Chapter 11: Pureblood Socializing
The girl was wearing a neat school robe, holding several parchment-bound books in her hands, looking like an early riser.
Daphne Greengrass.
The eldest daughter of the Greengrass Family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
In the original story, she was a background character with almost no lines, but in Slytherin's social ecosystem, the Greengrass Family always played the role of a shrewd middleman—neither aggressively supporting the Dark Lord nor close to Dumbledore, purely prioritizing self-interest.
It's worth mentioning that Malfoy's future wife also came from the Greengrass Family, and she was Daphne's younger sister.
Daphne clearly didn't expect anyone to be in the common room already, let alone two boys. She paused, her blue eyes quickly scanning the two people in front of the fireplace.
She wasn't surprised to see Theodore; the Nott family's reclusiveness was well-known. But when she saw Julian, her gaze lingered for two seconds.
The boy sitting in the high-backed chair had an elegance that resembled a painting. The firelight outlined his profile, and his calm yet powerful aura was completely unlike that of a newly enrolled first-year student.
Additionally, perhaps due to the fusion with an adult soul, Julian had also developed much faster than his peers, so no one would doubt if he were said to be a third-year student.
Daphne hesitated for a moment, then, instead of walking away, she approached with her books.
"Good morning," her voice was soft, with a tentative politeness, "I am Daphne Greengrass."
Theodore merely lifted his eyelids from above his book, giving a slight nod, without even making a sound.
Julian closed his book, his finger marking the page, and turned his head, revealing a standard smile.
"Good morning, Miss Greengrass. I am Julian Rosier." He didn't stand up, but leaned slightly forward in his seat as a sign of respect. "It seems Slytherin mornings aren't as quiet as I imagined."
"I'm used to getting up early to review," Daphne's gaze fell on the cover of the book in his hand. "'magical theory'? Is that... Waffling's treatise on the flow of magic? That doesn't seem to be on our booklist."
"First-year courses are mostly about 'how to do it,' but I'm more interested in 'why,'" Julian said casually, his tone devoid of showing off, merely a matter-of-fact calmness.
"It's like we all know we need to cast a spell to turn a match into a needle, but few people consider why the metallic texture of the needle needs to be displaced from the aether."
Daphne's eyes widened slightly. Such topics usually only appeared in advanced Ravenclaw seminars or the afternoon teas of old scholars.
"Very interesting point," she took a step closer, seemingly wanting to linger on this topic a bit longer. "My father often says that a Wizard who only knows what to do but not why, will always remain a craftsman."
"Your father is very insightful," Julian smoothly took over the conversation, skillfully guiding the topic towards family matters. "The Greengrass Family's foresight in Potion trade has always been admirable. I hear that recent batch of scarab shells from Egypt was your family's doing?"
This was actually a business news item he had seen in a corner of The Daily Prophet yesterday, but using it now to build rapport was a stroke of genius.
Daphne finally showed a genuine smile, the defensive aloofness dissipating considerably: "Yes, that was my uncle's business. Mr. Rosier is also interested in commerce?"
"I'm interested in anything that maintains order and power," Julian said pointedly.
Just then, the door to the boys' dormitory opened again. Several older students walked out, led by the female prefect from last night, Gemma Farley.
She looked somewhat hurried, as if preparing for a patrol. Seeing the scene in front of the fireplace—two first-year students engaged in what appeared to be a rather high-level conversation, with Nott beside them like a silent guardian—she paused.
In the Slytherin common room, the hierarchy was strict. Usually, new students huddled in corners or followed powerful upperclassmen.
For Julian to occupy the main spot by the fireplace on the very first day, and to have the Greengrass Family's eldest daughter initiate conversation, was itself a signal. Of course, the Rosier Family background couldn't be ignored either.
"Up early, Rosier, Nott, and Greengrass," Prefect Farleywalked over, her gaze scrutinizing. "I hope you save your energy for class. Today's schedule is out; the first lesson is Transfiguration with Ravenclaw."
Julian stood up, his movements fluid and natural. He gave Prefect Farley a slight bow: "Thank you for the reminder, Prefect Farley. We are just about to head to the Great Hall."
This neither humble nor overbearing attitude, which respected the prefect's authority while maintaining his own dignity, deepened the appreciation in Prefect Farley's eyes.
"Very good," she nodded, her gaze sweeping towards the still-sleeping dormitory, and she snorted coldly, "Much better than those idiots who haven't gotten up yet. Take them with you, and don't be late. Slytherin doesn't accept excuses for tardiness."
With that, she turned and left, her black robes billowing behind her like a wave.
"It seems we have official approval," Julian turned and smiled at Daphne. "Shall we go to the Great Halltogether, Miss Greengrass?"
"It would be my honor," Daphne curtsied slightly, lifting her skirt.
The three walked out of the common room.
The portraits in the corridor were still dozing, and occasionally ghosts passed through walls.
Julian walked in the middle, Theodore on his left, and Daphne on his right. Although they were just three first-year students, the composed aura of three pureblood nobles walking together exuded a sense of patrolling their territory.
This kind of aura couldn't be displayed by Malfoy simply bringing along two fools.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, it was still sparsely populated. A few students were reading at the Ravenclaw table, and only a few early birds were eating breakfast at the Hufflepuff table.
And at the Gryffindor table... well, only Hermione Granger was sitting there alone, reciting from "A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration."
Seeing Julian enter, Hermione immediately looked up, her eyes brightening. She was about to wave hello, but then saw Daphne and Theodore beside him, and that unique Slytherin aura of 'do not approach strangers'.
Her hand stopped halfway, somewhat awkwardly.
Julian didn't ignore her. As he passed near the Gryffindortable, he turned his head slightly, nodded at Hermione, and offered a polite smile.
"Good morning, Granger. I hope your review is going well."
It was a simple sentence that maintained his connection with Hermione without appearing overly intimate in front of his Slytherin companions.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, a smile returning to her face: "Good morning, Rosier!"
Daphne raised an eyebrow and asked softly, "You know that Gryffindor? I heard she's Muggle-born."
Her tone carried a hint of pureblood disdain, but it wasn't malicious, more a cold statement of fact.
"Knowledge knows no bloodline, Daphne," Julian said calmly, picking up a slice of toast at the Slytherin table. "She's a smart person, and at Hogwarts, smart people are sometimes more useful than purebloods. Even if it's just for comparison."
This statement was extremely clever. To Hermione, if she heard it, it would be an affirmation of her intelligence; to Daphne and Theodore, it was a typical Slytherin way of thinking of utilization—"she's a useful tool."
Offending neither side, that was the art of language.
At this moment, an army of owls poured into the Great Hall like a dark cloud. Hundreds of owls circled above the tables, dropping letters and packages.
A gray long-eared owl landed in front of Julian, dropping a copy of The Daily Prophet and a letter. The envelope was sealed with the Rosier Family's wax seal—a thorny rose.
Chapter 12: Transfiguration Class
Julian opened the letter; inside was only a short piece of parchment, the handwriting scrawled yet forceful:
"I heard you have entered Slytherin. If you can make the name Rosier resound through Hogwarts once again, I wouldn't mind opening the family vault a little. — E.R."
Julian's mouth couldn't help but twitch. Fortunately, he had a mother (Isabella) who doted on her child; otherwise, this highly controlling father alone would be enough to give him a headache.
Folding the letter and stuffing it into his pocket, Julianheard a boisterous noise from outside the door.
"You two idiots! Why did you sleep like pigs?"
Malfoy ran into the Great Hall panting, with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. His hair was a mess, clearly having rushed over the moment he woke up.
Seeing Julian already sitting there elegantly sipping coffee, with Daphne and Theodore beside him, Malfoy's expression turned somewhat sour.
