Chapter 21: Magical Innovation Society
After leaving the Library, Julian didn't go straight back to the Common Room, but instead turned into a deserted corridor.
He glanced at the wrist Hermione had just grabbed, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
Progress on conquering Hermione Granger: 30%.
That clever Witch had almost been completely misled by him. Of course, that notebook did contain a lot of real substance—Julian hadn't lied to her about that—but it was also mixed with some of his unique insights into the essence of magic—or rather, brainwashing.
Subtly changing her way of thinking, making her realize the limitations of the current magic education system, and thus creating a desire for more profound and dangerous knowledge.
This was his plan: to accelerate the growth of the top student girl so that he could obtain a powerful assistant sooner.
Checking the time, it was almost dinner. He touched the society badge on his chest. Tonight at eight, the Room of Requirement.
The eighth-floor corridor felt exceptionally empty at night, with only a few beams of moonlight filtering through the high arched windows, casting a cold silver glow on the floor.
Most of the portraits on the walls were dozing, with an occasional muffled sleep-talk.
Julian Rosier stood before that famous tapestry—Barnabas the Barmy being cudgelled by trolls.
In the painting, Barnabas the Barmy was trying to teach a group of Trolls in tutus how to dance; the result was predictable—he was being chased all over the place by a giant wooden club.
Julian adjusted the silver society badge at his collar, took a deep breath, concentrated, and walked back and forth three times in front of that stretch of blank wall, chanting silently in his heart:
"I need a place where I can conduct advanced magicresearch and exchange."
As he passed for the third time, intricate patterns emerged on the wall.
The stone bricks receded to both sides as if they were alive, revealing a smooth mahogany door with a brass handle.
Pushing the door open, a warm current mixed with the scents of parchment, ozone, and some unknown Potionwafted toward him.
This wasn't the "Room of Hidden Things" filled with junk from the original story, nor was it the fortification used during D.A. training.
The Room of Requirement at this moment presented a Victorian academic salon style.
A massive crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, emitting a soft yet bright light. Surrounding it were rows of towering bookshelves, filled with various magical texts that were hard to find in the outside world.
In the center of the room, several sets of comfortable velvet sofas and mahogany long tables were scattered about, with various self-recording quills, flickering magicmodels, and smoking cauldrons floating on the tables.
There were about a dozen people in the room, most wearing Ravenclaw robes with blue trim, though there were also a few from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.
They were either discussing in low voices in groups of two or three, or staring blankly at some complex rune by themselves.
The moment Julian walked in, the originally buzzing discussions came to a momentary halt.
A dozen pairs of eyes simultaneously turned toward the door.
A first-year freshman.
A Slytherin.
In this elite society known for its academic rigor and strength, such a combination was like a peacock crashing an owls' party.
"Did you take the wrong door, little kid?" a senior boy who was practicing making a teacup grow legs joked, eliciting a few chuckles.
Julian's expression remained unchanged, a proper smile on his face. He ignored the boy and stepped elegantly into the room as if it were his own living room.
The silver society badge on his chest gleamed under the light—it was the best pass. Julian's gaze quickly swept through the crowd and soon locked onto a target.
At a long table near the fireplace sat a girl with long, curly hair. She possessed the intellectual temperament unique to Ravenclaw, with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and a shiny prefect badge pinned to her chest.
She was reviewing a long piece of parchment, her brow slightly furrowed, her quill marking it from time to time.
Penelope Clearwater. A fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect, the future girlfriend of Percy Weasley, and one of the core members of this society.
She was the typical model student—smart, responsible, but also somewhat conventional.
Julian walked straight over.
"Good evening, prefect Clearwater."
Penelope looked up, sizing up the overly exquisite boy before her through her lenses. A flash of surprise crossed her eyes, but she quickly regained her composure.
"Rosier?" She recognized the freshman who had become famous within two days of the term starting. "I've heard Professor Flitwick mention you. A genius of the Non-verbal Spell, a first-year admitted by exception. But I didn't expect you to join the activities so soon."
"The desire for knowledge knows no time or grade, does it?" Julian bowed slightly and pulled out the chair opposite her. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
Penelope raised an eyebrow and made a "help yourself" gesture. "This is a free discussion area. However, I'm currently checking the Runic Script translation project for next week, so I might not have time to be your guide."
"I don't need a guide." Julian sat down, his gaze falling on the parchment in front of her. Several complex Ancient Runes were drawn on it, appearing to be the derivation of some kind of defensive array.
"The combination of 'Ehwaz' (Horse/Change) and 'Algiz' (Protection/Elk)... Are you trying to construct a dynamic defense shield? But the magic circuit at the connection seems a bit... stiff?"
Penelope's movements stopped. She looked at Julian in surprise, then looked down at her drawing.
"You can read Ancient Runes?"
"I know a thing or two." Julian smiled modestly, his finger pointing vaguely at a node on the drawing.
"If you add 'Laguz' (Water/Flow) here as a buffer, wouldn't the conduction of magic be smoother? After all, defense shouldn't be a wall that meets force with force, but water that can dissipate it."
Penelope stared at that spot for a few seconds, the surprise in her eyes gradually turning into amazement. She quickly picked up her quill and did some calculations on a piece of scrap paper.
"Merlin's beard..." Penelope murmured to herself. When she looked up at Julian, her gaze had completely changed—no longer looking at a junior, but at an equal interlocutor.
"You're right, fluidity... I've been stuck in a fixed architecture. Are you really only in your first year?"
"As real as it gets." Julian shrugged. "Perhaps it's because Slytherins are always accustomed to looking for shortcuts and flexibility."
"Alright, Rosier." Penelope closed her notebook, took off her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and a smile appeared on her face. "You've earned my respect. Tell me, you didn't come to me just to discuss Runic Script, did you? Your eyes tell me you have another purpose."
Smart woman.
Julian leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to create an atmosphere of private conversation.
"Since you've seen through me, I'll be blunt. I've been researching Hogwarts' founding history lately, especially Rowena Ravenclaw's magic philosophy." Julian observed Penelope's expression.
"The records in books are too general. I've heard that Ravenclaw House has a special... 'elder' who might be able to provide some exclusive insights."
Penelope's expression became a bit strange. "You mean... The Grey Lady?"}],
Chapter 22: Inquiring for Information
"Exactly." Julian nodded, "But I heard her personality is a bit... reclusive? She rarely communicates with others. As a Ravenclaw prefect, I thought you might know her better."
Penelope sighed and put her glasses back on. "Reclusive is a polite way of putting it; she's very sensitive, even a bit neurotic. She doesn't like people asking about her life before death, especially about... certain lost items."
"Lost items?" Julian asked, feigning confusion, while secretly clenching his fist.
"Nothing, just some old rumors." Penelope seemed to realize she had said too much and quickly changed the subject.
"In short, if you want to talk to her about academics, she might give you a word or two, but if you're looking for gossip, I advise you to forget it. Peeves was once chased by her for an entire week just because he mocked her hairstyle."
"I'm only interested in wisdom itself." Julian said with a look of sincerity, "Do you know where she usually appears?"
Penelope hesitated for a moment, looked around, and lowered her voice:
"She likes quiet. Lately, late at night, I've often seen her wandering the top floor of the Astronomy Tower. Staring blankly at the starry sky, muttering words like 'defiled' and 'forest.' She seems to have a lot on her mind."
Astronomy Tower. Late night. Forest... the Albania Forest? As expected...
"Thanks for the tip, Senior Clearwater." Julian gave a charming smile, "In return, if you need any 'flexible' ideas for your Runic Script project, feel free to come find me anytime."
Penelope looked at this overly mature and impossibly handsome first-year student, a faint, imperceptible blush appearing on her face.
"Just call me Penelope," she said softly. "And... be careful, Rosier. The Grey Lady's gaze can be... quite frightening sometimes."
"I'll be careful."
Julian stood up and bid her an elegant farewell.
As he left the table, he felt the gazes from around him had changed; they were no longer mocking or contemptuous, but inquisitive and wary.
Obviously, they had overheard the exchange between Julian and Penelope. For a first-year genius who was already well-versed in Runic Script, his future achievements would surely be extraordinary.
Especially since most of those present were fifth and sixth-year students about to enter the wizarding world; they had already begun to consciously gravitate toward circles that would benefit them.
Returning to the topic, Julian then discussed with other members, occasionally revealing some valuable insights that only belonged to a Pure-blood family.
