hand was fair and slender, forming a sharp contrast with Ron's hand, which was stained with a bit of sandwich sauce, but he shook it without hesitation. "Pleasure to meet you. I've heard that members of the Weasley family are all masters of wizards chess?"
This one sentence instantly hit Ron's comfort zone.
"Oh! Yes!" Ron's eyes lit up immediately, and much of his awkwardness dissipated. "Do you play wizards chesstoo? Harry just learned; I was about to teach him how to use a Knight to smash the opponent's Queen..."
"We must have a match when we get the chance." Juliannodded with a smile, then pulled a delicate small silver box from his pocket. Upon opening it, there were several translucent gummies emitting a fresh peppermint scent.
"Would you like some? These are a new product from Honeydukes, Peppermint Ice Toads. They make you puff out cold air when you eat them; very suitable for this sweltering weather."
He didn't touch those mountain-like commoner snacks, nor did he show off his high-end goods; he simply shared naturally.
Harry and Ron looked at each other and both reached out. Soon, the compartment was filled with the laughter of the three boys eating candy and puffing out cold air.
The atmosphere was incredibly harmonious. Julianperfectly integrated into this originally closed little circle; he was no longer the aloof noble young master, but a well-informed, interesting, and generous friend.
However, the momentum of the plot is powerful.
Just as they were chatting about Quidditch teams, the compartment door was suddenly yanked open, and three boys appeared at the entrance.
Chapter 6: Malfoy
The boy standing in the middle with pale blonde hair was none other than Draco Malfoy. He was followed by two hulking figures like bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy's gaze swept around the compartment, finally settling on Harry, his face wearing that trademark, annoying look of arrogance.
"Is it true?" Malfoy drawled, his gaze completely ignoring Ron beside him. "The whole train is saying that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So that's you, right?"
"Yes," Harry said, eyeing the two hulking figures flanking Malfoy warily and straightening his back.
"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," Malfoy introduced carelessly. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Ron gave a slight cough, probably to cover a laugh, but it sounded more like he was scoffing at the name.
Malfoy's head snapped around, his eyes instantly turning venomous. "You think my name is funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me, the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
Ron's face instantly flushed to match his hair, and he stood up abruptly.
"You should be careful, Potter," Malfoy said, turning back to look at Harry, speaking slowly and deliberately. "You don't quite understand the situation yet, do you? Some wizarding families are much better than others. You wouldn't want to make friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended his hand, waiting for Harry to shake it.
According to the original plot, Harry would coldly refuse, and the two sides would become enemies.
But this time, before Harry could speak, a slender hand suddenly reached out, lightly resting on Malfoy's extended hand. It didn't shake it, nor did it push it away, but simply pressed it down gently.
"Draco."
Julian's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a strange penetrating power. He was still sitting in his seat, not even changing his posture, merely tilting his head slightly. His amber eyes calmly watched Malfoy, a faint, ambiguous smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Malfoy jerked his hand back as if scalded, finally noticing there was another person in the corner. When he clearly saw Julian's face, a flash of surprise crossed his haughty expression.
"Rosier?" Malfoy clearly recognized him, the arrogance in his tone receding slightly. After all, the Rosier Family's status in pure-blood circles was no lower than the Malfoys, even more ancient and mysterious. "What are you... doing in this compartment?"
His gaze shifted between Julian, Harry, and Ron, clearly unable to understand how a Rosier could be mingling with a Weasley, and even sitting so close to Potter.
"I'm making friends, Draco," Julian said, standing up. He was half a head taller than the still undeveloped Malfoy, and this height advantage translated into psychological pressure at this moment. He walked up to Malfoy, positioning himself between him and Harry and Ron.
"Your father, Uncle Lucius, is a shrewd businessman. I think he must have taught you that a true noble doesn't need to elevate themselves by putting others down." Julian straightened Malfoy's slightly crooked collar, his movements as intimate as an older brother's, but his tone carried an undeniable chill.
"That's just... tacky."
Hearing Julian's words, Malfoy's face flushed red then pale. He badly wanted to retort, but faced with that completely adult-like aura, he was momentarily speechless.
"And," Julian leaned close to Malfoy's ear, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Harry is a friend I value. If you want to have a pleasant time at this school, you'd better find a different way to interact with him. Understood?"
