Chapter 378 - Ch: 32-42

Chapter 32: The Society's Second Meeting

Tuesday was uneventful.

In Herbology Class, Professor Sprout had everyone repot Mandrake seedlings that would scream.

Although Julian didn't like getting dirt on his gloves, his precise technique still earned Slytherin five points.

Professor Binns' History of Magic remained the best time to catch up on sleep.

Throughout the day, Julian could feel a subtle change in the atmosphere around him.

Malfoy was no longer like a fighting cock ready to provoke at any moment, but instead began trying to "blend into" Julian's circle in an awkward way—for instance, by pretending to unintentionally share high-end desserts sent from home.

Students from other houses, especially Ravenclaw, looked at Julian with an added sense of scrutiny and awe.

That Slytherin freshman who "could get private lessons from Professor Snape," "saved Longbottom," and "could even chat and laugh with the Gryffindor know-it-all" had already become the most mysterious legend among the Hogwarts first-years.

Time slipped through his fingers like sand, and in the blink of an eye, it was Wednesday evening.

After dinner, Julian declined Daphne's invitation to walk by the Black Lake (which made the young girl stomp her feet in a huff) and headed alone to the eighth floor.

The Room of Requirement.

When he walked past that stretch of wall three times, silently chanting "I need a place for magical discussion" in his mind, a mahogany door carved with owl and raven patterns slowly emerged.

Pushing the door open, the scene inside made Julian raise an eyebrow slightly.

It was no longer the junk-filled storage room, but a spacious, bright circular hall filled with an academic atmosphere. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, with several comfortable armchairs and long tables in the middle, and a fire burning brightly in the fireplace.

At this time, more than a dozen people had already gathered in the hall.

Most were upper-year Ravenclaws, but there were also a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

Penelope Clearwater was standing by a table, discussing something with several students. Seeing Julian enter, she immediately came forward to greet him with a pleasantly surprised smile.

"You're here, Julian!"

This greeting caused all eyes in the room to focus on the doorway.

One gaze was particularly noticeable; Cedric Diggory was leaning by the fireplace, playing with his wand, and raised his hand in a friendly gesture when he saw Julian.

"Hey, the genius who knows Non-verbal Spells in first year." Cedric walked over with a smile and extended his hand. "Penelope has been praising you to the heavens, saying you're a Ravenclaw in Slytherin."

"You flatter me." Julian shook his hand with moderate strength. "I'm just a first-year who likes reading books, Senior Diggory."

"Don't be modest." Penelope interjected with a laugh. "Today's topic is 'The Integration of Ancient Runes and Modern Spells.' I know you've studied Runic Script, Julian. Want to show us something?"

Julian looked around; everyone here was the elite of their respective houses—future prefects, Head Boys, or mainstays of the Ministry of Magic.

This wasn't just a society; it was a natural talent pool. Facing Penelope's suggestion, Julian had no intention of backing down.

Taking a deep breath, Julian stepped forward slowly.

The air inside the Room of Requirement seemed to freeze.

The fire in the fireplace crackled, but this tiny sound seemed exceptionally piercing at this moment.

Over a dozen pairs of eyes—representing the top brains of Hogwarts—were now focused on the two people in the center of the room.

...

"That can't possibly work, Rosier."

The speaker was a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy, Roger Davies; he had his arms crossed, brow furrowed, his tone carrying the arrogance and skepticism typical of upper-year students.

"The reason 'Standard Book of Spells' is standard is that they have been optimized over centuries. Trying to forcibly embed syllables or trajectories of Ancient Runes into a basic spell like 'Expelliarmus' will only lead to magical backlash and break your wrist."

"Optimization often means compromise, Senior Davies."

Julian stood in the center of the area, his expression as composed as if he were taking a stroll in his own backyard.

He gently rolled up his sleeves, revealing slender, pale wrists. That ebony wand spun nimbly between his fingers like a tamed black snake.

"Modern charms pursue 'convenience' and'safety.' To allow even Wizards of mediocre talent to cast them, our ancestors removed the sharp, aggressive parts of ancient magic."