The atmosphere within the club gradually reached a climax with Julian's arrival, and the discussion became increasingly intense.
As the discussion drew to a close, members began to leave their seats.
But Julian was in no hurry to leave the Room of Requirement. Instead, he walked to the bookshelf, casually pulled out a copy of "powerful potions," and pretended to flip through it.
In reality, his brain was working at high speed.
The Grey Lady is in the Astronomy Tower. She is repenting, reminiscing. That "defiled" refers to Lord Voldemort turning the diadem into a Horcrux, and that "forest" is the Albania Forest where she hid the diadem.
To get the location of the diadem out of her mouth—although Julian knew it was in the Room of Requirement, he needed a reasonable excuse to search for it.
Should he play the role of a fellow listener who thirsts for knowledge and understands her pain? Or a guardian who wants to purify a defiled holy relic?
Julian closed the book, his gaze deep.
Regardless, tonight's gains were sufficient.
Just as Julian was preparing to leave with a certain club member, a familiar figure walked into the Room of Requirement.
It was Cedric Diggory, a third-year Hufflepuff student and a future Triwizard Tournament champion.
He looked a bit hurried, holding a broken wand in his hand. When he saw Julian, he also paused for a moment, then revealed that signature, sun-warm smile.
"Hey, you're that Slytherin first-year, right? The Levitation Charm this morning was brilliant." Cedric took the initiative to greet him, "I'm Cedric."
"Julian Rosier." Julian shook the extended hand.
The palm was broad, strong, and warm.
Is this the "spare person"?
Julian looked at the sunny boy in front of him, and a thought suddenly popped into his head: If he were to pull him into his own camp, would the future situation be more interesting?
"What happened to your wand?" Julian asked.
"Oh, I used too much force while practicing the Expelliarmus, and it seems to have cracked a bit." Cedricscratched his head a little sheepishly, "I wanted to come here to find some tape or a book on Reparo."
"Maybe I can help." Julian drew his wand, "Even though I'm a first-year, I know a thing or two about wand construction."
...
By the time Julian finally walked out of the Room of Requirement, it was nearly time for the curfew.
He had not only obtained information about The Grey Lady but also repaired Cedric's wand and provided some valuable advice along the way.
In fact, it was just a simple professional bluff about the grain of the wand core, but it successfully earned a wave of favor from this Hufflepuff prefect.
Walking back to the Dungeons, the Castle was silent.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps and whispers came from ahead.
"Hurry up, Harry! Filch is coming!"
It was Ron's voice.
Julian immediately slipped into the shadow of a suit of armor.
He saw Harry and Ron draped in an invisibility cloak that looked a bit short, stumbling as they ran up the stairs.
"Damn it, Peeves pushed that suit of armor over!"
Is this... the night-wandering plot from the original work? Are they going to the Trophy Room for a duel?
No, today is Tuesday. According to the original work, this should be...
Julian narrowed his eyes.
No matter what they were doing, or... a good opportunity.
"If you don't come out, I'll hang you on the Castle gates! Madam Norris, go sniff over there!"
Filch's raspy voice came from the end of the corridor.
This was followed by a flurry of panicked footsteps and the loud crash of armor falling. Harry and Ron had clearly rushed toward the fourth floor in their panic—the forbidden area where the Cerberus, Fluffy, was kept.
Good luck to you, Mr. the chosen one.
Chapter 23: Helena Ravenclaw
Julian's lips curled into a cold smile. Keeping close to the shadows of the wall, he glided toward the spiral staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower as silently as an elegant black cat.
Since someone was working so hard to act as bait, how could he fail to appreciate such kindness?
The Astronomy Tower was the tallest tower in Hogwarts. The late-night wind poured in unobstructed from the top, carrying the characteristic chill of the Scottish Highlandsand making Julian's robes snap in the air.
He slowed his pace and stepped onto the final few stairs.
The top of the tower was empty, save for a massive brass telescope pointing silently at the starry sky. Moonlight spilled over the stone railings like a layer of white frost.
And at the edge of those railings floated a translucent figure.
She wore a vintage long dress and had hair that reached down to her waist. Her figure was slender and melancholic; she was gazing up at the stars with eyes that were empty and sad, as if the weight of the entire world rested upon her non-existent shoulders.
Helena Ravenclaw, The Grey Lady.
Julian did not speak out rashly. He knew that for such a sensitive and neurotic ghost, any abrupt disturbance could cause her to vanish instantly.
He walked to the railings on the other side, his back to The Grey Lady, and likewise looked up at the night sky.
"The North Star is very bright tonight," Julian said softly, as if talking to himself. "But Draco is a bit dim. Like some forgotten wisdom—though it exists, it is obscured by dark clouds."
The Grey Lady's figure trembled slightly. She slowly turned around, her lifeless eyes staring at Julian's back.
"Who are you?" Helena's voice was ethereal and cold, like a wind passing through a dead forest. "A Slytherin? Have you come here to mock a poor ghost?"
Julian turned slowly. There was no trace of mockery on his face, only a calm and profundity that transcended his years.
"No, My Lady. I am Julian Rosier, a student... lost on the path of seeking truth." Julian bowed slightly, performing an impeccable ancient noble salute.
"I do not wish to disturb your solitude; it is just that... the starry sky here seems clearer than elsewhere, allowing one to see things buried by history."
The Grey Lady floated a bit closer, seemingly developing a flicker of interest in this boy of refined speech and elegant manners.
"Things buried by history?" Helena sneered. "History is but a pile of lies and betrayals. You living people are always eager to dig up secrets that do not belong to you, just like... just like that boy."
That boy, Tom Riddle.
Julian's eyes flickered slightly, but he concealed it well.
"Not everyone harbors ill intent, My Lady." He walked to the telescope, gently touching the cold metal.
"Some seek knowledge to conquer, while others... just to understand. To understand why wisdom is defiled, why purity is stained black."
Hearing the word "defiled," The Grey Lady's expression instantly distorted. She lunged in front of Julian, her translucent face almost touching the tip of his nose.
"What do you know?!" she screamed, her voice full of pain and remorse.
"Do you know what defilement is? When you give your most precious possession to someone you think understands you, only to find he just wants to turn it into some... evil vessel! That betrayal... that disgust..."
Her emotions spiraled out of control, which was exactly what Julian wanted.
He did not step back, maintaining his calm and compassionate gaze.
"I may be young, but I have read many books," Julian said softly. "I know that some things, once touched by the Dark Arts, lose their original luster—like... a diademsymbolizing wisdom."
The Grey Lady froze suddenly. She stared fixedly at Julian, the madness in her eyes gradually receding, replaced by a deep fear.
"You know of... the diadem?" she asked tremblingly.
"I read about it in a book," Julian lied without blinking.
"It was the most precious legacy left to the world by Lady Ravenclaw, but I heard it went missing. Some say it was hidden in the forests of Albania, others say... it returned to Hogwarts, to the 'place where everything is hidden'."
the place where everything is hidden, the Room of Requirement.
The Grey Lady's body began to shake violently. She clutched her head and let out a painful whimper.
"Yes... it came back... with that person's mark... that black mark..." Helena muttered to herself. "I told him... I thought he could understand my desire to surpass my mother... but I was wrong! He is a devil! He made it dirty!"
Julian reached out. Although he could not touch the ghost, he made a soothing gesture.
"If it has truly been defiled, My Lady," his voice was low and full of allure, "then it should not continue to be forgotten in the darkness. It needs to be purified, or... ended. Only then can Ravenclaw's wisdom become pure once more."
The Grey Lady looked up, tears—if a ghost could have tears—sliding down her cheeks.
"Purify?" She looked at Julian as if seeing a glimmer of hope in him, or the possibility of release. "Can you do it? Can you... destroy that evil thing?"
"I cannot promise, but I am willing to try." Julian looked at her firmly. "But I need to know where it is. Its exact location."
The Grey Lady was silent for a long time. The wind blew across the top of the tower, making a howling sound.
Finally, she let out a long sigh.
"That room..." she said softly. "The room that only appears when you truly need it... filled with items hidden by generations of students.
Beside an ugly bust, wearing an old wig... it is right there. In that mountain of junk, emitting a nauseating aura of the Dark Arts."
Julian's heart skipped a beat.
An ugly bust, an old wig.
That was enough.
"Thank you for your trust, My Lady." Julian bowed again, more solemnly than before. "I will do everything in my power to let your mother rest in peace."