After saying this, he took a step back, that gentle, harmless smile returning to his face as if the previous threat had been an illusion.
"Crabbe and Goyle look hungry. Perhaps you should take them to the dining car?" Julian suggested amiably.
Malfoy shot Julian a glare, then gave Harry and Ron a vicious look. In the end, he said nothing, snorted coldly, and turned to leave with his two cronies.
Watching Malfoy's retreating back, Julian, even without having learned Legilimency, knew what he was thinking: *Helping Potter and Weasley?! Just you wait, I'll tell Father!*
The compartment door slid shut again.
Ron's mouth hung open, staring at Julian dumbfoundedly as if he had just seen him strangle a dragon with his bare hands.
"Merlin's beard..." Ron muttered to himself. "You were just lecturing Malfoy? Blimey, did you see his face? Like he'd swallowed a slug!"
Harry also looked at Julian with admiration. "Thank you, Julian. That Malfoy... is really awful."
"He's just spoiled rotten. At heart, he's a child seeking attention," Julian said, sitting back down, shrugging nonchalantly and picking up another peppermint toad to put in his mouth. "You'll meet all sorts of people at this school, Harry. What's important is knowing who's worth shaking hands with, and who's worth drawing your wand against."
He looked at Harry's emerald green eyes and smiled meaningfully.
This wasn't just a rescue; it was a display of authority. In Harry's mind, he was now the 'protector'; in Ron's mind, he was a 'different kind of pure-blood'; and in Malfoy's mind, he became an 'opponent to be wary of.'
One stone, three birds.
Outside the window, the fields had shifted from emerald green to a deep, dark green. The sky, unnoticed, had piled up heavy lead-grey clouds. Raindrops began to spatter sporadically against the glass with a random *tap-tap* sound.
*Chug-chug-chug*:
The Hogwarts Express's rumble over the tracks was monotonous and hypnotic, but the atmosphere inside the compartment had become exceptionally lively due to the recent little confrontation.
Ron was animatedly describing to Harry the tragedy of when Fred and George once tried to turn a spider into a teddy bear but only succeeded halfway. Harry listened with great interest, bursting into laughter from time to time.
Julian leaned back in his seat, his fingers lightly stroking the handle of his ebony wand, that trademark, perfectly measured smile on his lips. Yet, his eyes maintained a clarity that remained detached from the surrounding noise.
Just then, the compartment's sliding door was rudely pushed open again.
This time, the entrant wasn't a troublemaking Slytherinheir, but a round-faced, tearful boy. He looked utterly disheveled, with one corner of his robe tucked into his trousers and a look of panicked, lost-soul distress on his face.
"Excuse me," he asked with a sniffle, his gaze wandering aimlessly over the three people in the compartment. "Have you seen a toad?"
Ron and Harry both shook their heads.
"I've lost him! He keeps trying to run away!" the boy wailed despairingly, looking ready to collapse on the floor and burst into tears at any moment. "My gran will kill me, she bought him for me..."
"Calm down, Neville."
Julian's voice acted like a sedative, instantly cutting off the boy's impending outburst of tears. He didn't show the impatient look other children might have, nor did he shrug helplessly like Ron did in the original story.
He stood up, smoothly adjusting his cuffs. His amber eyes looked directly at Neville Longbottom—this future Gryffindor swordmaster, currently just a timid crybaby.
"Losing things happens often. But in the wizarding world, finding things is often more interesting than losing them." Julian walked over to Neville and gently patted his shoulder. It was a uniquely adult gesture of reassurance towards a child, carrying a convincing strength.
"What's his name?"
"Tr... Trevor," Neville sniffled, staring blankly at this boy who was half a head taller than him and smelled pleasantly of cedarwood.
"Good, Trevor." Julian turned, his gaze falling on the pile of messy snack wrappers and Chocolate Frog cards on Ron's lap. He bent down and elegantly picked up a card bearing Dumbledore's portrait with two fingers.
"Watch closely, Harry, Ron," Julian said, slightly tilting his head and giving the two dumbfounded spectators behind him a look. "This is a little trick of Transfiguration—the reconstruction of material form and the assignment of purpose."
He drew out his black wand and lightly tapped the card.
There was no fancy incantation, just a low, clear syllable: "Papilio Vestigium."
Chapter 7: paper butterfly
As the wand lit up, the thin picture card trembled violently.