Julian's voice wasn't loud, yet it possessed a strange penetrating power. "But I thought the purpose of the Magical Innovation Society was 'inquiry' rather than 'recitation'."

He turned around, his gaze falling on the handsome Hufflepuff who had been standing by, watching with a smile.

"Senior Diggory, would you mind helping me verify this?"

Cedric Diggory was taken aback for a moment, then laughed heartily, strode into the center of the area, and drew his wand.

It was a twelve-and-a-quarter-inch wand, ash wood, with a Unicorn hair core, just as upright and resilient as its owner.

"It would be an honor, Julian." Cedric took a standard dueling stance, his eyes becoming focused. "Though I also think Roger has a point, I'm curious to see what you'll do. Come on, don't hold back."

"Watch out."

Julian didn't count down.

The moment the words left his mouth, his wand snapped forward.

This was by no means the standard "swish and flick" from the textbooks.

Julian's wrist twisted at an extremely eerie angle, and the tip of his wand traced a sharp, jagged line in the air—it was an inverted "Algiz" rune, symbolizing defense and reflection.

At the same time, the incantation he uttered underwent a subtle change.

The originally smooth "Expelliarmus" was chanted by him in a hurried and sharp manner, interspersed with an ancient and unfamiliar plosive sound.

"Expel-AZ-iarmus!"

A beam of light that was no longer purely red burst forth. The light was streaked with pale electric arcs, like a roaring thunder dragon, instantly tearing through the ten-foot distance between the two.

Cedric's pupils constricted. As an excellent Seeker, his dynamic vision was superb, and he instinctively wanted to cast the Shield Charm.

But he was too slow.

Or rather, Julian's spell was too fast.

"Bang!"

A dull explosion sounded. Cedric's ash wand wasn't just knocked away; it was as if it had been slapped hard by an invisible giant hand, spinning up toward the ceiling and finally getting stuck in a gap of the crystal chandelier.

But that wasn't the end.

Cedric stumbled back two steps. He looked at his right hand in horror—it was currently showing an abnormal grayish-white color, his five fingers spread stiffly and still trembling slightly.

He tried to mobilize the magic within his body to alleviate this numbness, only to find that his magic seemed to have hit an invisible wall, completely unable to flow into his arm.

Dead silence.

Full of dead silence.

Roger Davies' mouth hung open, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor. The quill in Penelope Clearwater's hand slipped, leaving a blot of ink on the parchment.

"This... this is..." Cedric shook his hand, the numbness slowly fading. He looked up, his eyes filled not with anger, but with pure shock.

"My magic... was blocked? For about three seconds?"

"To be precise, 2.8 seconds." Julian stowed his wand and bowed elegantly to Cedric.

"I integrated an inverted variant of 'Algiz' into the spell. It doesn't just disarm; it severs the 'connection' between the weapon and its owner—both physically and magically."

"Brilliant!"

"Merlin's beard!" Penelope was the first to react, clapping her hands excitedly, not even bothering to pick up the pen from the floor.

"This is simply a genius concept! Blocking magic while disarming means that in actual combat, the opponent can't even use wandless magic for several seconds after losing their wand! It's a finishing move!"

Applause erupted like a tide.

Those upper-year students who originally had doubts about this first-year now looked at Julian with completely different eyes.

It was the look one gave a peer, or even a superior. At Hogwarts, strength was the hardest currency, and intellect was the most charming halo.

"It seems I didn't lose unfairly." Cedric recalled his wand with Accio, then walked over and sincerely patted Julian's shoulder.

"You really are amazing, Julian. If you were in Hufflepuff, our House Cup would be a sure thing this year."

"Slytherin needs a bit of glory too, isn't it?" Julian replied with a smile, subtly narrowing the distance with this future champion.

On the edge of the crowd, a girl with smooth black hair and an Asian face was hiding behind Penelope, her bright eyes fixed on Julian, her cheeks slightly flushed.