The Grey Lady looked at him, the pain in her eyes seeming to lessen a bit.
"Be careful of that thing, child." She left one last sentence before vanishing. "It bewitches the heart. Don't be like me... don't be like me..."
With a gust of cold wind, her figure dissipated into the air.
Julian straightened up, taking a deep breath of the cold air.
The first Horcrux, successfully located.
He glanced downstairs; a scream seemed to come from the direction of the fourth floor. It seemed Harry and Ronhad already encountered that Cerberus.
Tonight has been quite a fruitful harvest.
Chapter 24: Daphne
It was already one in the morning by the time he returned to the Slytherin common room.
The common room was empty, with only a few lingering sparks remaining in the fireplace.
Julian tiredly rubbed his temples, preparing to return to his dormitory.
"You're back."
A low voice drifted from an armchair in the corner.
Julian stopped in his tracks, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand, but he immediately relaxed.
It was Theodore Nott.
He hadn't slept yet; he held a thick book in his hands, reading by the dim firelight. Seeing Julian return, Theodore closed the book, his deep eyes fixing on him.
"So late?" Theodore asked, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry.
"Went to look at the stars." Julian walked over and sat on the sofa opposite him, not intending to reveal everything, but not wanting to hide it completely either. "And while I was at it... I confirmed some rumors."
"About that 'room'?" Theodore was clearly sharper than expected.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "You know about it too?"
"It was mentioned in the Nott family's collection of books," Theodore said flatly. "But I've never been inside. Looking at your expression... you found it?"
"More than just found it." Julian lowered his voice, leaning forward. "I found... something more important, Theodore. If I said I had a chance to access the legacy left by the Dark Lord... the true legacy, what would you do?"
Theodore's pupils contracted sharply.
"You mean..."
"Shh." Julian raised a finger. "It's not the time yet, but I need you to keep an eye out for some things. Regarding... ancient spells for purifying Dark Arts objects, or... methods for controlling Fiendfyre."
Theodore fell silent for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.
"I'll keep an eye out." He stood up. "Get some sleep, Julian. There's Potion Class tomorrow, and Professor Snape won't show you mercy just because you saved—or destroyed—the world tonight."
"Goodnight, Theodore."
Watching Theodore walk into the dormitory, Julian leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Fiendfyre.
That was one of the most effective means of destroying a Horcrux, but also the most dangerous. With his current level of magic power, using Fiendfyre would be no different from suicide.
He had to find another way, or... kill with a borrowed knife?
Basilisk fangs?
That would require opening the Chamber of Secrets first.
The daylight of Wednesday drifted away quietly amidst busyness and calculation.
Professor Snape's Potion Class was exactly as expected: a carnival for Slytherin and a day of suffering for Gryffindor.
Julian earned five stingy points from Snape with a perfect Boil-Cure Potion. He even managed, a second before Neville Longbottom could throw porcupine quills into his cauldron and cause an explosion, to inconspicuously 'trip' Neville's elbow with the tip of his wand.
This caused the quills to spill onto the table instead of into the pot—not only avoiding a disaster but also depriving Snape of a reason to deduct points from Gryffindor.
Though Neville was still docked two points for 'nearly causing an explosion,' this subtle sense of controlling the field brought Julian pleasure.
As for the afternoon's Defense Against the Dark Arts, the suffocating smell of garlic in Quirrell's classroom was simply an olfactory disaster.
Julian acted like a good student full of curiosity about magical theory during class. During the Q&A session, he deliberately asked a profound question about'soul attachment and host rejection reactions.'
In that instant, he clearly saw a flicker of red light belonging to another soul flash through Quirrell's perpetually shifty eyes.
But all of this was merely a prelude; the true highlight arrived at midnight.
Hogwarts' highest tower—the Astronomy Tower—was currently bathed in the piercing cold winds of the Scottish Highlands.
There were no warm torches here like inside the Castle, only the brilliant, almost cruel river of stars overhead and the night wind howling all around.
The first-year young Wizards wrapped their cloaks tightly, shivering as they stood by the crenellated battlements, adjusting their heavy brass telescopes.
Professor Aurora Sinistra, a dark-skinned, serious-faced Witch, was weaving through the students in her deep blue robes embroidered with star patterns, correcting their terrible azimuths.
"Adjust your focus, don't let the lenses fog up!" she said sternly. "If you can't even find Jupiter's moons, don't expect to read the tracks of destiny!"
Julian stood on the leeward side of the tower. His robes had been treated with a special Warming Charm—a mark of the House of Rosier's dignity—so he didn't feel the cold.
The telescope in front of him was perfectly focused, clearly presenting Jupiter's pale brown stripes and four bright moons in his field of vision.
But he wasn't looking at the stars.
His gaze fell on the girl beside him.
Daphne Greengrass had clearly dressed up carefully tonight, her long blonde hair tied back with a dark green ribbon, revealing her slender, fair neck.
But at this altitude and temperature, beauty came with a price. She was shivering slightly, her hands gripping the telescope's stand so tightly her knuckles were white, and her delicate little face was pale from the cold.
"If you observe while shivering, you'll record this moon as a dancing comet, Miss Greengrass."
Julian's voice sounded exceptionally mellow in the wind, carrying a hint of teasing warmth.
Daphne turned her head, her ice-blue eyes holding a trace of annoyance and grievance. "This is ridiculous, Rosier. Why must we climb so high in the middle of the night to suffer? Do the stars not shine just as brightly from the warm common room?"
"Because pain keeps one awake." Julian chuckled softly, naturally moving a step closer to her.
This step was very subtle. He happened to stand on the windward side, his tall frame instantly blocking most of the bone-chilling wind for her.
Daphne was stunned for a moment, then felt the temperature around her rise slightly. She looked up at the boy standing so close.
The moonlight spilled over Julian's profile, outlining a silhouette that made her heart skip a beat unhelpfully.
"Look," Julian didn't look at her, but instead reached out a hand past her shoulder to grasp the telescope's adjustment knob.
This posture made it look as if they were embracing. His chest was almost pressed against her back, and she could even smell the faint, pleasant scent of pine and parchment on him.
"This is Draco."
Daphne felt her ears burning, and not just because of his warm breath.
"If Draco knew you were comparing him to a guardian, he'd certainly get carried away with himself." she tried to make her voice sound calm, but a slight tremor in her tone betrayed her.
"That Draco?" Julian gave a contemptuous laugh, his gaze sweeping over Malfoy, who was nearby boasting to Pansy Parkinson about his broomstick skills. "He's just a lizard that hasn't learned to breathe fire. A true dragon knows how to bide its time."
Julian looked down at Daphne, a hint of aggressive appreciation in his eyes. "Just like you, Daphne. The 'green' of the Greengrass family symbolizes vitality, but it also symbolizes... poison. I like it very much."
Chapter 25: The Library
Faced with Julian's initiative, Daphne's face instantly flushed crimson, looking exceptionally alluring in the cold night. She bit her lower lip—a subconscious defense, yet also a silent invitation.
"Are you always so... silver-tongued, Rosier?" She turned around, leaning her back against the railing and looking up at him. "Or is this just a tactic you use to deal with... girls?"
"That depends on whether the girl is worth it." Juliandidn't deny it. His hands remained braced on the telescope stand, trapping her in an ambiguous space between himself and the railing. "For smart girls, the truth is often the most effective tactic."
He paused, his gaze deepening. "Speaking of ancient legends and dormant dragons... there have been some rumors within Slytherin lately regarding a certain... Chamber of Secrets left behind by Salazar Slytherin."
Daphne's eyes flickered. As the eldest daughter of the Greengrass Family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she clearly knew something.
"You've heard of it too?" She lowered her voice and glanced around to ensure no one was paying attention. "Ever since Harry Potter enrolled, the elders at home have become quite cryptic in their letters. They say... the 'Heir' might return."
"The Heir..." Julian mulled over the word. "I'm curious, what exactly is hidden in this so-called Chamber of Secrets? Is it endless treasure, or some kind of powerful weapon?"
"It's not treasure." Daphne shook her head, her voice becoming somewhat airy as if she were recalling some ancient family bedtime story.
"Grandfather once said while drunk... that it's a power of 'purification.' Slytherin didn't want to kill students; he just wanted to... cleanse. It's said that a monster slumbers in that chamber, and only the true Heir can awaken it."