Then, under the astonished gazes of Harry and Ron, the edges of the card began to curl and fold. With a faint sound like tearing paper, the card split from Dumbledore's nose and quickly reorganized itself.
In the blink of an eye, a palm-sized paper butterfly, its body folded from the card and its wings still bearing half of Dumbledore's glasses pattern, flew tremulously from Julian's palm.
"Go on, find that little fellow with the scent of damp earth," Julian ordered softly.
As if understanding the command, the paper butterflycircled in the air, making a faint rustling sound, before diving straight toward the corner of Ron's seat—where several of Ron's old discarded coats and a large pile of bertie botts every flavor beans boxes were heaped.
The paper butterfly landed on a half-open empty box, its wings flapping rapidly.
Julian walked over with a smile and moved the box aside. A plump, somewhat dazed-looking toad was crouching there, its jowls puffing in and out, clearly enjoying its brief moment of freedom.
"Trevor!" Neville cried out in surprise, lunging forward to cup the toad in his hands as if it were a rare treasure. "Oh, my goodness! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Harry and Ron were completely stunned.
"What was that?" Ron's eyes widened as he stared at the paper butterfly, which was slowly turning back into a card. "George can't even make dead things so... so obedient!"
"That's a variant application of high-level Transfiguration."
A slightly haughty, fast-talking female voice suddenly came from the doorway.
Everyone turned to look and saw a girl with thick brown hair, already changed into her Hogwarts robes, standing there. One hand was still in the position of pushing the door open, the other was clutching a book, but her eyes were fixed intently on the wand in Julian's hand.
It was Hermione Granger.
She had originally intended to come in and ask about the toad—having heard Neville's crying in the corridor—and to show off her knowledge in the process. But at this moment, the expression on her face was a mix of surprise, excitement, and a certain tension from encountering a rival.
"That's giving an object temporary biological instincts; it's only mentioned in chapter five of Intermediate Transfiguration!" Hermione said in one breath, as if reciting from memory. "But I've never seen anyone use a picture card as a medium, and it was a precursor to non-verbal casting... Oh! It's you!"
Hermione suddenly recognized the blonde boy before her, the "genius" from Ollivanders who had made her feel both admiration and pressure.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger." Julian put away his wand, and the picture card drifted lightly back onto Ron's knee. He gave Hermione an impeccable gentlemanly smile. "It seems you've already previewed the intermediate curriculum? Impressive."
Hermione's face flushed instantly, and her aggressive momentum softened by half. She awkwardly tidied her hair, her tone becoming much gentler: "I... I've only read a little bit. Rosier, right? I didn't expect you to be on this train... I mean, I knew you'd be going to Hogwarts, of course, but I thought you'd be sitting in the prefectcarriage at the front or somewhere else."
"I prefer the atmosphere here." Julian stepped aside, acting as an introducer with natural ease. "Since we've all met, why don't we get to know each other? This is Miss Hermione Granger, a Witch with an incredible amount of reading for her age."
Hearing this evaluation, Hermione's chin lifted slightly, clearly very pleased.
"And these two are Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Julian pointed to the two boys inside who were still in a daze.
"Harry Potter?" Hermione's attention was instantly diverted. She stared at Harry with wide eyes. "Is it really you? I've read all about you in books—Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century all mention you."
Harry looked a bit overwhelmed, his face turning bright red. "I... I mean, I didn't even know myself."
"If I were you, Miss Granger, I'd give our chosen one a little breathing room." Julian interjected at the right time, his light tone easing Harry's embarrassment. "After all, the books only describe a shadow of history, while sitting in front of you is a living boy who almost breathed fire just now from eating a pepper-flavored Bertie Bott's bean."
Ron let out a snort of laughter, and Harry gave Julian a grateful look.
Hermione paused, then also showed a slightly embarrassed smile. "Oh, sorry. I just... got too excited."
"It's alright." Julian pointed to the empty seat opposite. "Since you're here, why not sit down and chat? Neville, you come in too; don't let Trevor run off again. I think we can discuss the upcoming Sorting Ceremony, or... the spider Ron mentioned earlier that almost turned into a teddy bear."
The originally cramped compartment felt a bit crowded with two more people, but the atmosphere was surprisingly harmonious.
Julian sat by the window, like an invisible center. He didn't deliberately dominate the conversation, but whenever the dialogue fell flat or became awkward (like when Ron got annoyed because Hermione pointed out he had dirt on his nose), he could always bring the atmosphere back with a humorous quip or a new topic.