He wanted to sit with them but hesitated; Julian's circle seemed to have an invisible barrier. In the end, Malfoycould only sit a bit further away, grumbling loudly about the beds in the dormitory being too hard.
Professor Snape was currently handing out timetables along the long table. When he reached Julian, those hollow black eyes paused for a moment.
"Rosier," Snape's voice sounded like silk rubbing against gravel. "I hope your performance lives up to your surname. The first period is Transfiguration; don't embarrass Slytherin."
"Of course, Professor." Julian took the timetable, meeting his gaze calmly. "I will make sure Professor McGonagall is impressed."
Snape didn't speak; he simply swept his cloak, gliding toward the next student like a giant bat.
Julian looked down at the timetable in his hand:
9:00 - Transfiguration (Shared with Ravenclaw)
10:30 - History of Magic
14:00 - Herbology (with Gryffindor)
Excellent. The first class was the perfect time to establish his "genius" persona.
The Transfiguration classroom was located on the first floor. The morning sun poured through the tall arched windows, making the dust motes floating in the air look like gold dust.
When Julian, Theodore, and Daphne entered the classroom, many Ravenclaw students were already seated. Most had their textbooks open and were discussing exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration in low voices.
The podium was empty, except for a tabby cat sitting regally upon it. It had markings around its eyes resembling spectacles and was staring intently at every student who entered.
"It seems the Professor hasn't arrived yet," Daphnewhispered, preparing to find a seat.
"No." Julian gently tugged her sleeve, gesturing toward the podium with a playful smile. "The Professor has been here all along."
He walked to the middle of the first row—a spot usually chosen only by Gryffindor nerds (like Hermione). Slytherins generally preferred to sit in the back to better observe the situation.
Julian did not sit down immediately; instead, he first bowed slightly to the tabby cat.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall."
A flicker of surprise crossed the tabby cat's amber eyes. It then leaped gracefully from the podium, its form twisting and shifting in mid-air, instantly transforming into the stern-faced Minerva McGonagall dressed in emerald-green robes.
"Very keen observation, Mr. Rosier." Professor McGonagall pushed up her glasses. Although her tone remained stern, the corners of her mouth curved slightly upward. "Five points to Slytherin for your insight."
A low gasp rippled through the class. Gaining points before the first lesson of the term had even started was a rare occurrence.
Theodore and Daphne exchanged surprised looks before sitting down on either side of Julian.
Malfoy walked in slowly with his two lackeys. Seeing this scene, his face turned a bit green with envy, and he could only sit resentfully in the second row.
The lesson officially began.
Professor McGonagall first gave them a stern warning about the dangers of Transfiguration, then turned her desk into a pig and back again.
This display certainly awed all the first-years; even the most arrogant Slytherins didn't dare misbehave.
"Now, your task is to turn this match into a needle."
Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and an ordinary wooden match appeared on everyone's desk.
The classroom was immediately filled with the sounds of incantations and wands tapping against desks.
Julian picked up his wand—Ebony, Dragon Heartstring, twelve and a quarter inches. The wand felt alive in his hand.
He didn't rush to cast the spell. Instead, he closed his eyes and clearly visualized every detail of the "needle" in his mind: the silvery luster, the sharp tip, the tiny eye, and the exquisite patterns.
This wasn't just magic; it was a projection of will.
"Vera Verto," Julian whispered, tapping the match lightly with the tip of his wand.
There was no smoke, no sparks. The match instantly shrank, elongated, and changed texture.
In the blink of an eye, an exquisitely crafted silver needle lay quietly on the desk, with tiny serpent patterns even carved onto the head.
Perfect.
But he didn't raise his hand or rush to show off his results like Hermione; he simply set the silver needle aside and turned to look at Theodore.
Theodore's match had only become slightly sharper, its color turning a grayish-white like a moldy toothpick. His brow was furrowed, clearly stuck in some conceptual rut.
"Don't think about 'changing' it, Theodore," Julian said in a low voice, audible only to the two of them.
"Try to 'define' it. Wood is dead life, metal is solidified mineral. You need to use your will to reorganize its molecular structure, not just cover its surface."
Theodore paused, his wand hovering in mid-air. He took a deep breath, thought for a few seconds with his eyes closed, and waved his wand again.
This time, the match thinned rapidly. Although it didn't turn to silver, it became a perfect bone needle with an incredibly sharp tip.
"That's it," Julian nodded approvingly. "A bone needle. Very much your style."
On the other side, Daphne was still fretting over her match. It hadn't moved at all, only becoming a bit frayed from being poked.
"Imagine how you feel when you're embroidering, Daphne." Julian leaned slightly toward her, a distance that wasn't offensive but allowed her to feel a sense of guided security.
"A needle is meant to pierce fabric; its essence is 'penetration.' Focus your magic on that 'point' rather than the entire match."
Daphne's face flushed slightly, but she quickly composed herself. Following Julian's advice, she concentrated and tapped her wand gently.
With a soft "poof," the match turned into a silver needle. Although the eye hadn't fully formed yet, it was a massive improvement.
"I did it!" Daphne whispered in pleasant surprise. She turned to Julian, her eyes full of gratitude and admiration. "Thank you, Julian."
"It was your own talent," Julian smiled warmly, hiding his contribution.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall patrolled over. She first saw Julian's silver needle with the serpent patterns, a flash of amazement in her eyes; then she saw Theodore's bone needle and nodded; finally, she saw Daphne's silver needle.
"Excellent," Professor McGonagall's voice carried a rare note of praise. "Mr. Rosier, a perfect transformation, even changing the material and adding decoration. And..." She gave Theodore and Daphne a meaningful look, "I noticed you were not stingy with your experience. That is also a rare quality."
"Another ten points to Slytherin. For the spirit of cooperation."
At that moment, the eyes of the entire classroom were fixed on Julian.
The Ravenclaw students showed looks of admiration, while on the Slytherin side, even Malfoy had to admit that Julian had played this brilliantly.
He was not only strong himself but could also lead those around him to be strong. This "leader" aura was far more formidable than that of a mere "top student."
Chapter 13: Provocation
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
The freshmen filed out in a line, chattering about the lesson they just had. Julian was flanked by Theodore and Daphne, clearly the core of the trio.
"That 'definition' theory you mentioned earlier was very interesting," Theodore said as they walked, fiddling with the bone needle in his hand. "I want to go back and look up some high-level theories on matter reorganization."
"You're welcome to discuss it anytime," Julian responded with a smile.
In truth, these theories were just some small tricks he had picked up while researching the ancient magical language—Runic Script—within his family's collection of books.
If he weren't limited by the amount of his own magic, Julian could have done even more.
Just as they were crossing the second-floor corridor on their way to the History of Magic Class, a sudden commotion broke out ahead.
"Lululu! Can't catch me! Silly little Wizards!"
A short ghost wearing a bell-adorned hat was doing somersaults in mid-air. Clutching a handful of chalk stubs, he was pelting them at passing students like a machine gun.
Peeves. The most headache-inducing existence in Hogwarts.
Several Hufflepuff freshmen were scurrying away with their heads covered, completely coated in chalk dust. Peeves doubled over with laughter, then suddenly spotted the approaching Slytherin trio.
"Oho! Look there! Little snakes in green robes!" Peevesshrieked, spinning in the air. He grabbed a handful of chalk stubs and charged toward Julian and the others. "Let Master Peeves add some color to your lives!"
Daphne let out a startled cry, instinctively trying to dodge. Theodore frowned, reaching for his wand.
But Julian was faster than both of them.
Instead of retreating, he took a step forward, shielding the two behind him. The wand in his hand traced an elegant arc in the air, like a conductor waving a baton.