She paused and leaned closer to Julian, her voice so low only the two of them could hear:
"And... there's a strange annotation in the Greengrass Family genealogy. Centuries ago, an ancestor heard strange sounds near the girls' bathroom on the second floor of the Castle. It sounded like hissing in the pipes, but also like... speaking."
Second-floor girls' bathroom, Myrtle, pipes.
Julian's pupils contracted slightly. This was exactly the intelligence confirmation he wanted. The Greengrass Family indeed knew some inside information, even if it was just fragments.
"Hissing..." Julian smiled thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's the language of snakes. It seems our founder did indeed leave us a grand gift."
"Don't go looking for it, Julian." Daphne suddenly grabbed his sleeve, a flicker of genuine worry appearing in her eyes. "That legend is evil. It's said that the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a student died. It's a taboo."
Seeing the concern in her eyes, Julian took her cold little hand in his. This time, he didn't use any magic, simply using his own body heat to warm her.
"In this world, power has no good or evil, Daphne," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "There is only strength and weakness, and I... do not intend to be among the weak. Nor will I let you be in danger."
The statement was half-true, but for an eleven-year-old noble girl, its lethality was nuclear.
Daphne was completely captivated. She looked at the confident, mysterious, powerful, and handsome boy before her, feeling like prey captured by that star in Draco.
"You really are a... bastard," Daphne cursed with a reddened face, but she didn't pull her hand away.
Just then, Professor Sinistra's voice rang out: "Class dismissed! Pack up your telescopes, and don't lose the lens caps! We'll be observing Orion next week, so remember to prepare in advance!"
The surrounding students let out a cheer of relief, packing their things in a hurry to escape this icebox.
Julian released Daphne's hand and gentlemanly helped her replace the lens cap on her telescope.
"Let's go, beautiful Miss Greengrass." Julian crooked his elbow. "I believe as a gentleman, I have an obligation to escort you back to the dungeons. After all, the Castlestairs can be quite mischievous at midnight."
Daphne took his arm, her face glowing with a radiant smile she had never shown before. It was the pride unique to a victor—tonight, she possessed Slytherin's most dazzling new star.
On the spiral staircase going down, they brushed past Malfoy. Draco watched their intimate posture, his face twisting with jealousy. Ultimately, he didn't dare say anything, only letting out a resentful huff before hurrying down.
Julian felt the weight and attachment of the girl on his arm, and a satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Another chess piece secured.
Furthermore, the clues regarding the Chamber of Secretswere now a closed loop: the second-floor girls' bathroom, Parseltongue, and the monster.
Everything was ready; all that was missing was the final catalyst.
Or rather, all that was missing was a certain Dark Lord's Horcrux.
Thursday afternoon in the Library was permeated with a drowsy stillness.
Sunlight filtered through the towering Gothic windows, refracted by dust into pillars of golden light that sliced diagonally between the rows of slumbering bookshelves.
The air was a mix of the musty scent of old parchment, the fragrance of ink, and Madam Pince's seemingly omnipresent, stern gaze.
Julian Rosier didn't spend his afternoon enjoying tea in the common room like other Slytherins, nor did he go to the Black Lake to mock the Giant Squid.
He walked past rows of "Standard Book of Spells" and "History of Magic" to a hidden corner in the deepest part of the Library.
There, Hermione Granger had already been waiting for a long time.
The table in front of her was piled with books, looking like a precarious little mountain.
The black-covered notebook Julian had lent her lay open at the very top, surrounded by scattered sheets of parchment covered in dense annotations.
The little Witch's hair was even bushier than usual, likely due to her constant scratching while thinking.
There were dark circles under her eyes, indicating she had clearly stayed up late last night, but her brown eyes burned with a nearly fanatical thirst for knowledge.
Seeing Julian approach, she almost instantly sprang from her chair, the movement so abrupt she nearly knocked over a nearby ink bottle.
"Julian! You're finally here!" she said urgently in a lowered voice, her tone a mix of excitement and confusion.
"I read the notebook you gave me, specifically the chapter on 'Non-linear Conduction of Magical Flow'... it's incredible, but it's also so... so preposterous!"
Julian elegantly pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, gently placing several reference books on Defense Against the Dark Arts on the corner of the table.
Looking at Hermione's small face, flushed with excitement, a gentle and indulgent smile played on his lips.
"Preposterous? That's an interesting choice of words, Hermione," he said softly. "Do you mean because it can't be found in any corresponding chapters of 'magical theory'?"
"Exactly!" Hermione quickly flipped through the thick notebook, pointing to a passage of handwritten text, her fingers trembling slightly.
"It says here: 'The syllables of a spell are merely carriers for magic, not the source. When the will is strong enough, syllables can be simplified, or even omitted.'"
"But this completely contradicts Adalbert Waffling's First Law! The books say, 'Tampering with even a single syllable of a spell can lead to irreversible and catastrophic consequences'! For example, pronouncing a 'W' as a 'V' might summon a buffalo instead of water!"
Hermione looked up, her eyes filled with the unease of seeing authority challenged. "If this notebook is right, then isn't everything we're learning in our textbooks... isn't it misleading us?"
Julian leaned forward slightly, crossing his hands on the table. His amber eyes gazed deeply into hers, as if he could see through to the core of her inner turmoil.
"Hermione, have you ever considered who textbooks are written for?"
Chapter 26: Cultivating the Dark Witch
Listening to Julian's words, Hermione froze for a moment before replying, "For us, of course... for the students to read."
"No." Julian shook his head, his voice deep and magnetic. "Textbooks are written for 'the majority'—for those with mediocre talent and meager magic, who need to rely on rote memorization just to barely cast a Levitation Charm.
For the Ministry of Magic, the safest method of education is to turn magic into a series of rigid procedures: step one, wave the wand; step two, chant the incantation; step three, produce the effect. As long as you are as precise as a machine, you won't make a mistake."
He reached out a hand and pressed it lightly on Hermione's worn copy of magical theory, his fingertip tapping on the name 'Adalbert Waffling'.
"But true magic, Hermione, is not an industrial assembly line. It is art, an extension of the will, and the roar of the soul."
Hermione's mouth hung open. Clearly, such a statement was nothing short of a cognitive earthquake for a top student from a Muggle family who viewed books as gospel.
"But... but if there are no rules..." she murmured to herself.
"Rules are meant to bind the weak, but also to protect them." Julian pulled his wand from his robe pocket—the ebony wand glinted coldly in the dim light. "Watch."
He didn't chant, nor did he even make a large movement with his wand. He simply stared at a quill on the table, his eyes instantly becoming as sharp as knives.
The quill trembled.
Then, instead of floating like a normal Levitation Charm, it... began to transform.
The originally white feathers gradually took on a metallic sheen, and the soft down became hard and sharp. In the blink of an eye, the ordinary goose quill had turned into a miniature dagger glinting with a cold light.
No incantation, no standard Transfiguration gestures.
Hermione gasped. She instinctively reached out to touch the 'dagger'; it felt cold and hard, completely real metal.
"Is this... non-verbal, wandless Transfiguration?" Her voice was trembling. "But how is that possible? Professor McGonagall said that's an advanced technique only introduced in the sixth year!"
"Because I don't treat it as a 'technique'." Julian snapped his fingers lightly, and the dagger instantly reverted to a quill, lying limply on the table.
"I imagine its essence; I use my will to reshape it. Incantations are just training wheels, Hermione. If you want to ride faster, you must eventually learn to throw the training wheels away."
Looking at Hermione, the light in his eyes was both dangerous and captivating.
"You are very clever, Hermione, cleverer even than many Ravenclaw students. You have incredible memory and logical thinking. But if you limit yourself to the circles drawn by textbooks, you will only ever be an 'excellent honor student,' not a 'great Witch'."
"A great... Witch..." Hermione repeated the words, a light flickering in her eyes that had never been there before. It was the spark of ambition being ignited.
"This notebook was left by an ancestor of my family hundreds of years ago," Julian continued, his lie sounding more sincere than the truth.
"In that era, Wizards focused more on the essence of magic. Of course, this method is more dangerous and harder to control, which is why it was removed from the modern education system. But I believe you are qualified to encounter it."
Hermione clutched the notebook tightly, as if it were the key to a new world.
She looked at Julian, the defensiveness and doubt in her eyes completely gone, replaced by deep trust and a hint of admiration.
"Thank you, Julian," Hermione said softly. "No one has ever told me these things. Ron only complains about having too much homework, and Harry... though Harry is brave, he doesn't seem interested in theory. Only you..."