The future chosen one, the greatest mind, the loyal knight, and the warrior who would slay Nagini were all gathered around Julian now, eating the snacks he provided and listening to him tell anecdotes of the wizarding world.
This sense of control was more addictive than any spell.
"I heard Gryffindor is the bravest house," Hermione said. Though she was discussing it, her eyes unconsciously drifted toward Julian, as if seeking his approval. "Dumbledore graduated from there. Rosier, which house do you want to go to?"
Everyone's eyes focused on Julian. Ron's gaze was a bit complicated, as the name Rosier was usually associated with Slytherin; Harry's was pure curiosity; and Nevillewas busy feeding flies to his toad.
Julian idly twirled his wand. Outside, the rain traced distorted water marks on the glass, reflecting his face, which was obscured in the shadows.
"A house is just a label, Hermione," Julian said softly, his voice carrying a clarity that transcended his age.
"Bravery without restraint is recklessness, and wisdom without humanity is coldness. No matter where the Sorting Hat places us, what matters is who we are, not the color of the robes we wear."
These words left Hermione in deep thought, and even Ron stopped chewing.
"However," Julian's tone shifted, a mischievous grin hooking the corner of his mouth, "if one goes to Slytherin, at least the dorms are under the lake. You can see the Giant Squid through the windows. It's like a free aquarium ticket."
A burst of laughter erupted in the carriage.
Just then, the train began to slow down, and an announcement came over the speakers: "We will reach Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be brought to the school for you."
Julian stood up and smoothed the creases in his robes.
"Ready, everyone?" He looked at the group of future legends before him and held out his hand. "Let's go meet our destiny."
It was a bit chuunibyou, but for these eleven-year-old children, it was indeed very effective, wasn't it?
Chapter 8: Crossing the Lake
"First years! First years over here!"
Hagrid's thunderous voice pierced through the curtain of rain and steam. He held a giant lantern aloft, like a swaying lighthouse in a storm.
That massive silhouette appeared both reassuring and somewhat terrifying in the darkness, especially in this god-awful weather of thunder and lightning.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already been drawn toward the light like a swarm of moths to a flame—an unlucky comparison, perhaps, but the most fitting one.
Julian watched their retreating backs and gradually slowed his pace, letting the crowded stream of people pass him by. Like a stone sinking to the riverbed, he silently slipped into the shadows at the edge of the platform.
Rain slid off his robes, treated with a Waterproofing Charm, without dampening them in the slightest. Amidst the noisy, chaotic platform filled with excited screams and the wails of those who couldn't find their toads, Julianwas searching for another sound—or rather, a kind of silence.
He found it quickly.
Standing by an iron pillar not far from him was a thin boy. He was completely different from the surrounding first years who were huddling together for warmth and chattering away. He stood alone, hands in his robe pockets, his back straight as a spear thrust into the mud.
Theodore Nott.
The Nott family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was famous for producing taciturn Death Eaters and extreme blood purists.
If the Malfoy family were the type of peacocks who wanted to write 'I am rich and powerful' on their faces, then the Nott family were venomous snakes lurking in the grass—cold, lethal, and disdainful of showing off.
At this moment, Theodore was frowning slightly, his deep, somewhat hollow eyes coldly scanning his surroundings.
When a Hufflepuff first year accidentally flicked umbrella water onto Theodore, he didn't make a scene like Malfoywould have. He merely turned away with extreme disgust, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the splashed spot, and then unhesitatingly threw the expensive silk handkerchief into a nearby trash bin.
The disdain in that movement was etched into his bones, far more genuine and arrogant than Malfoy's flamboyant performance.
Julian watched this scene quietly, a hint of amusement flashing in his amber eyes. This was the person he was looking for. An idiot like Malfoy could only be used as a tool, but someone like Nott was worthy of being an ally—or a higher-level chess piece.
As if sensing the gaze, Theodore suddenly turned his head.
Their eyes met through the curtain of rain.
There was no smile, no nod, not even a slight change in expression. Yet this brief few seconds of eye contact felt like establishing an encrypted channel between two high-frequency signal transmitters. Perhaps this was a kind of unspoken understanding.
Theodore saw in Julian a steadiness unbefitting his age, as well as a sense of detachment that made him seem as if he were looking down on the world even while standing in a crowd.