"Waddiwasi!"
An invisible jet of air accurately struck the chalk stubs in Peeves' hand.
As if granted a life of their own, the chalk stubs suddenly reversed direction. At twice the speed they had come, they snapped back, peppering Peeves' nostrils and mouth with a series of pops and cracks.
"Ugh! *Cough, cough, cough!*"
Caught off guard by the strike, Peeves clutched his nose and tumbled through the air, his bell-adorned hat knocked askew.
"Hey! You naughty boy! How dare you—"
"I suggest you go wash up, Peeves," Julian said, stowing his wand. His tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Unless you want Mr. Filch to find out you stole his chalk."
At the mention of "Filch," Peeves flinched. He glared viciously at Julian, made a face, and then zipped through a wall like a deflated balloon, leaving behind a string of muffled curses.
The corridor fell silent for a few seconds, followed by a burst of low exclamations.
"Waddiwasi?" Theodore looked at Julian, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. "That's a very specific jinx; it's usually not taught in the first-year curriculum."
"I saw it in a book and thought it was perfect for dealing with such a troublemaker." Julian straightened his robes, which weren't even messy, and turned to Daphne, extending his hand. "You weren't frightened, were you, Miss Greengrass?"
Looking at that slender, fair hand, Daphne's heart couldn't help but skip a beat. That moment just now, when Julian's back shielded her... he was simply... too handsome.
Appearance is everything; if Lord Voldemort hadn't been disfigured, he surely would have been able to recruit even more followers.
"N-no." Daphne gently took Julian's hand to steady herself, a blush creeping onto her face. "Thank you, once again."
"It is a gentleman's duty," Julian said with a smile, releasing her hand.
Meanwhile, at the corner of the corridor, Harry and Ronhad witnessed the whole scene.
"Wow." Ron's mouth hung open. "Rosier... is actually pretty amazing. Even Fred and George say Peeves is hard to deal with."
Harry watched Julian's departing back. A fleeting thought of "If I were in Slytherin too..." crossed his mind, but he quickly shook his head.
"Let's go, we're going to be late."
...
History of Magic Class was universally acknowledged as the most boring subject. Professor Binns' monotonous, drony voice was like an old vacuum cleaner, capable of sucking all the vitality out of one's brain.
Within ten minutes, most of the classroom was slumped over. Even Hermione was desperately pinching her own thigh to stay awake.
Julian, however, sat bolt upright. He wasn't listening to Professor Binns drone on about the years of Goblin rebellions; instead, he was sketching in Runic Script in his notebook, planning his next moves.
He wrote down several names on the paper:
Quirrell (Horcrux/Main Line)
Hagrid (Forbidden Forest/Magical Creatures)
Snape (Potion/Occlumency)
Cat (Pet Shop/Animagus)
When he reached "Cat," his quill paused for a moment. That black-and-white kitten... with the deep blue eyes.
Though it was only a brief encounter, that temperament—a blend of wildness and shrewdness—had certainly left an impression. Moreover, mastering the secrets of an Animagus would be a great boon for his future plans.
Perhaps, when he had time, he should find an opportunity to investigate her? Although first-years weren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade, weren't rules... meant to be broken?
Just then, a small note was pushed toward his hand.
It was from Daphne.
"Um... thank you for your guidance in Transfigurationclass. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you about spell conversion. —D.G."
Julian looked at the elegant handwriting on the note, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
This was a good start. The resources of the Greengrass Family were beginning to open their doors to him.
He picked up his quill and wrote on the back of the note:
"My pleasure. Also, if you're interested in spells that make objects emit pleasant sounds, I can teach you a few extra tricks. —J.R."
As he passed the note back, he saw the tips of Daphne's ears turn red.
For the rest of the period, the two purebloods continued to exchange notes right under Professor Binns' nose. From initial discussions about knowledge to what they would have for lunch, Julian was able to find a perfect entry point for any topic.
At lunchtime, the atmosphere at the Slytherin table was somewhat different. There was none of the unrestrained laughter of Gryffindor, nor the food-sharing enthusiasm of Hufflepuff.
Everyone here was eating while simultaneously scanning their surroundings out of the corners of their eyes, assessing the status and value of everyone else.
Julian was methodically cutting a small veal steak drizzled with black pepper sauce.
Theodore sat to his left, studying a book on Medieval Herbal Illustrations, while Daphne sat opposite him, sipping pumpkin juice. Her eyes drifted toward Julian from time to time, as if she were still savoring the agreement on the note.
Just then, a shadow loomed over them.
A burly upperclassman with buckteeth approached, flanked by two lackeys who looked equally dim-witted. He was wearing the Slytherin Quidditch uniform, with a captain's badge pinned to his chest and a nauseatingly arrogant smirk on his face.
Marcus Flint. The current captain of the SlytherinQuidditch team, a typical pureblood bully with more brawn than brains.
"Yo, isn't this our first-year 'genius'?" Flint's voice was coarse and unpleasant, like a rusty saw cutting through wood. He didn't target Julian directly, but instead turned his gaze to Theodore, who was reading.
"Hey, bookworm." Flint reached out a large, calloused hand and slammed it down on Theodore's book, pressing hard. "This is a dining table, not the Library. Put this thing away, or... let me borrow it to prop up a table leg?"
Chapter 14: Deterrence
Theodore's face instantly turned cold. He tried to pull the book back, but Flint's strength was clearly not something a first-year student could contend with.
The surrounding Slytherin students all stopped what they were doing; some gloated, while others watched coldly. Malfoy sat not far away, a mocking smile curling on his lips—clearly delighted to see Julian's little group suffer a setback.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" Flint pushed further, his other hand reaching toward the exquisite cream pudding on Theodore's plate. "Since you're not talking, this pudding belongs to me. After all, Quidditch training is very physically demanding."
Theodore's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. As the heir of the Nott family, this kind of humiliation was hard to endure, but he was well aware of the current gap in their strength.
Just as Flint's fingers were about to touch the pudding, a silver dinner knife suddenly slammed down between the pudding and his fingers.
*Thud!*
The knife sank deep into the wood, the handle still vibrating slightly.
Flint was startled and jerked his hand back, turning around in annoyance. "Which blind fool—"
His words caught in his throat. He saw Julian smiling at him, holding a fork. The smile was as gentle as if he were looking at an old friend, but his eyes were filled with cold indifference.
"Senior Flint," Julian's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to everyone nearby. "I think you might have misunderstood something. That book is a rare volume from the Nott family's private collection. Its value is roughly... worth half a year's profit from your family's nearly bankrupt broomstick workshop."
Flint's face instantly turned the color of pig liver. "What did you say?! You dare insult the Flint Family?!"
"Insult? No, I'm just stating facts." Julian set down his fork, elegantly wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and leaned back slightly against his chair.
"As far as I know, the batch of Nimbus 2000 parts your father recently invested in seems to have been returned due to quality issues? If word of this gets out, I'm afraid even this last bit of business will go down the drain, won't it?"
This was a small piece of intelligence from the Rosier Family's network. It was originally just heard as business gossip, but he hadn't expected it to be so useful now.
Flint's pupils constricted sharply. This matter was a family secret; how could this first-year brat know about it?
"You... you're talking nonsense!" Flint was acting tough but was clearly shaken, not daring to act rashly. Although the Rosier Family kept a low profile, their influence in pure-blood circles was absolutely not to be underestimated.
"Whether it's nonsense or not, you know the truth in your heart." Julian stood up. Although he only reached Flint's chest, his presence completely overwhelmed the other. He reached out and gently, one by one, pried Flint's fingers off the book.
As if under the Imperio curse, Flint stood frozen and let him do as he pleased.