"We are of the same kind, Hermione." Julian reached out at the right moment and lightly patted the back of her hand, a gesture that was intimate but not overstepping. "We both thirst for knowledge and power. In this magicworld full of prejudice, only by being strong enough can you silence those who mock your background."
This sentence precisely struck Hermione's sore spot. As a Muggle-born Witch, even though school had only started a few days ago, she had already felt the malice from Malfoy and others.
"I will work hard." She nodded firmly and reopened the notebook. This time, her gaze was no longer scrutinizing but hungrily absorbing.
"This part about 'the amplification of spell power by emotion'... are you saying that anger is sometimes more effective than calmness?"
"Not just anger." The corners of Julian's mouth curled up as he began his 'private lesson' for the day.
"Love, hate, fear, greed... any extreme emotion is fuel for magic. This is why Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't just about learning to defend, but also about... understanding the darkness."
Over the next hour, this corner of the Library became the most dangerous classroom in Hogwarts.
Julian didn't teach her any Unforgivable Curses—those were too low-level and easily exposed. He taught her a way of thinking.
He taught her how to add a bit of 'will to pierce the darkness' when casting Lumos, making the light as piercing as a searchlight; he taught her how to recall the original perfect state of an object when casting Reparo, rather than just chanting the spell.
Modern magic is actually simplified. As described in a book Julian had read, Expelliarmus didn't originally disarm a weapon, but rather the opponent's fingers.
Hermione absorbed this unorthodox knowledge like a sponge. Her talent was rapidly developed under Julian's guidance; her originally rigid casting style began to become fluid, even taking on a hint of sharpness.
When the clock struck five and Madam Pince began patrolling the aisles, swatting at students who were still talking with her feather duster, Hermione finally snapped out of it.
"Oh my god, it's already this late!" she said in a panic, packing her bag. "I haven't finished Professor Binns' essay yet!"
"Don't worry, it's about the Goblin Rebellions, right?" Julian stood up and helped her steady the pile of books.
"If you'd like, after dinner I could... oh, sorry, we're not in the same house. Then let's meet in the Entrance Hall; I can share my essay ideas with you."
"Really?" Hermione looked at him in surprise. "That would be wonderful! But... Slytherin and Gryffindor..."
"To hell with the houses." Julian winked and said something that made Hermione's heart race, "Wisdom has no color, Hermione. Like I said, we are of the same kind."
Just as they walked out of the Library, they happened to run into Harry and Ron, who were just coming in from outside.
Ron was loudly complaining about Snape's favoritism, clutching a chocolate frog in his hand.
Seeing Hermione and Julian walking together, Ron froze, then wore a strange expression.
"Hermione? Why are you... with him?" Ron pointed at Julian as if pointing at an Erumpent. "He's a Slytherin! And he's friends with Malfoy!"
Although Julian had gained some favor on the train earlier, his Slytherin status still made Ron uneasy.
Hermione straightened her back, instinctively mimicking Julian's cold and haughty demeanor from moments ago.
"Julian is tutoring me in magical theory, Ron," she said coldly. "If you spent half the time you use complaining about Snape on reading books, maybe you wouldn't have to worry about failing Potion Class."
After saying that, she turned to Julian, her tone instantly softening: "Then, I'll see you after dinner, Julian."
"See you after dinner." Julian nodded with a smile, his gaze sweeping over a dumbfounded Ron and a thoughtful Harry, a hint of playfulness flashing in his eyes.
Watching Hermione's back as she hurried away clutching her books, Julian knew the seed had been planted. The future 'Miss Know-It-All' might just turn into 'Miss Dark Witch' after all.
Chapter 27: The First Horcrux
After parting with Hermione, Julian was in no hurry to head to the Great Hall for dinner. He climbed the marble stairs, avoiding the curious gazes of the portraits, and went straight to the eighth floor of the Castle.
The space in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmybeing clubbed by Trolls was empty. The afterglow of the setting sun spilled in through the window at the end of the corridor, casting a long, comical shadow from the Trollin a tutu on the tapestry.
Julian took a deep breath, calming the magic within him that was slightly restless from the "teaching" earlier. He focused his mind and paced back and forth three times in front of that stretch of blank wall.
"I need a place to hide things."
"I need a place to hide things."
"I need The Place Where Everything is Hidden."
A smooth door appeared silently on the wall. Juliangripped his wand and pushed it open.
What met his eyes was a magnificent labyrinth built from items hidden by generations of students.
Broken furniture, rusted weapons, thousands upon thousands of books, and even some kind of massive animal skeleton...
It was like a cathedral of junk forgotten by time, the air thick with the smell of old dust and an indescribable fluctuation of magic mixed with countless secrets.
Julian was in no mood to admire the spectacular sight. Following The Grey Lady's directions, he passed through a narrow passage formed by mountains of old chairs and broken cabinets.
Turn right, pass the vanishing cabinet that looked like it was dissolving, and walk another hundred steps.
He stopped in front of a blistered, acid-stained cabinet.
Atop the cabinet stood an ugly bust of an old Wizard, its plaster face wearing a mocking expression.
And on the head of the bust sat a dusty old wig, perched askew.
Julian's heart quickened uncontrollably. He flicked his wand, and the wig flew up lightly, landing on a pile of old newspapers nearby.
Revealing the object beneath.
It was a tarnished, rusted diadem.
Although time had stripped it of its luster and it looked like a cheap stage prop, in Julian's eyes, it emitted a black aura—invisible to the naked eye but piercing straight to the soul.
Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Lord Voldemort's Horcrux.
The moment Julian gazed at it, a faint, rustling whisper seemed to echo in his ears.
"Put me on... and you shall possess infinite wisdom..."
"Do you crave power? Do you long to transcend mortality? I know your ambition..."
"You know those spells aren't perfect yet... I can teach you... true magic..."
The voice was androgynous, carrying a slick allure like a serpent's hiss or a lover's murmur.
Julian felt his hand reaching out uncontrollably, wanting to touch that cold metal surface.
"Shut up."
Julian bit the tip of his tongue hard; the metallic taste of blood cleared his mind instantly. His gaze became cold and clear once more.
"You are but a fragment of a soul, Tom," Julian whispered coldly, his wand pointing steadily at the diadem. "And I am not your servant."
He pulled out a pre-prepared Obsidian box from his robes—a container used by the Rosier Family to store dangerous Dark Arts items, engraved with isolation runes.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The diadem rose slowly under the control of the charm. It seemed to sense Julian's intent, and the surrounding dark mist surged violently. The whispers turned into a piercing shriek, attempting to puncture Julian's mental defenses.
But Julian gave it no chance. He quickly maneuvered the diadem into the box and slammed the lid shut.
"Colloportus."
"Protego Totalum."
As the spells took effect, the runes on the box glowed with a dark red light before falling silent.
The whispers in his ears vanished, and the world returned to silence.
Julian let out a long breath, feeling his back drenched in cold sweat.
The first one. Secured.
...
The time that followed felt as if it were on fast-forward.
At dinner on Thursday evening, Julian acted as if nothing had happened, elegantly cutting his steak while ignoring Malfoy's snide remarks about his "disappearance this afternoon."
The box containing the Horcrux had been placed under an Undetectable Extension Charm and hidden at the very bottom of his trunk, sealed with family blood magic. Unless Lord Voldemort himself arrived, no one could sense its presence.
Friday morning consisted of two boring History of Magicclasses. Professor Binns's hypnotic voice sent the entire classroom into a slumber.
Julian used this time to repeatedly rehearse the next steps of his plan in his mind, sketching a diagram of the Chamber of Secrets entrance in his notebook.
In the blink of an eye, it was 3:30 PM on Friday.
On the lawn on the west side of Hogwarts Castle, a gentle breeze blew, and the scent of green grass was refreshing.
This was the moment all first-years looked forward to most—the first Flying Class.
Twenty broomsticks were lined up neatly on the ground.
Although they were just the old "Cleansweep Sevens" provided by the school—some even had frayed twigs—this didn't dampen the young Wizards' enthusiasm in the slightest.
The Slytherin and Gryffindor students formed two lines.
Malfoy was loudly boasting to Goyle and Crabbe about his "glorious feat" of evading a Muggle helicopter on a broomstick, while Hermione nervously recited the takeoff essentials from Quidditch Through the Ages, her face slightly pale.
Madam Rolanda Hooch strode over. She had short grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk's that swept sharply over every student.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch said sharply. "Everyone stand beside a broomstick. Hurry, hurry, hurry!"