He recognized the family crest—Rosier. As fellow members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they didn't need words to smell the decadent and charming scent of the privileged class on each other.
Julian, in turn, read the loneliness in Theodore's eyes. It wasn't the pity of being ignored, but an arrogance that said, "I disdain to associate with you."
Theodore was the first to look away, but his originally tense shoulders seemed to relax slightly. He didn't come over to talk, but as he turned to join the line for Hagrid's small boats, he deliberately slowed his pace by half a beat, as if leaving an invisible space for Julian to walk beside him.
"Interesting," Julian chuckled softly and strode forward to follow.
This was Slytherin-style socializing: no need for warm embraces, only the need to confirm if you are worthy of standing by my side.
...
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid shouted, pointing to a fleet of small boats moored at the shore of the Black Lake.
Julian boarded a boat, not making a conscious effort to squeeze into Harry's. Instead, he sat at the stern, looking out at the pitch-black surface of the lake ahead.
Theodore Nott silently sat across from him, while the other two seats were taken by two Hufflepuff girls who looked terrified.
"Heads down!"
Hagrid yelled as the first batch of boats approached the cliff.
The boats carried them through the ivy-covered cliff face into a hidden opening. They traveled along a dark tunnel that seemed to lead under the Castle, finally reaching a place resembling an underground dock.
Then, they climbed a flight of stone steps and gathered before a giant oak door.
The subsequent process was like a replay of history: Professor McGonagall's solemn speech, the warning about House points, and the group of ghosts that suddenly burst through the walls.
Julian maintained an elegant posture throughout, appearing neither nervous nor overly excited. He noticed Malfoy nearby trying to brag to Crabbe and Goyle about the broomstick his father had promised him, while Harrywas nervously tugging at the cuffs of his robes.
"Now, form a single line," Professor McGonagall returned, "follow me."
The doors to the Great Hall were pushed open. Even with an adult soul, Julian couldn't help but hold his breath at this moment.
Thousands of candles floating in mid-air lit the entire Great Hall. Four long tables were packed with students, and golden plates and goblets shimmered under the candlelight. The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the starry night sky outside (the rain seemed to have stopped, or perhaps it was just a magical effect).
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
A low voice sounded in Julian's ear.
He turned his head slightly to find Theodore Nottstanding beside him at some point. This was the first time Nott had initiated a conversation, though his voice was very soft, almost drowned out by the surrounding clamor.
"An illusory starry sky, real power," Julian replied in the same volume, his gaze sweeping across the high table for teachers, finally landing on the old man sitting in a golden chair with a beard long enough to tuck into his belt—Albus Dumbledore.
Except for Grindelwald, no one dared to face this White Wizard head-on, not even a certain noseless terrorist.
"This is the essence of Hogwarts," Julian couldn't help but sigh with emotion.
Theodore turned his head and gave Julian a deep look, his lips curling into an almost invisible, stingy arc:
"Incisive."
At that moment, Professor McGonagall brought out a four-legged stool, upon which sat that ragged, dirty, patched Sorting Hat.
The hat twitched, a wide rip opened like a mouth, and it began to sing its annual song. The lyrics were nothing more than the traits of the four houses: Gryffindor's bravery, Hufflepuff's loyalty, Ravenclaw's wisdom, and Slytherin's cunning.
After the song ended, the hall erupted in thunderous applause. Professor McGonagall stepped forward a few paces, holding a roll of parchment.
"Hannah Abbott!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
...
As name after name was called, the line of first years grew shorter. Hermione went to Gryffindor, though the hat hesitated over her head for a moment.
Neville ran off so quickly he forgot to take the hat off, eventually ending up in Gryffindor as well. Malfoy had barely put the hat on before the rip shouted "Slytherin."
"Harry Potter!"
The Great Hall suddenly fell silent, followed by a wave of whispers spreading like a tide.
"Potter? Is it that Harry Potter?"
Harry nervously stepped forward and sat down. The hat slipped over his eyes.
This time, the hat took less time to think than in the original story. Perhaps because of Julian's influence on the train, Harry's resistance toward Slytherin wasn't as strong.
But the traits deep within Harry—the desire to prove himself and the longing for courage—still dominated.
"Gryffindor!"