"Furthermore, regarding that pudding." Julian picked up the pudding, examined it, and then casually handed it to Goyle, who was staring blankly nearby. "Since Senior Flint wants to eat it so badly, please have it on his behalf, Goyle. After all, Goyle is still growing, isn't he?"
Goyle took the pudding dazed, not yet realizing what had happened, and instinctively stuffed it into his mouth.
A wave of low chuckling erupted around them.
Flint's face flushed between red and white. He glared fiercely at Julian and then looked at the mocking gazes around him, knowing he wouldn't be getting his dignity back today.
"Good... very good," Flint said through gritted teeth. "Rosier, I hope you can be this tough on the pitch. Let's go!"
He led his two lackeys away in disgrace, their retreating figures looking exceptionally pathetic.
Julian sat back down as if nothing had happened, turning to Theodore. "Is the book alright?"
Theodore checked the cover and shook his head. He looked deeply at Julian, gratitude and admiration practically overflowing from his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered. "That news... was it true?"
"Who knows?" Julian shrugged and picked up his cutlery again. "But sometimes, the truth isn't important. What's important is that the other person believes it's true."
Daphne, sitting opposite, looked at Julian with eyes that seemed to sparkle with stars. If it was just a favorable impression before, now it was practically worship.
This method of making an enemy crumble while laughing and talking was practically a Slytherin textbook-level maneuver.
"You were... so cool just now," Daphne couldn't help but say, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. "Flint is notoriously difficult; even the prefects have to give him some leeway."
"Bullies are usually paper tigers." Julian cut a piece of beef and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "As long as you poke their weak spot, they'll be more obedient than anyone."
Not far away, Malfoy watched this scene, his fork stabbing fiercely into his plate with a harsh scraping sound. He had originally wanted to see Julian make a fool of himself, but instead, he had become a stepping stone for Julian to establish his authority. This sense of frustration was making him go mad.
"That damn Rosier..." Malfoy cursed under his breath. "Just you wait, I'll make you pay."
...
After lunch ended, there was a short break.
Julian didn't return to the common room. Instead, he took Theodore and Daphne for a stroll around the Castle. It seemed aimless, but he was actually familiarizing himself with the terrain, especially the secret passages and hidden rooms mentioned in the original books.
When they passed the second-floor girls' bathroom, Julian stopped in his tracks.
"What's wrong?" Daphne asked.
"Nothing, just thought this place was... a bit special." Julian looked at the sign that said 'Out of Order' and smiled meaningfully.
That was Myrtle's territory and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, he didn't want to provoke that thousand-year-old Basilisk yet, but it never hurt to mark the spot.
The most important point was that, through observation, Julian had discovered that because of his appearance—the butterfly effect—certain changes had already occurred in this magical world.
So before obtaining clearer intelligence, he didn't want to take that risk. Furthermore, his current goal was another diadem hidden in some corner of the Castle.
The Dark Lord's 'relics' were a crisis but also an opportunity. After all, a single diary could make a first-year girl undergo a complete transformation...
"I heard this place is haunted," Theodore's voice rang out, pulling Julian back.
"Moaning Myrtle," Julian nodded. "Perhaps there will be a chance to chat with her in the future."
Just then, a round-faced boy came running over, out of breath, clutching a toad in his hand.
Neville Longbottom.
He was running so fast he nearly crashed into Daphne.
"Whoa!" Neville's foot slipped, and he tumbled forward.
Julian was quick and reached out to steady him, while simultaneously tapping lightly with his wand to halt his fall.
"Careful, Longbottom," Julian said gently.
Neville stood steady, still shaken, clutching Trevor tightly. "Th-thank you! Sorry, I... I was looking for Trevor, he ran off again..."
"It seems you've found him." Julian pointed to the toad in his hand. "Remember to keep him secure next time. Or, you could try casting a 'Binding Curse' on him? If you haven't learned it yet, I can teach you a simplified version."
Neville was stunned. He was used to being mocked by Slytherins or even ignored by those in his own house. Although they had some contact on the train, this still made him feel a bit out of place.
"R-really?" Neville stammered.
"Of course," Julian said with a smile. "Helping fellow students is only right. See you in Herbology this afternoon, Longbottom."
With that, he led Theodore and Daphne away, leaving Neville standing there alone, his eyes welling up with tears of gratitude.
"Why did you help that idiot?"
After walking some distance, Malfoy's voice suddenly came from behind. The little tsundere had clearly been following them.
Chapter 15: Herbology Class
Julian stopped in his tracks, turned to look at Malfoy, a hint of pity in his eyes.
"Draco, this is the difference between you and me," Juliansaid softly. "You only saw his clumsiness, while I saw that he is the sole heir to the Longbottom family."
"In this circle, there are no permanent friends or permanent enemies, only permanent interests. It's always better to have one more person who owes you a favor than one more person who hates you."
Malfoy was stunned. These words completely overturned the "blood purity" theory his father had instilled in him, but they seemed... to make a lot of sense?
"Furthermore," Julian took a step closer and helped Malfoy straighten his slightly crooked tie, "A true noble disdains bullying the weak. It only makes you look cheap."
After speaking, he patted Malfoy's shoulder and turned to leave.
Malfoy stood there, watching Julian's retreating back, feeling a deep sense of powerlessness for the first time. But the hostility in his eyes seemed to dissipate slightly, replaced by a complex contemplation.
...
The air in Greenhouse One was warm and humid, permeated with a thick scent of earth, fertilizer, and various exotic plants mixed together. For many pampered Slytherin students, this place was a nightmare.
Pansy Parkinson was pinching her nose, looking at a pot of Dragon dung compost in front of her with a look of disgust, as if it were some highly toxic substance. Although Malfoy wasn't as exaggerated, he also frowned, carefully trying not to let a single speck of dirt get on his robes.
In contrast, the little lions of Gryffindor seemed somewhat active, most of them full of enthusiasm.
Especially our little genius Hermione, who had already rolled up her sleeves, ready to get to work.
Professor Sprout was a squat Witch wearing a patched hat, with dirt always tucked under her fingernails. She was enthusiastically introducing today's subject to everyone: dittany.
"dittany is a very useful herb; its juice can be used to treat wounds," Professor Sprout said as she skillfully snipped a leaf from a lush dittany plant.
"Now, your task is to repot these dittany plants and prune away the withered branches and leaves."
Julian didn't show resistance like the other Slytherins. Instead, he took off his outer robes, folded them neatly on a nearby shelf, and then rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing fair but firm forearms.
"True power comes from the earth, Daphne," he said to the still-hesitant Daphne as he put on his Dragon-hide gloves. "Most Potion ingredients come from here. If you're even disgusted by this step, you'll never brew a perfect Potion."
Daphne bit her lip. Seeing Julian's focused and professional demeanor, the bit of affectation in her heart vanished instantly. She followed Julian's lead, took off her robes, and put on her gloves.
"You're right." She took a deep breath and bravely plunged her hands into the soil.
Julian's technique was very skilled. He gently loosened the soil at the roots of the dittany, his movements as tender as if he were bathing a baby.
Just as he was about to water the dittany, his gaze was drawn to a plant in the corner of the greenhouse.
It was a withered fig. The leaves, which should have been deep green, now displayed an eerie purplish-red hue, and the edges were curled, looking as if they were withering.
Professor Sprout was busy guiding Neville on how to hold the shears correctly and didn't notice this side.
Julian walked over, crouched down, and carefully observed the plant. He reached out his fingers, gently pinched a bit of soil from the pot, and sniffed it at the tip of his nose.
A faint smell of sulfur.
"Professor," Julian raised his hand. His voice wasn't loud, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet greenhouse.