Julian stood by a broomstick that looked relatively intact, his expression relaxed. Standing opposite him was Neville Longbottom; the round-faced boy was trembling with nerves, sweat beads covering his forehead.
"Stretch out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called out from the front, "and say, 'Up!'"
"Up!"
"Up!"
A chorus of shouts rang out across the grounds.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand immediately, bringing a surprised smile to his face. Malfoy's broom was also quick to obey.
Julian simply raised his hand lazily and commanded in a low voice, "Up."
Whack.
Chapter 28: Saving Neville
The broom handle slammed steadily into Julian's palm, as precise as a well-trained soldier.
Feeling the magic within his body, Julian raised an eyebrow; it seemed the growth of this body's magical conductivity was faster than expected.
However, not everyone possessed such talent.
Hermione's broom only rolled on the ground, making her face flush with anxiety, while Neville's broom didn't budge at all.
"It's just because you're too nervous, Longbottom." Madam Hooch walked over to correct Neville's posture. "Relax your wrist; hold it like you're holding a small bird, not like you're trying to strangle it."
After some effort, everyone had mounted their brooms.
"Listen for my whistle," Madam Hooch raised her silver whistle. "Three— two—"
However, Neville was too nervous, or perhaps too afraid of being left on the ground; before the whistle sounded, he kicked off hard against the ground.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.
But Neville had already shot into the sky like a balloon with its plug pulled out.
Twelve feet, twenty feet... His face turned deathly pale, a terrified scream escaping his lips as his hands gripped the broom handle for dear life, completely out of control.
"Ah—!"
It was the precursor to a total loss of control. Nevilleslipped off one side of the broom, his entire body dangling in mid-air as his fingers slowly lost their grip.
"No!" Hermione screamed.
At that moment, Neville let go completely. He plummeted down like a stone.
Madam Hooch raised her wand to cast a spell, but the distance was too great and Neville was falling too fast.
Everyone covered their eyes in horror.
Except for two people.
Harry instinctively wanted to rush out, but he was still on the ground.
As for Julian, his gaze instantly became sharp.
This was an opportunity. An opportunity to display absolute dominance.
Gravity is fair; it does not show favoritism whether you are pure-blood or half-blood.
As Neville Longbottom fell from thirty feet like a sack full of potatoes, Death seemed to have already blown the whistle in his ear.
The surrounding gasps were still trapped in throats, and Madam Hooch's wand hadn't even been raised yet.
In this instant, time seemed to turn viscous in Julian's eyes.
He didn't rely on instinct to grab a broom like Harry; that would be too crude and lacking in aesthetic.
Julian simply slid that ebony wand elegantly from his sleeve, his movements as fluid as a conductor waving a baton.
His eyes locked onto the magnifying, terrified round face. His lips moved slightly, no sound coming out, but his will shot out like an arrow from a bow.
Arresto Momentum.
An almost invisible ripple of pale gold rippled through the air.
Just as Neville's face was about to kiss the earth, his falling body suddenly jerked to a halt.
As if gently caught by an invisible giant hand, he hovered for half a second just two inches above the grass, then with a soft 'thud', he landed gently on the lawn, without even snapping a single blade of grass.
The entire field fell silent.
Only the rustle of the wind through the broom twigs could be heard.
Neville curled up on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, still letting out a pig-slaughtering scream: "Aaaah— I'm not playing anymore! I want my Gran!"
"You can open your eyes now, Longbottom." Julianstowed his wand, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. "Unless you want to take a nap on the grass."
Neville tremulously opened one eye and found himself completely unharmed. He immediately slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, his face covered in tears and snot.
"Merlin's beard!" Madam Hooch finally rushed over. She checked on Neville and then whipped her head around to look at Julian, her yellow hawk-like eyes full of shock. "That just now... was the Cushioning Charm? Non-verbal casting?"
"I just didn't want to see the lawn get messy, Madam." Julian bowed slightly, composed and unhurried. "Besides, if Mr. Longbottom were broken, Professor Sprout would be very upset."
"Unbelievable... a first year..." Madam Hooch murmured to herself, then announced loudly, "Ten points to Slytherin! For... extremely outstanding reaction speed and spell technique!"
The Slytherin students broke into reserved applause. Daphne's gaze toward Julian was practically swooning.
Meanwhile, Malfoy curled his lip, tossing the Remembrallhe had snatched up and down, clearly disappointed that he hadn't seen a'splattered Longbottom'.
The events that followed developed just as the inertia of history dictated.
Madam Hooch took the weak-kneed Neville to the Hospital Wing. Malfoy picked up the Remembrall Nevillehad dropped and entered taunt mode.
"Seems that big lump doesn't just have a bad brain, he has decent luck." Draco mounted his broom and flew into the air, looking down at Harry. "Potter, want this ball? Go get it from the roof!"
Harry was provoked. Ignoring Hermione's attempt to stop him, he grabbed his broom and charged into the sky.
Julian stood on the ground and did not stop him.
Squinting, he watched Harry display that innate, enviable flying talent in the air. That fluid unity of man and broom was indeed something hard to achieve through mere effort.
"Aren't you going to help Potter?" Theodore Nott stood beside him and asked in a low voice. "You just saved that idiot; I thought you wanted to be a saint today."
"Saints only save those who are bound to die, not those who go looking for death." Julian chuckled softly, watching Professor McGonagall lean out of a Castlewindow, her face filled with shock.
"Besides, some people are destined to fly in the sky. We only need to watch from the ground. After all, the higher you fly, the harder you fall."
Harry was taken away by Professor McGonagall. Everyone thought he would be expelled, but only Julianknew that Gryffindor was about to welcome the youngest seeker in a century.
But it didn't matter. Quidditch was just a game, and he was playing the game of thrones.
Chapter 29: Snape's Potion Class
The two days of the weekend passed in tranquility.
Julian used this time to further consolidate his small circle in the Slytherin common room.
He taught Daphne how to play wizards chess and discussed variants of Ancient Runes with Theodore.
Even the gorilla-like Crabbe and Goyle began to bow and scrape to him after receiving a few high-grade Honeydukes sweets Julian casually tossed their way.
And in the Library, Hermione Granger had completely become a follower of Julian.
She began to cite some obscure theories in her essays and, upon receiving the Professor's confused annotations, would immediately run to Julian to vent.
Time trickled away like sand in an hourglass, and in the blink of an eye, it was Monday, September 9th.
The autumn chill in the Scottish Highlands was growing stronger, and the aroma of pumpkin porridge and roasted sausages filled the Great Hall in the early morning.
Hundreds of owls flapped their wings as they flew into the Great Hall, bringing letters and parcels from home.
Julian was elegantly peeling a boiled egg when an Eagle Owl, the messenger of the Rosier Family, dropped a parcel.
Inside were some supplementary high-grade Potioningredients and a brief letter from his grandfather asking about his "progress" at school.
Just then, a commotion broke out from the Gryffindortable.
"Look! What did Harry get?"
"It's a Nimbus 2000! My god!"
Harry Potter held the long, thin parcel, his expression a mix of excitement and disbelief.
Malfoy's face turned green with envy at the Slytherintable, his fork smashing the fried egg on his plate into a mess.
"It's not fair!" Draco gritted his teeth. "First-years aren't allowed to bring broomsticks! Potter must have gone through the back door!"
"That was specially authorized by Professor McGonagall," Julian said faintly, putting a piece of bacon into his mouth.
"Face it, Draco, some privileges are reserved for 'the chosen one.' If you want to beat him, don't complain like a resentful woman; knock him off his broom on the pitch."
Draco froze for a moment, then a flash of ruthlessness crossed his eyes: "You're right. Once I make the team..."
"No need to wait." Julian wiped the corner of his mouth and cast his gaze toward the staff table.
Professor Snape was staring at Harry with a dark expression, clearly extremely displeased that Potterhadn't been expelled and had instead joined the team.
"This morning is Potion Class." Julian stood up and straightened his robes. "I think Professor Snape would be very pleased to see us 'perform excellently' in class."
The schedule for this week showed Potion Class on Monday morning and Transfiguration in the afternoon.
When the Slytherin and Gryffindor students gathered again in the cold dungeon classroom, the atmosphere was noticeably more tense than last week.
Harry was high-spirited because he had become a seeker, but this was clearly not a good thing in Snape's territory.
"Potter!"