Chapter 9: Slytherin's Ambition
The Gryffindor table erupted in the loudest cheers yet. The Weasley twins shouted, "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"
Harry took off the hat with a sigh of relief and walked toward the Gryffindor table. Before sitting down, he looked back at Julian, who was still in line, with a hint of expectation in his eyes, as if to say: I really hope you can come here too.
Julian smiled and nodded to him, making a "congratulations" gesture.
"Julian Rosier!"
Professor McGonagall's voice rang out.
Julian straightened his robes and stepped forward with a composed stride. He could feel countless gazes focused on him—Dumbledore's scrutiny from behind half-moon spectacles, Professor Snape's gaze from those hollow black eyes, and the expectations of the pure-blood children at the Slytherin table.
He picked up the hat, sat down elegantly, and placed it on his head.
His vision was obscured by darkness, and the smell of old leather wafted into his nostrils.
"Hmm..." a tiny voice whispered in his mind, "An interesting soul. Very interesting... I see ambition, yes, immense ambition, the desire to stand at the peak... and wisdom, a cold rationality that transcends your age... You also have courage, the courage to break the rules..."
"You seem well-suited for Ravenclaw, where your thirst for knowledge could be satisfied... or perhaps Gryffindor? You have the potential to change the world."
"No," Julian responded clearly in his mind, "Only power and order can reshape the world. I know where I am going."
"Oh? So firm." The Sorting Hat chuckled softly, "Doing whatever it takes for an end, sparing nothing for glory... Since you have already made your choice, then there is no doubt it's Azka—"
"???"
"Hahaha, just a joke, Slytherin!"
The Sorting Hat played a little prank before loudly shouting the word.
The Slytherin table instantly erupted in warm applause; though not as boisterous as Gryffindor's, it carried a sense of reserved arrogance and approval.
Draco clapped along, and while his eyes still held a bit of his previous jealousy, they held more of an "I knew it" smugness.
Julian took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, and walked toward the Slytherin table.
He didn't choose to sit next to Draco, nor did he join the crowd near the upper-year prefects. He walked straight to the middle section of the long table and sat down in an empty seat there.
And across from him, Theodore Nott was silently cutting the steak on his plate.
When Julian sat down, Theodore didn't look up; he just gently pushed the bottle of pumpkin juice toward Julian.
"Welcome to the snake pit," Theodore said in a low voice.
"My pleasure." Julian picked up the pumpkin juice, gestured a toast to Theodore, and then tilted his head back to take a sip.
Cold, sweet, and cloying, with a hint of a spicy aftertaste.
This was the taste of power.
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Just as Dumbledore's famous opening words fell, mountains of food appeared out of thin air on the gold plates on the long table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some reason, peppermint humbugs.
At one end of the Slytherin table, Draco was waving his fork, talking loudly like a little tyrant who had just been enthroned:
"I knew I'd be here! My father said if I didn't get into Slytherin, he'd disown me... of course, that was impossible."
Crabbe and Goyle were busy stuffing roast chicken legs into their mouths, making muffled sounds of agreement. Pansy Parkinson watched Draco with an adoring expression, letting out a shrill laugh every now and then, as if Draco were telling the world's greatest joke.
"Hey, Rosier!" Draco seemed to feel he didn't have enough of an audience and turned to shout at Julian, a bit of grease hanging from the corner of his mouth, "How many days do you think that fool Potter can last in Gryffindor? I bet he'll blow up his cauldron in the first Potion Class!"
Julian was cutting a piece of medium-rare steak, his movements as elegant as if he were performing surgery.
Hearing Draco's shout, Julian didn't even lift an eyelid, merely replying flatly, "Perhaps you should worry about yourself, Draco. I hear Professor Snape hates students who talk too much in class the most."
Draco choked for a moment, and just as he was about to retort, he found that Julian had already turned away, ignoring him completely.
"Pointless noise."
Theodore Nott's voice sounded as if it were coming from a deep well, carrying an innate indifference. On the plate before him were only a few neatly cut lamb chops and some broccoli, forming a stark contrast to the gluttonous new students around them.
"Indeed." Julian put down his knife and fork and picked up a napkin to gently wipe the corner of his mouth, "However, Headmaster Dumbledore's speech just now was quite interesting. Those four words, did you hear them?"
Theodore looked up, and for the first time, a certain light called "interest" appeared in those dark eyes: "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak."