Professor Sprout turned her head. Seeing it was the rumored Slytherin "genius," a kind smile appeared on her face: "What is it, Mr. Rosier? Is there something you don't understand?"
"No, Professor." Julian pointed at the withered fig. "I just think this plant's condition is a bit strange. Its leaves turning purple isn't because of a lack of water or pests, but because the soil's pH balance is off."
The whole class stopped what they were doing and looked over.
Professor Sprout was stunned for a moment and walked over quickly. She carefully inspected the plant, sniffed the soil again, and her brow gradually relaxed as a look of surprise and delight shone in her eyes.
"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. "You're right! Some Moonstone powder has been mixed into this soil, causing it to become alkaline. If it hadn't been discovered in time, this fig wouldn't have survived the night."
She looked up, gazing at Julian appreciatively. "Mr. Rosier, does anyone in your family work in Herbology research? Such a subtle difference is something even many upper-year students might not notice."
"I just like to read some miscellaneous books in my spare time, Professor," Julian smiled modestly. "'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' mentions that withered figs are extremely sensitive to sulfur, and Moonstone powderreleases trace amounts of sulfides when it decomposes."
"Excellent!" Professor Sprout clapped her hands happily, even though they were still covered in dirt. "Ten points to Slytherin! For your attentiveness and erudition."
The Slytherin students cast admiring glances one after another. In this house that valued strength, making a Professor from another house award points out of genuine conviction was the greatest honor.
Not far away, Hermione couldn't help but look over, her eyes filled with fighting spirit. Clearly, she had already taken Julian as her goal to strive for.
Just then, Neville, who was nearby, suddenly plucked up his courage and said, "Pro... Professor, actually... actually, I found something too."
Everyone's gaze instantly shifted to this boy who was always clumsy. Neville's face turned red as he pointed stutteringly at a pot of dittany in front of him.
"This... the root of this dittany... has a small growth on it. I... I think it's because it's a hybrid variety, and it might... might need more dragon dung fertilizer."
Professor Sprout went over to look, and her eyes brightened even more: "Oh, Mr. Longbottom! You're a genius! This is an extremely rare variant of dittany; it indeed requires special care. Ten points to Gryffindor!"
"Great job, Neville!" Harry and Ron couldn't help but cheer.
Neville was so excited he almost fainted. This was the first time he had earned points for his house, and he had found confidence in the area he was least skilled in.
He looked at Julian gratefully. If it hadn't been for Julian's demonstration and encouragement just now, he would never have dared to speak up in front of so many people.
Julian nodded slightly to him, his eyes full of encouragement.
After the class ended, the students were cleaning the dirt off themselves. Professor Sprout called out to Julian.
"Mr. Rosier, please stay for a moment."
She took a small cloth bag from her pocket and handed it to Julian. "Since you've studied Herbology so well, you might be interested in these seeds. These are Snow Lotusseeds I collected from the Himalayas. They are very delicate, but once they bloom, they can be used to make top-grade Awakening Potions."
Julian took the cloth bag, feeling the vitality within. He was delighted; this was a good thing that money couldn't buy.
"Thank you for your generosity, Professor," Julian bowed solemnly. "I will cultivate them well."
Chapter 16: Night Duty at the Library
Walking out of the greenhouse, the sky outside was already somewhat gloomy.
"You really know a lot." Daphne said as she walked beside Julian, looking at the cloth bag in his hand with a hint of envy. "I didn't even know when you read so many books."
"Time is like water in a sponge, Daphne," Julian said meaningfully as he tucked the cloth bag away. "When you use the time others spend sleeping and complaining for studying, you'll find the world becomes different."
Theodore walked on the other side, nodding thoughtfully. "Indeed. I should adjust my schedule as well."
Just as they were about to cross the courtyard back to the Castle, a massive figure blocked their path.
Rubeus Hagrid.
He was wearing that enormous moleskin coat, carrying a wooden bucket in his hand, with that large dog named Fang following behind him.
Seeing the Slytherin students, Hagrid instinctively frowned. In his eyes, Slytherins were all bad seeds, especially someone like Julian who looked very "pure-blood."
But Fang was a traitor. This cowardly Boarhound caught a whiff of the unique scent on Julian—a smell characteristic of someone close to nature for a long time, which, combined with the herbal fragrance from the greenhouse earlier, made him feel very friendly.
Wagging his tail, he approached and rubbed against Julian's leg, even trying to lick his hand.
"Fang! Come back!" Hagrid barked, trying to pull the dog back. "Don't go bothering those... Slytherins."
Julian didn't flinch. He crouched down and scratched Fang's chin with extremely professional technique, hitting exactly the spot the dog found most comfortable.
Fang squinted his eyes in comfort, a purring sound coming from his throat.
"He's very cute, Mr. Hagrid," Julian said, looking up with a smile. "Though he looks fierce, he's actually very gentle at heart. Just like some people, appearances don't mean everything, do they?"
Hagrid was stunned. He hadn't expected this Slytherin to say such a thing, and... his attitude toward Fang certainly didn't seem like an act.
"Er... well, yes," Hagrid said, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. "He's just a coward. But... you've got a practiced hand."
"I've had dogs at home too," Julian lied slightly (it was actually in his past life) as he stood up. "I heard you're the gamekeeper? Then you must know a lot about the creatures in the Forbidden Forest? I've always been very interested in those magical creatures."
At the mention of magical creatures, Hagrid's eyes immediately lit up, and much of his earlier hostility dissipated.
"Oh, of course! There are plenty of treasures in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid said excitedly. "Unicorns, Thestrals... though some are dangerous, they're all fascinating."
"Unicorns?" Julian showed appropriate surprise and longing. "That's truly sacred. I hope to have the chance to hear you tell stories about them."
"There'll be a chance," Hagrid said with a simple smile. "As long as you don't go running around breaking school rules."
With just a few simple lines of dialogue, a seed of goodwill was planted in the heart of this future Professorof Care of Magical Creatures.
After saying goodbye to Hagrid, the three returned to the Castle.
"You're actually trying to suck up to that big guy?" Daphne asked, somewhat puzzled. "He looks... very crude."
"Crudeness is just on the surface, Daphne," Julian said softly, watching Hagrid's receding figure. "He's one of Dumbledore's most trusted people. Moreover, winning over the gamekeeper is equivalent to gaining access to half of Hogwarts' secret passages and rare resources."
Daphne nodded, only half-understanding, but her gaze toward Julian became even more admiring. This man seemed to calculate every step, yet every word he spoke made so much sense.
...
During dinner, a small incident occurred in the Great Hall.
Harry and Ron looked very excited, seemingly discussing something. Julian vaguely caught words like "Gringotts" and "break-in."
It seemed the plot had already begun; that grubby little package Hagrid took was indeed the Philosopher's Stone.
Julian cut a piece of roast chicken, calculating in his mind. Since Quirrell had already begun his move, he should also start preparing.
"I'm going to the Library tonight," he told Theodore and Daphne. "To look up some information on... Soul Possession."
The fork in Theodore's hand paused for a moment. He looked up at him, a flash of shock in his eyes, but he quickly masked it.
"Then I'll also—" Daphne started to say, but Julianinterrupted her.
"No, Daphne," Julian looked at her, his gaze gentle but firm. "Get some rest early tonight. A girl's beauty sleep is important. Besides, some books... aren't quite suitable for reading at night."
This was both a protection and a hint. Daphne was a clever girl, and she caught the deeper meaning.
"Alright," she nodded obediently. "Then... see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
Late at night. In the fireplace of the Slytherin Common Room, the fire had grown weak, with only a few glowing embers struggling to stay alive.
Most students had already returned to their dormitories to rest; only a few upper-year students remained in the corner, whispering as they reviewed for their O.W.L.s.