Not even five minutes into the class, Snape's silky smooth yet malicious voice rang out.
"Since you are already a 'famous' Quidditch player, I would like to ask you: what would happen if two drops of lethe river water were added to a forgetfulness potioninstead of one?"
Harry stood up blankly; Hermione's hand was raised high, almost reaching the ceiling.
"I don't know, sir," Harry answered honestly.
"Tsk, clearly fame does not represent wisdom," Snapesneered. "Rosier, you tell our superstar."
Julian stood up slowly, his gaze meeting Snape's hollow black eyes for a second.
"If two drops of lethe river water are added to a forgetfulness potion, the effect changes from 'forgetting' to 'Memory Reshaping,' Professor," Julian's voice was clear and calm.
"An excess of lethe river water causes the consumer to suffer severe hallucinations, even mistaking dreams for reality. This is used in certain Dark Arts Potions to create 'False memories'."
Snape's eyebrows twitched slightly, a hint of imperceptible appreciation flashing in his eyes.
"Correct. Five points to Slytherin." Snape turned his head back to Harry, a cruel smile curling his lips. "Did you hear that, Potter? This is why some people are geniuses, while others are just... lucky fools."
Harry sat down, his face flushed red, while Ron glared indignantly at Snape beside him.
Julian paid no heed to this; his attention was drawn to a glass jar next to the lectern.
Inside was a rare ingredient he had seen in forbidden books—Bicorn horn powder.
It was a key ingredient for making Polyjuice Potion.
And when Snape turned to write on the blackboard just now, the lid of that jar seemed... not to be tightened.
Greed is a virtue, at least in Slytherin; of course, Julianwasn't so stupid as to make a move right in front of a top-tier Wizard.
"Class dismissed."
As Snape gave the order, the tense air in the dungeon classroom seemed to snap instantly.
The Gryffindor students, as if escaping an interrogation room, scrambled to stuff their things into their bags and rushed out without even cleaning their cauldrons properly.
Ron Weasley rubbed his arm, which had been pricked by Porcupine quills, as he ran, muttering something about a "greasy old bat."
The Slytherin students were much more elegant, packing their things slowly with victorious smiles on their faces.
As Draco passed Harry's table, he deliberately bumped him hard with his shoulder and let out a sneer.
Julian didn't move. He remained seated in the front row, his quill tracing a perfect final period on the parchment.
That tempting bottle of Bicorn horn powder was less than three feet away from him, like a silent invitation.
But Julian didn't give it a second glance.
Not until only a few people were left in the classroom did he slowly stand up, straighten his unwrinkled robes, and walk toward the lectern clutching his textbook.
Snape had his back to him, his wand waving slightly, making the writing on the blackboard dissipate like smoke.
"If you are here to ask for more points, Rosier," Snapedidn't turn around, his voice low and raspy, sounding like an echo from the depths of a cellar, "then you can get out. I don't do charity."
"Points are merely placebos for the mediocre, Professor." Julian stopped at an appropriate distance, showing respect without appearing subservient. "I am not interested in those numbers. What interests me is what you just mentioned—the plasticity of memory."
Snape turned around, his black robes cutting a sharp arc through the air.
Those bottomless black eyes stared intently at Julian, as if trying to use Legilimency to flip through the boy's brain directly.
"Oh?" Snape drawled, with a hint of dangerous amusement. "Continue."
"Textbooks say that forgetfulness potion simply erases traces, like wiping words off a blackboard." Julian pointed to the now-empty blackboard.
"But that's too crude; true memories aren't chalk writing. They are flowing liquids, intertwined vines.
If lethe river water is added to the Potion, and then combined with Mandrake root extract... can we achieve more than just 'erasing,' but 'rewriting'?"
Pausing, Julian looked directly into Snape's eyes and lowered his voice: "For example, making someone firmly believe they have never seen something, or... making them fall in love with someone they should have hated."
Snape's pupils contracted slightly, and a deathly silence fell over the classroom, broken only by the gurgling sound of an unknown creature churning in a glass jar in the corner.
Chapter 30: After Class
After a long time, the usual sneer on Snape's face vanished, replaced by a cold scrutiny as if evaluating an equal.
"Dangerous thoughts, Rosier," Snape said softly, though no reproach could be heard in his tone. "This theory was classified as taboo by the Ministry of Magic a hundred years ago; they called it 'mental rape'."
"The Ministry of Magic also forbids us from using magicoutside of school, but that doesn't hinder the existence of truth," Julian countered with a smile.
Snape stared at him for a full ten seconds, then abruptly turned and strode toward the private storage shelves behind his office.
He rummaged through a pile of what looked like poisonous books for a while and pulled out a thin volume bound in a pale leather that looked like human skin, or perhaps the tenderest part of a dragon's belly.
Snape walked back and slammed the book down on the desk in front of Julian, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"This book records some... unorthodox experiments," Snape said coldly. "Don't let Filch see it, and don't let that Granger know. If you lose it, or get it dirty..."
"I will cherish it as I do my wand," Julian reached out and pressed the spine of the book, feeling the cold touch emanating from it. "Thank you, Professor."
"Get out," Snape waved his hand, turning his back again. "Before the next class, I want to see an essay on 'The Boundary Between False Memories and Real Emotions,' twelve inches. If you can't write it, give the book back to me."
"As you wish."
Julian tucked the book into his robes, performed a standard pure-blood noble's bow, and turned to walk out of the classroom.
Stepping out of the cold dungeon, the sunlight in the entrance hall seemed exceptionally piercing.
"Hey, Julian!"
Just as he turned the corner, Hermione Granger jumped out from behind a pillar.
The girl had clearly been waiting for a while, clutching her thick copy of magical theory, looking both nervous and expectant.
"Are... are you okay?" Hermione lowered her voice, looking around cautiously. "I saw everyone else leave, but you were still inside. Professor Snape didn't... didn't make things difficult for you, did he?"
"Make things difficult?" Julian raised an eyebrow, flashing a relaxed smile. "Quite the opposite, Hermione. Professor Snape is actually a very... helpful scholar, as long as you know how to ask questions."
Julian patted the hard outline of the book against his chest and gave Hermione a meaningful look.
"He gave me some 'extracurricular reading'."
Hermione's eyes lit up instantly, the instinctive reaction of a top student seeing an out-of-print book: "Really? What book is it? Can I see it?"
"Not yet," Julian shook his head, acting mysterious. "The knowledge in this book is a bit... advanced. Once I've finished digesting it, I'll pick out some suitable parts to teach you. Just like last time in the Library."
Hermione's face reddened slightly, remembering the scene where Julian held her hand to demonstrate silent Transfiguration. She bit her lip and nodded vigorously: "Okay! Then... see you in the Library tonight?"
"Of course."
...
The afternoon Transfiguration class was another performance.
Professor McGonagall although strict, was never stingy with praise for truly talented students.
While other students were sweating profusely trying to turn a match into a needle, Julian had already turned his match into an exquisite silver needle, with a tiny coiled snake even carved onto the head.
"Extremely fine control, Mr. Rosier," Professor McGonagall picked up the silver needle and examined it closely through her glasses. "It seems Slytherin has indeed welcomed a genius this year. Five points."
After the day's classes ended, Julian felt a long-lost sense of fulfillment.
This fulfillment didn't come from the increase in points, but from the thrill of being in control of everything.
Snape's approval meant he had opened a gap in Potionresources, and Professor McGonagall's appreciation was the best official protective charm.
At dinner, a giant Hagrid patted Harry on the shoulder, nearly slamming the chosen one's face into his mashed potatoes.
"Harry! And Ron!" Hagrid's booming voice made the plates on the table shake. "No classes Friday afternoon, right? Come to my place for tea! I want to hear how your first week has been."
Then, Hagrid's black beetle-like eyes looked toward the Slytherin table, specifically toward Julian.
He hesitated for a moment, seemingly in a mental struggle, but finally shouted gruffly:
"Hey! You... the kid from the House of Rosier!"
The entire Great Hall fell silent for a moment. The Slytherin students all stopped their knives and forks, looking warily at this half-giant.
"That... herbicide from last time, it worked pretty well." Hagrid rubbed his messy beard somewhat awkwardly. "If you don't mind... I mean, if you're willing, you can come along too. I've just baked some rock cakes."
Malfoy let out a sneer: "Who would want to go to that big oaf's shack to eat rocks?"
But Julian stood up and gave Hagrid a slight nod, a flawlessly polite smile on his face: "It would be an honor, Mr. Hagrid. I'll be there on time."