"In Old English and certain dialects, these four words correspond to four different personality flaws," Julianlowered his voice, leaning forward slightly to create a private space for conversation, "Nitwit corresponds to the bookworms of Ravenclaw, Blubber to the remorse after Gryffindor's recklessness, Oddment to the mediocrity of Hufflepuff, and Tweak..."
"Tweak, in a variant of Old Norse, has the meaning of 'distort' and 'adjust'," Theodore took over the conversation, and though his tone remained flat, his speaking speed noticeably quickened, "Slytherin's shrewdness is often accompanied by the distortion of rules. The old madman is warning us."
A flash of appreciation appeared in Julian's eyes; as expected, Nott was a smart man, and a knowledgeable one at that.
"Or he is mocking us." Julian chuckled softly, his finger lightly tapping the tabletop, "But he forgets that only those who distort the rules can ultimately set them. Just like 'Eihwaz' in Ancient Runes—the yew—it represents death and rebirth, as well as defense and turning points. There is no absolute good or evil, only the flow of power."
Theodore's movements stopped, and he looked deeply at Julian, as if truly getting to know this peer for the first time.
In Slytherin, many talked of pure-blood glory, and not a few talked of the Dark Arts, but those who could deconstruct Dumbledore's speech from the perspectives of linguistics and semiotics were few and far between.
"Your knowledge of runes is quite good," Theodore finally gave an affirmative evaluation, which for him was already extremely high praise, "There is a manuscript of 'Secret History of Nordic Runes' in my family's study; if you are interested..."
"I would be honored." Julian raised his glass and lightly clinked it against Theodore's, "In exchange, I can show you some unorthodox applications of Transfiguration in Alchemy."
The two glasses made a crisp clinking sound, which seemed insignificant in the noisy Great Hall, yet marked the establishment of a solid alliance.
Chapter 10: Establishing Authority in the Dormitory
After the feast, the Slytherin first-years followed the prefect, Gemma Farley, through the noisy crowd, down the marble staircase, and into the cold dungeon.
The air here carried a damp, earthy smell, and the torches on the walls burned with green flames, casting shadows like snakes.
"The password is 'Pure-blood'," prefect Farley said to a damp stone wall.
The stone wall slowly slid aside, revealing a narrow entrance.
The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with walls and ceilings made of rough stone, and round green lamps hanging from the ceiling on chains.
A roaring fire burned in an elaborately carved fireplace, illuminating the surrounding carved chairs.
Through the windows, one could see the bottom of the Black Lake; several strands of dark green seaweed drifted slowly outside, and occasional giant shadows could be seen swimming past.
"The boys' dormitories are on the left, and the girls' are on the right. Your luggage has already been delivered to your rooms," prefect Farley said briefly before leaving, clearly not wanting to waste too much time on the first-years.
Julian, Theodore, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and two other boys were assigned to the same dormitory.
It was a spacious room with five four-poster beds draped in green velvet curtains.
As soon as they entered, Malfoy headed straight for the bed closest to the window—it had the best view, looking directly out into the lake bed.
"This bed is mine!" Malfoy announced loudly, tossing his things onto it. Crabbe and Goyle stood on either side of him like two gate guards, looking at the others with meaty faces.
The other two boys were furious but dared not speak, silently choosing beds in the corners.
Julian stood at the door, in no hurry to move. Instead, he slowly unbuttoned his robe, took it off, and draped it over his arm, revealing the white shirt and waistcoat underneath.
"Draco."
Julian's voice was soft, but it made the whole room fall silent instantly.
Malfoy turned around and looked at him warily. "What? I've already claimed this bed!"
"I think you might have misunderstood something." Julianstepped forward, his leather shoes making a clear "tap-tap" sound on the stone floor.
He didn't look at Malfoy; instead, he walked straight to the bed, reached out, and picked up Malfoy's things as if he were picking up trash.
"Hey! What are you doing!" Malfoy's face flushed red as he reached out to snatch them back.
Crabbe and Goyle also took a step forward, brandishing their fists.
At that moment, the wand in Julian's hand slid into his palm. He didn't recite an incantation; his wrist simply gave an extremely subtle flick.
With over a month of practice and natural talent, learning a few wandless spells was not a difficult task.