Julian sat in his high-backed armchair, holding a copy of "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1." He appeared to be previewing, but in reality, his mind had already drifted to the Library several floors above.
After confirming no one was watching, he closed the book, stood up, and moved gracefully toward the exit. The stone wall slid open slowly before him, revealing the cold, dark corridor outside.
Lumos.
A faint glow lit up at the tip of his wand, illuminating only a small area beneath his feet. This was to avoid attracting the attention of distant portraits.
He moved through the labyrinthine corridors like a ghost. For someone with an adult soul and a transmigrator's memories, avoiding Filch's annoying cat was no difficult task. Although Madam Norris had a keen sense of smell, a bit of simple pepper and a Scourgify spell could keep her spinning in circles for a long time.
Reaching the fourth floor, the Library doors were tightly shut.
Julian looked left and right to confirm no Professors were on patrol, then pointed his wand at the keyhole.
Alohomora.
The lock clicked softly, and the door opened a crack. He slipped inside and gently closed the door behind him.
Chapter 17 Tom
The Library was filled with the scent of old paper and dust. Thousands of books lay quietly on the bookshelves, as if in a deep slumber. Moonlight spilled through the high windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor.
Julian walked straight toward the very last row of bookshelves. A faded rope blocked the way, with a sign hanging from it that read "Restricted Section."
This rope naturally couldn't stop him. He stepped over it and entered this forbidden territory of knowledge.
The air here seemed colder than outside, and the books on the shelves appeared even more eerie. Some books whispered softly, while others had eyes on their covers, warily watching the uninvited guest.
Julian ignored those flashy Dark Arts books; his goal was clear. He silently recited the name in his mind: "secrets of the darkest art."
Finally, in a dusty corner, he found the thick tome. Its cover was made of some pale leather, cold and slimy to the touch, like feeling a dead person's skin.
He pulled it out carefully, not rushing to open it. Books in the Restricted Section often carried curses or Screaming Hexes. He first tapped the cover with his wand, whispering an alarm-disarming spell, and only slowly opened it after confirming there was no abnormal reaction.
The pages were yellowed and emitted a musty smell. The text was dense, and the illustrations were even more hair-raising—torn souls, twisted faces, bloody rituals.
He quickly flipped past the chapters on necromancy and curses, turning directly to the section on "Horcrux."
"...A Horcrux is the most evil invention in the Dark Arts. It tears the soul through the act of murder, which extremely violates the laws of nature, and seals the fragments..."
Julian's fingers traced those cold words, but his heart remained calm. He didn't intend to create a Horcrux—that was a foolish way to achieve immortality—but he needed to understand its principles to find a way to deal with Lord Voldemort.
Suddenly, he found a thin card tucked into the gap between the pages.
It was a library card, yellowed and brittle with age. It was covered with names, but one name caught his attention.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The handwriting was elegant and powerful, exuding an arrogance that could not be ignored.
"As expected," Julian whispered to himself, his fingers lightly stroking the name, "You were also here looking for answers, Tom."
This intersection across time and space gave him an inexplicable sense of excitement. He could almost see that handsome and dangerous boy, under the same moonlight, flipping through the same book, his eyes burning with a desire for immortality.
Just then, a faint sound of footsteps broke the silence of the Library.
"Who's there?"
It was Filch! The Squib caretaker's voice sounded both excited and annoyed, like a hound that had caught the scent of meat.
"I know you're in there! Don't hide!"
The footsteps drew closer, accompanied by the flickering light and shadow of a lantern.
Julian's heart rate accelerated instantly, but he didn't panic. He quickly closed the book, stuffed the library cardback in its place, and then put the book back on the shelf.
It was too late to run; the only exit was already blocked.
He took a deep breath and pointed his wand at himself. Although he hadn't learned the Disillusionment Charm in his first year, he had seen a similar technique in his family's book collection—the Chameleon Effect. It couldn't make you completely invisible, but it could make you blend in with your surroundings.
"Disillusionment."
An icy sensation flowed from the top of his head throughout his body. The outline of his body began to blur, and the color of his skin and clothes changed to a dull brownish-tan along with the bookshelf behind him.
He stood still against the bookshelf, holding his breath.
Filch walked in holding that dim oil lamp, his wrinkled face looking particularly hideous in the light. Madam Norris followed at his heels, her red eyes scanning everywhere.
"Come out! I know you're here!" Filch waved the lamp, the light sweeping across Julian's position.
Julian didn't move, not even blinking an eye. The light passed through his semi-transparent body and shone onto the bookshelf behind.
Madam Norris seemed to sense something; she stopped at Julian's feet, looked up, and sniffed the air.
Cold sweat seeped from Julian's palms. This cat was too sharp.
Just then, a loud "clatter" suddenly came from the distance, as if something had collapsed.
"Over there!" Filch shouted, turning to run in the direction of the sound, "You won't get away this time!"
Madam Norris hesitated for a moment but still followed her master.
Julian breathed a long sigh of relief. He had just used a Non-verbal Spell to push over a stack of books on a shelf on the other side.
Taking this opportunity, he deactivated the Disillusionment effect, quickly slipped out of the Restricted Section, and sprinted in the opposite direction.
...
When he returned to the Slytherin Common Room, Julian's back was soaked with cold sweat.
He leaned against the stone wall and steadied his breathing. Although this adventure was thrilling, it was very fruitful. Not only had he confirmed the principles of making a Horcrux, but he had also obtained evidence that Riddle had once studied this book.
"Not asleep yet?"
A cool voice suddenly rang out.
Julian looked up sharply to find Theodore Sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace,Holding the unfinished herbal medicine book in his hand.
"Same to you." Julian quickly regained his composure and sat down opposite him. "Waiting for me?"
"I suppose so." Theodore closed the book and looked at Julian. "The smell on you... it's the unique musty scent of the Library's Restricted Section, and a bit of... the smell of preservatives."
Julian smiled. This young master of the House of Nottreally had sharp observation skills.
"I went to check some information," Julian didn't deny it, "About... how to make certain things 'last forever'."
Theodore didn't press further, just nodded: "That book... did you find it?"
"Found it." Julian looked at the embers in the fireplace. "And I also discovered some interesting historical remnants."
The two were silent for a while. This unspoken understanding was firmer than any words.
"Tomorrow is Charms Class," Theodore said suddenly. "I heard Professor Flitwick will teach the Levitation Charm."
"Yeah." Julian stretched and stood up. "That's a very practical spell. If a Troll accidentally gets let in, it can be used to knock it out."
Theodore was stunned for a moment, then showed a rare smile: "A Troll? How could Hogwarts have such a thing?"
"Who knows?" Julian winked mysteriously. "Halloween is coming, isn't it?"
Returning to the dormitory, Malfoy was sleeping like a dead pig, his snoring rising and falling. Crabbe and Goylewere even more sprawled out asleep.
Julian lay on the bed and pulled the green curtains closed. He took out the Runic Script notes from his robe and added another line to it:
Horcrux theory confirmed. Next step: rowena ravenclaws diadem.
He closed his eyes, and the name on that library cardappeared in his mind.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
In this time and space, perhaps we can find another way to "get along," Tom.
Chapter 18: Club Recruitment
September mornings in Scotland carry a hint of bone-chilling cold, especially in the Slytherin Dungeons located at the bottom of the Black Lake.
Through the heavy green curtains of the dormitory, several unknown species of bioluminescent fish could be seen swimming in the dark lake water outside. A giant squid's tentacle slid lazily against the glass, leaving a blurry mark from its suckers.
Julian Rosier opened his eyes promptly at six-thirty. His biological clock was like a precise alchemical machine, never off by a second.