Hagrid froze for a moment, clearly not expecting this Slytherin to agree so readily, and to call him "Mr."
He muttered a few indistinguishable words, his face turning red to the roots of his beard, and strode out of the Great Hall.
"Are you crazy?" Draco looked at Julian in disbelief. "You're going to mix with that savage and Potter?"
"Draco," Julian sat down and cut a piece of steak, his tone casual.
"Hagrid is the gamekeeper. Do you know how many precious Potion ingredients and magical creatures are in the Forbidden Forest? That's a treasure trove that even Malfoy Manor doesn't have. Sometimes, to get the treasure, you have to learn to tolerate the gatekeeper's bad breath."
Draco opened his mouth, but finally shut it indignantly, though a trace of "I see" admiration flickered in his eyes.
After dinner, Julian didn't return to the common room. He had more important things to do.
Today was Monday, and according to his agreement with Daphne on the train, or his agreement with Hermione, or...
No, tonight he needed some time alone.
He thought of the book Snape had given him, and... the diadem sealed at the bottom of his trunk.
But just as he stepped out of the Great Hall, he was blocked by a figure.
It was Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw girl prefectand a senior he had met in the Magical Innovation Society.
She had long curly hair and eyes that were bright and confident.
"Hi, Julian," she greeted with a smile, holding a piece of parchment. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? Professor Flitwick asked me to give this to you."
"It's about the club activities. This Wednesday evening, we're having a special meeting in the Room of Requirement. The theme is 'The Fusion of Ancient Runesand Modern Spells.' I know you're interested in this."
She stepped closer, carrying a faint scent of ink.
"And... Cedric will be there too. He said he wanted to see your 'Arresto Momentum'."
Julian took the parchment, his fingers unintentionally brushing against Penelope's. The girl prefect's hand was warm, even carrying a subtle hint of probing.
"I'll be there, Senior Penelope," Julian flashed that trademark charming smile. "I'd be more than happy to discuss academics with the 'Flower of Wisdom' of Ravenclaw."
Penelope's cheeks flushed slightly, a flash of fluster in her eyes, but she quickly masked it: "That's good. See you Wednesday."
Watching Penelope's departing back, the smile on Julian's lips deepened.
The Ravenclaw prefect, the Hufflepuff seeker (Cedric), the Gryffindor top student (Hermione), and his Slytherinbase.
Chapter 31: Cultivating the Dark Witch *2
The night in the Library had a unique texture, with millions of tiny dust particles suspended in the air, dancing a silent waltz in the halo of the dim oil lamps.
This was the quietest place in Hogwarts, and aside from the Forbidden Forest, the place with the most secrets.
Julian walked through rows of towering bookshelves, the sound of his leather shoes on the stone floor silenced by a Muffling Charm, as light as a passing black cat.
He didn't need to search; the scent in the air, a mix of cheap ink and nervous sweat—Hermione Granger's signature scent—was as clear as a signpost.
In a hidden corner, out of Madam Pince's line of sight, Hermione was buried behind a stack of books as high as a city wall.
Her hair was even more disheveled than usual, clearly the result of constant scratching while deep in thought.
The quill moved rapidly in her hand as she muttered under her breath, looking as if she were performing some frantic ritual.
"'Magical Drafts and Potions' Chapter Twelve mentions that Hellebore Syrup must be brewed on the night of a full moon..." she murmured to herself, her brow furrowed, "but 'powerful potions' says..."
"Books are static, Hermione."
Julian's voice suddenly rang out above her head, causing the little Witch to jump in fright, her quill leaving a long ink streak across the parchment.
"Ju—Julian!" She looked up in a panic, her cheeks flushing crimson instantly as she scrambled to cover the ruined parchment. "W—when did you get here? I... I saved a seat for you, but..."
"Shh." Julian placed a slender finger to his lips, then elegantly pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
He didn't pay any mind to the parchment, instead placing the book Snape had given him—wrapped in pale leather—onto the table.
Though it wasn't open, the cold aura emanating from the book still made Hermione instinctively shrink back.
"Is that... the book Professor Snape gave you?" She stared at the book, her gaze a mix of fear and longing. "It looks... very ancient."
"Ancient usually means closer to the essence." Julian's fingers lightly brushed the spine of the book. "You were struggling with Hellebore Syrup just now? What books teach you are 'recipes,' a chef's cookbook. But what I want to teach you are 'principles,' a chemist's formulas."
He flipped to a page in the book, which featured a complex anatomical diagram of the human brain, densely annotated in Latin.
"Professor Snape believes that Potions are not just a mixture of substances, but an extension of the will." Julian's voice was low and magnetic, echoing in the small corner.
"Look here, Hermione. Memory isn't stored in some drawer in the cerebral cortex; it's more like a flowing liquid, a colloid. When you brew a forgetfulness potion, you aren't 'erasing' ink; you're 'diluting' this colloid."
Hermione listened intently, her eyes wide, like a parched sponge frantically absorbing water.
This theory completely overturned the rigid knowledge she had learned from textbooks, opening a door to a new world for her.
"So..." she asked cautiously, leaning forward involuntarily as the distance between them closed, "if we can control the degree of this 'dilution,' we could..."
"We could precisely edit memories." Julian finished her sentence with a smile, leaning forward slightly as his amber eyes locked onto her gaze.
"Just like editing film. You can cut out fear and leave courage; cut out doubt and leave loyalty."
When he said the word "loyalty," there was a subtle emphasis in his tone.
Hermione didn't seem to notice the deeper meaning, completely immersed in academic fervor: "That's incredible! But it would require immense mental control, wouldn't it? Like... Occlumency?"
"Clever girl." Julian nodded in approval, and the sincere praise made the tips of Hermione's ears turn bright red.
"While we can't touch such advanced magic yet, I can teach you a simplified 'Mind Palace' construction method. It will help you organize that cluttered knowledge and keep your brain as orderly as a Library."
For the next hour, only whispers and the scratching of a quill remained in the corner.
Julian didn't teach the Dark Arts directly; that would be foolish.
He skillfully packaged the dark theories of 'Mental Intrusion' and 'Will Deprivation' from Snape's notes as 'efficient memory methods' and 'focus training.'
Julian was like a patient gardener, pruning Hermione, this wildly growing vine, and guiding it to wind around himself as the supporting pillar.
Whenever Hermione encountered an obscure or difficult point, Julian would stand up and walk behind her.
Leaning down, he would brace one hand on the table while the other reached over her shoulder to point at the diagrams in the book.
"Relax, Hermione." His breath lightly brushed her ear, carrying a faint scent of mint. "Don't try to 'grasp' the concept; let it flow through your consciousness. Like water through your fingers."
Hermione's whole body was stiff, and she even held her breath. The boy's body heat radiated through his thin robes, creating a strange atmosphere where pressure and security coexisted, leaving her mind blank yet exceptionally clear.
She could feel Julian's arm almost touching her cheek, and that trace of contact made her heart flutter more than a direct embrace would have.
"I... I understand," she stammered, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum.
"Very good." Julian straightened up, looking with satisfaction at her flushed face and the parchment covered in notes. "You are more talented than I imagined, Hermione. Gryffindor doesn't deserve your intellect."
These words were like a seed, buried deep in Hermione's heart.
Just then, the light of a lantern pierced the darkness of the corner.
"The Library is closing!" Madam Pince's vulture-like face appeared behind the bookshelf, brandishing a feather duster.
"Look at the time! If you don't want to be caught by Filchand hung from the ceiling, get out right now!"
"We're leaving now, Madam." Julian calmly closed the book and helped Hermione pack up her scattered stationery. "We just got too absorbed."
When they walked out of the Library, the corridor was empty. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows onto the floor, stretching their shadows long.
"Thank you, Julian." When they parted at the stairs, Hermione clutched the books in her arms tightly, a certain resolute light flickering in her eyes. "No one has ever... taught me like you have. They just think I'm a bookworm."
"Then they are blind." Julian reached out and naturally tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. This intimate gesture caused Hermione's brain to completely short-circuit.
"Remember what you learned tonight, Hermione. Wisdom is power, but the one who controls that wisdom is the ruler. Goodnight."
Watching Hermione's back as she ran up toward Gryffindor Tower like a startled rabbit, the tenderness at the corners of Julian's mouth vanished instantly, replaced by cold calculation.
The seed has been planted; now, he only needs to wait for it to sprout.