A nearby chair suddenly seemed to come alive, lunging forward and tripping Goyle just as he was about to rush over. Goyle fell like a mountain of flesh, landing right on top of Crabbe, and the two of them rolled into a heap, letting out squeals like slaughtered pigs.
"You... what do you want? If you dare touch me, even if you are the son of the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, I can have the Board of Governors expel you." Malfoy was startled, his speech stumbling as he backed away until he bumped into a bedpost.
Julian casually tossed Malfoy's schoolbag onto the bed next to it.
"I don't like people blocking my view, nor do I like sleeping by the door in a draft." Julian looked at Malfoywith a smile, one so dangerously 'kind' it made one's skin crawl.
"I think, as the heir to the Malfoy family, you should understand the virtue of humility better, right? After all, that bed is closer to the heater and more suitable for someone of your... delicate constitution."
Malfoy gritted his teeth, looking at his two lackeys still moaning on the floor, then at Julian's dangerously 'kind' smile, and fell silent. Though arrogant, he was not stupid.
Malfoy had already experienced Julian's methods on the train, and this display of wandless magic made him even more apprehensive.
"...Hmph, since you want to look at those disgusting weeds so much, I'll let you have it." Malfoy forced himself to save face, picked up his luggage, and stomped toward the bed closest to the heater. "I didn't like that spot much anyway; it's too cold, and it's easy to catch a cold."
A shift in power within the dormitory was thus completed silently.
Julian sat contentedly on the bed by the window. Theodore Nott silently chose the bed next to Julian's, and the two exchanged a look—everything was understood without a word.
Outside the window, a giant tentacle slid slowly past, its suckers attaching to the glass before slowly releasing.
The first night at Hogwarts began.
11
Morning at the Black Lake brought no sunlight, only a deep, quiet blue-green glimmer seeping through the thick glass windows, enveloping the entire Slytherin common room in an atmosphere like a deep-sea dream.
The precision of his biological clock was one of the many small advantages an adult soul granted Julian.
At six in the morning, while Malfoy was still curled up with his blanket like a cooked shrimp, and Crabbe and Goyle were still snoring like a Troll's mating call, Julianhad already opened his eyes.
Without lingering in bed or feeling any waking confusion, Julian threw back the dark green velvet duvet and stepped barefoot onto the cold stone floor, the bone-chilling cold instantly activating every nerve ending in his body.
Washing and dressing, every movement was precise and efficient. Julian straightened his tie in front of the mirror, ensuring every fold of the Windsor knot was perfectly symmetrical, then used hair cream to slick his pale blond hair back, leaving only a few seemingly casual strands on his forehead.
Although these tasks could be replaced by magic, doing them by hand helped Julian maintain constant vigilance.
As he stepped out of the dormitory, he found Theodore Nott had also finished washing and was just pushing his door open.
The thin boy was already fully dressed, with faint dark circles under his eyes, suggesting he hadn't slept well last night, but he was clutching that heavy copy of "The Magical Syllabary" tightly.
The two met in the corridor; they didn't say good morning, only exchanged an extremely brief look—the kind of silent understanding that said, "I knew you'd be awake too."
The common room was empty. The fire in the fireplace had gone out, leaving only a few red embers gasping in the ashes. The air was filled with the smell of old leather, lingering tobacco, and the unique damp scent of the lake bottom.
Julian waved his wand, his movements as light as if he were conducting an invisible orchestra.
"Incendio (Incendio)."
As the whisper fell, warm orange-red flames instantly flared up in the fireplace, dispelling the chill of the room. The crackling of the wood broke the dead silence, adding a touch of human warmth to the gloomy cellar.
Julian chose a high-backed armchair facing the fireplace and backed by a carved stone pillar.
This position offered a wide view, allowing him to monitor the dormitory entrance and observe the stone door leading outside—a strategically excellent spot. Theodoresilently sat in the single sofa to his left and opened his book.
Julian pulled a copy of "magical theory" by Adalbert Waffling from his robe pocket. This wasn't a first-year textbook, but he didn't intend to read any forbidden books in public—that was the kind of reckless behavior associated with Gryffindor.
In Slytherin, demonstrating academic ability that was "advanced yet compliant" was the optimal way to establish prestige.
Time passed slowly to the sound of turning pages.
Around half-past six, the door to the girls' dormitory made a soft click.
The person who walked out wasn't a noisy character like Pansy Parkinson, but a girl with honey-colored hair and a cold, aloof aura.