At this moment, Malfoy was still fast asleep, clutching his pillow, with a suspicious trace of drool at the corner of his mouth, completely lacking his usual arrogant aristocratic demeanor. The snoring of Crabbe and Goyle sounded like a duet, making the bed hangings tremble slightly.
Julian rose silently and walked to the bathroom. The boy in the mirror had a pale and delicate face, and his amber eyes held no grogginess from just waking up, only a clear coldness. He unhurriedly splashed his face with cold water and tidied his short pale-blond hair, ensuring every strand stayed obediently in its place.
For a Slytherin, appearance is the first line of defense.
...
When Julian walked into the Great Hall, the magic ceiling overhead showed a gray sky, suggesting it might be a cloudy day.
The long tables were already filled with steaming oatmeal, grilled sausages, and golden toast. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and pumpkin juice.
"Good morning, Julian." Daphne was already sitting there; she seemed to have dressed up specially today, with an exquisite crystal hairpin clipped to the ends of her hair. Seeing Julian approach, her cheeks flushed slightly.
"Good morning, Daphne. That hairpin suits you well; it's as crystal clear as morning dew." Julian sat down naturally across from her, and a well-timed compliment made the girl's smile even brighter.
Theodore sat nearby, cutting a slice of toast into perfect small squares, only nodding slightly as a greeting.
Just then, the sound of flapping wings came from overhead. Hundreds of owls swarmed into the Great Hall, like a rain of feathers.
An elderly-looking school owl stumbled over to the Slytherin table and dropped a roll of parchment, landing right next to Julian's jam dish.
"What's this?" Malfoy, who had just arrived after waking up, leaned in, yawning while reaching for the paper. "Is it another love letter for you?"
Julian lightly blocked Malfoy's hand with his fork and elegantly unfurled the parchment.
"It's for club recruitment, Draco."
On the parchment, written in copperplate script, was:
**Sender: Hogwarts Club Promotion Committee**
**Dear Mr. Julian Rosier:**
...
**3. Magical Innovation Society**
- Location: Room of Requirement
- Admission Requirements: Level 2 or above in Charmsand Transfiguration
- Effect: Receive prompts for Charms and Transfiguration, etc.
...
**5. No Dating Club**
- Admission Requirements: No officially public boyfriend or girlfriend
- Effect: Receive a monthly allowance of 50 Galleons.
...
Julian's gaze lingered for a moment on the words "Magical Innovation Society" and "Room of Requirement."
The Room of Requirement. That mysterious room hidden opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls on the eighth floor.
rowena ravenclaws diadem was hidden there, and it was also the future training base for the D.A. According to the hints on this list, this club seemed to hide even deeper secrets.
"'No Dating Club'?" Malfoy let out a sneer, pointing at that line.
"Who is this for? Those unwanted Hufflepuffs or the penniless Weasleys? Giving up dating for just 50 Galleons? Ha! A random dinner at the Malfoy house costs more than that."
"Maybe it's to keep everyone focused on their studies," Theodore said flatly, his gaze shifting to the "Dueling Club." "I'm interested in this one."
"Very much your style, Theodore," Julian commented, then took out a quill and checked the box for the "Magical Innovation Society" on the registration form.
"Wait, Julian," Daphne looked at him in surprise. "That club requires Level 2 in Charms and Transfiguration! We're only in our first year; most people haven't even reached Level 1 yet."
"Rules are meant to be broken, Daphne," Julian said with a smile, his quill gliding smoothly across the parchment as he wrote a reply:
To the Committee:
Regarding the entry threshold, I believe strength is more persuasive than year level. Enclosed is a Silver beetletransformed from a button as evidence of my Transfiguration level. As for Charms, I believe Professor Flitwick would be more than happy to write a recommendation letter for me.
——J.A.R
He casually picked up a spare button from the table and gave it a light tap with his wand.
That ordinary copper button instantly squirmed, growing tiny silver legs and antennae, turning into a lifelike beetle that crawled across the table, even vibrating its wings.
The surrounding Slytherin students were stunned.
"Non-verbal spellcasting..." Malfoy muttered to himself, the jealousy in his eyes almost becoming tangible, but more so a sense of helpless awe. "Are you a monster?"
"No, I'm just more diligent." Julian put the Silver beetleinto an envelope and handed it to the owl. "Go on."
Chapter 19: Non-verbal Spell
The morning class was Charms Class.
Professor Flitwick was an extremely tiny Wizard; he had to stand on a stack of books to see the students below the podium. This class was held together with Slytherinand Gryffindor.
A faint scent of old books permeated the classroom, and sunlight streamed through the windows, creating a Tyndall effect with the dust.
"Today, we are going to learn a very basic, yet very important spell—the Levitation Charm." Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice echoed in the classroom. "Watch your wrist movements! Swish and flick! Remember, swish and flick!"
Over in Gryffindor, Ron was waving his wand frantically, as if trying to swat flies with a windmill.
"You're saying it wrong!" Hermione Granger's bossy voice carried over. "It's Wingardium Leviosa, make the 'gar' nice and long!"
Ron's face turned red. "Since you're so smart, why don't you give it a try!"
Hermione gave a haughty huff, rolled up her sleeves, and flicked her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The feather in front of her quivered for a moment and slowly rose into the air.
"Oh! Well done!" Professor Flitwick clapped happily. "Look, everyone, Miss Granger has succeeded! Five points to Gryffindor!"
A smug smile appeared on Hermione's face as she shot a provocative glance toward the Slytherin side.
However, her smile soon froze.
On the other side of the classroom, Julian didn't even utter the incantation. He just leaned lazily against the back of his chair, his wand tracing an elegant arc in the air, pointing at the feather in front of Theodore.
That feather didn't wobble and float up like Hermione's; instead, it was held up as if by an invisible hand, suspended steadily in mid-air.
Then, the feather began to dance in the air—spinning, tumbling, and even flying a loop around Malfoy's head before gently landing back on the table.
The entire room fell silent.
Professor Flitwick was so shocked he nearly fell off his stack of books.
"A... Non-verbal Spell? And with such precise control?" He adjusted his glasses, looking at Julian in disbelief. "Mr. Rosier, have you... have you studied this before?"
"I've previewed it a bit, Professor," Julian replied nonchalantly, as if he had done something trivial. "I believe the essence of a spell is the guidance of intent; pronunciation is merely an aid. If the intent is focused enough, the sound becomes redundant."
These words were practically a dimensional strike for the first-year students.
Hermione bit her lower lip, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. It was the first time she had felt absolute suppression from a peer.
"My goodness..." Professor Flitwick trembled with excitement. "Twenty points to Slytherin! For this perfect demonstration and profound understanding! Mr. Rosier, if you're interested, I strongly suggest you join the Magical Innovation Society. We need talent like yours!"
"I've already submitted my application, Professor." Julianbowed slightly. "I hope to receive your approval."
"Approval? Of course! I'll speak to the president myself!" Professor Flitwick said excitedly.
Although Hogwarts followed a philosophy of happy education, it would still vigorously nurture geniuses when it encountered them.
When the bell rang for the end of class, Julian walked out of the classroom surrounded by a crowd.
As he passed by Hermione, he stopped.
The girl with the bushy brown hair was packing her bag with her head down, her eyes slightly red.
"Your pronunciation is very standard, Miss Granger," Julian said softly. "A textbook-level demonstration. However, sometimes books aren't the entirety of truth. If you're willing to think outside the box, you'll be even better than you are now."
Hermione looked up abruptly. She had thought that after joining Slytherin, the boy would be gradually assimilated by Malfoy and the others, perhaps even becoming arrogant, but she hadn't expected Julian to remain so kind.
"Th... thank you," she stammered, a hint of confusion flashing in her eyes.
Julian smiled and turned to leave.
"Why are you bothering with that Know-It-All again?" Malfoy muttered grumpily from behind. "She's just a Mud... Muggle-born."
"Draco," Julian said without looking back. "In this world, knowledge is power. And acknowledging an opponent's strengths is the privilege of the strong. Only the weak try to elevate themselves by belittling others."
Malfoy opened his mouth but ultimately closed it, following behind thoughtfully.
When they returned to the Common Room, an owl was already waiting there.
Julian opened the envelope. Inside was an exquisite Silver Badge engraved with a pattern of an eye and a wand crossing—the symbol of the Magical Innovation Society.
The accompanying note had only one short sentence:
Welcome, Mr. Rosier. See you at eight tonight on the eighth floor.
Julian pinned the badge to the collar of his robes, feeling genuinely happy.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of the Library, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air with a golden glow.
It was so quiet here that only the scratching of quills on parchment could be heard, occasionally punctuated by Madam Pince's sharp coughs.
Julian carried several books about Runic Script, strolling through the shelves. He wasn't in a hurry to find books; his gaze swept across the reading area and quickly locked onto a familiar figure.
Hermione Granger was sitting in a remote corner, surrounded by piles of thick books like a fortress built of knowledge.
Her hair was bushier than usual, her brow furrowed as she muttered to herself, her wand waving over and over at a feather in front of her, yet it never made a sound.
It was Non-verbal Spell practice. It seemed the morning class had been quite a blow to her.
Julian walked over quietly. It wasn't until he sat in the empty seat opposite Hermione that the girl, immersed in her anxiety, suddenly started.
"Oh!" Hermione jumped, her wand nearly falling to the floor. Seeing it was Julian, her face instantly turned bright red—an awkwardness and defensiveness born from wounded pride. "Ro... Rosier? What are you doing here? Come to see the joke?"
"I believe this is a public area, Miss Granger," Julianplaced his books gently on the table, his voice warm and calm. "Besides, if I wanted to see a joke, I'd usually choose a more interesting place, like watching Potter ride a broom at the Quidditch Pitch."
Hermione was stunned for a moment, then pursed her lips unnaturally. "Then what are you here for?"
"To study." Julian pointed at the book Ancient Runes. "And... to see if anyone happens to need a little bit of help."
His gaze fell upon the motionless feather in front of Hermione.
"You're trying too hard."
"What?" Hermione frowned. "Professor Flitwick said to wave with power..."
"That's for verbal spells." Julian leaned forward slightly, his eyes meeting Hermione's.
"The key to a Non-verbal Spell lies in'suppression' and 'guidance.' You're using all your energy to suppress the sound, which instead causes the magic to clog inside you, unable to flow smoothly to the tip of your wand."
Chapter 20: Guiding Hermione
Hermione bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "Inhibition... and guidance?"
"Imagine this," Julian said, extending a finger and drawing a winding line on the tabletop.
"magic is like a rushing river. Chanting an incantation is like building a dam for the river, forcibly dictating its flow. But a Non-verbal Spell... it requires you to become the river itself, letting it flow according to your will rather than forcing it."
Hermione stared at that finger, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but it was outweighed by her thirst for knowledge.
"But... it's so hard," Hermione said somewhat dejectedly. "I've tried many times, but my mind always subconsciously wants to chant the incantation."
"Then forget the incantation first." Julian pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pocket and gently draped it over the feather. "Don't think about 'Wingardium Leviosa,' just think about 'flying.' Look at this handkerchief and imagine it being as light as a cloud."
Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and adjusted her breathing. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze had become focused and determined.
She raised her wand and gave her wrist a light flick.
"Poof!"
A muffled sound rang out.
magic didn't shoot from the tip of the wand; instead, like a blocked water pipe suddenly bursting, a cloud of black smoke exploded outward. Immediately after, a nearby bottle of ink was caught in the blast and shattered with a 'crack'.
The black ink sprayed out like a fountain. Hermione cried out in surprise and instinctively used her hands to shield herself, resulting in her hands and face being covered in ink, even staining the Gryffindor Crest on her chest black.
Julian was not spared either; several drops of ink splashed onto his expensive custom-made robes, leaving glaring stains on the light gray fabric.
"Merlin's beard!" Hermione looked at the mess, tears instantly welling up. "I'm... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I messed up... I always mess up..."
She frantically tried to wipe it away with her sleeve, but only succeeded in smearing the ink more evenly, looking like a little calico cat that had just crawled out of a coal pile.
Julian wasn't angry. Looking at Hermione's disheveled and pitiful appearance, a trace of a smile actually tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't move."
He reached out and gently grasped Hermione's wrist, which was still wiping away haphazardly.
Hermione froze, looking at Julian through teary eyes. The boy's palm was dry and warm, carrying a faint scent of herbs that made her panicked heart skip a beat for some reason.
"Scourgify."
Julian waved his wand with his other hand.
A cool breeze swept past, and the ink on Hermione's face vanished instantly, revealing her fair skin and those cute little freckles once more.
The ink stains on the table, the broken glass, and the spots on both their robes all disappeared without a trace in the blink of an eye.
"See, this is the charm of magic," Julian said, releasing her hand with a smile. "It can create chaos, but it can also fix everything in an instant. As long as you master control."
Hermione stared blankly at the back of her hand, which was as clean as before, then looked at Julian's face so close to hers. That moment of touch just now had given her an unprecedented sense of... security.
"Th... Thank you." Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, but her face was even redder than before.
"You're welcome." Julian sat back in his chair. "Now, try again. This time, don't think about succeeding; think about feeling."
Hermione nodded. This time, she wasn't as tense. She looked at the handkerchief, recalling the temperature and pressure of Julian's hand on her wrist just now.
That kind of... gentle control.
She gave her wand a light wave.
No sound, no explosion.
The white handkerchief trembled, then slowly and wobblily floated up, hovering an inch above the tabletop.
Though it lasted only a few seconds before falling back down, it was undoubtedly a success.
"I... I did it!" Hermione covered her mouth in pleasant surprise, her eyes sparkling. "I did it! A Non-verbal Spell!"
"Congratulations, Miss Granger." Julian lightly applauded. "Though it's not perfect yet, this is already the most crucial step."
While praising her, Julian couldn't help but marvel inwardly. She truly was a super student, always so talented in learning; with just a little guidance, she had learned non-verbal casting.
Hermione looked at Julian, the hostility and defensiveness in her eyes having completely vanished, replaced by a complex mixture of admiration and gratitude.
"You can call me Hermione," she said suddenly, her voice a bit hurried. "I mean... since we're already... friends?"
"Of course, Hermione." Julian pulled a thin notebook from his robes and handed it to her. "Just call me Julian."
"What's this?" Hermione took the notebook curiously.
"These are some insights I usually record regarding magiccontrol, as well as some... excerpts from my family's library," Julian said nonchalantly. In truth, he had specially prepared this last night.
For girls, besides keeping up with appearances, appropriate gifts were also indispensable.
"I think this will be of some help to you. After all, if my rival is too weak, I won't feel much of a sense of achievement."
Hermione held the notebook as if it were a precious treasure, her fingers gently stroking the cover. To someone who valued books as much as her life, this was more precious than any other gift.
"Thank you, Julian." She looked up, her gaze sincere. "I'll study it carefully. And... I'm sorry, I had some prejudices against Slytherin before."
"Prejudice is the product of ignorance, Hermione." Julianstood up and straightened his robes. "Breaking it is also a part of learning. I should go; I have club activities tonight."
"Mm, goodbye!"
Watching Julian's departing back, Hermione hugged the notebook tightly, a warm current surging in her heart. Slytherin... wasn't entirely made of evil people.