That was Cho Chang. At this time, she was just a second-year girl, clearly struck in her young heart by that scene full of power and beauty.

The next half hour became Julian's personal show.

He didn't demonstrate any more magic but sat in an armchair by the fireplace, calmly answering the upper-year students' questions about Ancient Runes.

He cited classics, spoke elegantly, and occasionally interspersed a few humorous dry jokes, playing the persona of "erudite without being pedantic, noble without being arrogant" to the fullest.

When the activity ended and everyone left the Room of Requirement one after another, Julian's pocket held several more pieces of parchment with names and contact information—the first step in building his network.

Chapter 33: Flirting

It was already eleven o'clock at night when he returned to the Slytherin common room.

The air in the dungeon remained damp and cold, with the green light reflecting the ripples from the bottom of the Black Lake.

Most students had already returned to their dormitories to rest; only a few people were still sitting in front of the fireplace.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the sofa, wand in hand, gesturing at the air.

"Swish... and then a sharp turn..." he muttered, his movements as stiff as if he were directing traffic. "Damn it, why is it so awkward..."

Hearing footsteps, Draco whipped his head around. Seeing it was Julian, he immediately hid his wand behind his back, a flash of embarrassment at being caught crossing his face.

"Not asleep yet, Draco?" Julian untied his tie and tossed it casually over the back of the sofa, acting as if he hadn't seen the previous scene. "What are you practicing? If you're trying to turn Neville Longbottom into a toad, I suggest you relax your wrist a bit first."

"Who—who's practicing!" Draco's face flushed red as he stiffened his neck and said, "I was just... checking if my wand was bent! And you, why are you back so late?"

Julian walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of ice water. Though he would have preferred a Firewhisky, his physical age wouldn't allow it. "I went to give the upper-year students of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff a lesson."

He turned around, raising his glass and looking at Dracothrough the crystal-clear glass.

"Draco, do you know why the House of Malfoy has stood tall for so long?"

Draco paused for a moment, subconsciously puffing out his chest. "Because we are pure-bloods! Noble, wealthy, and—"

"Because we judge the situation," Julian interrupted, his tone calm yet indisputable. "Pure blood is an honor, but it's not a protective charm. If you want people to fear and respect you, your father's name alone isn't enough. You have to let them see that the wand in your hand is faster and more ruthless than theirs."

Julian walked over and patted Draco lightly on the shoulder as he passed him.

"There's a Flying Class tomorrow afternoon. If I were you, I'd find a way to beat Potter on a broomstick rather than with words. Goodnight."

Leaving a thoughtful Draco behind, Julian headed toward the dormitory.

Pushing open the door, he saw Theodore Nott leaning against the headboard reading a book—a thick tome on curses and counter-curses.

Seeing Julian enter, he closed the book, a hint of inquiry flashing in his cold eyes.

"The magic fluctuations around you are quite active," Theodore said flatly. "It seems someone was unlucky tonight?"

"Just a sparring session," Julian said, taking off his robes to reveal the exquisite silk shirt underneath.

"By the way, Theodore, regarding the 'Fiendfyre' we mentioned last time... I found some interesting control circuits in Professor Snape's notes. Perhaps we could give them a try."

Theodore's eyes lit up instantly. The fanaticism for the Dark Arts made his whole being seem a bit more vivid.

"I'm ready."

Julian lay on the soft four-poster bed and pulled the green velvet curtains shut.

It had been a long day, but a fruitful one: Hermione's loyalty, Snape's appreciation, the club's prestige, and his control within Slytherin.

Everything was proceeding according to the script.

Hogwarts in the early morning was shrouded in a thin layer of dawn light, the air filled with the fragrance of earth and herbs.

Following the rhythm of the revolving stairs, Julianavoided several trick steps and climbed up to the Owleryalone.

It was very windy here. Hundreds of owls perched on the rafters, occasionally letting out low hoots.

Julian held an urgent letter in his hand, addressed to the Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley, London.

He needed some special solvents to clean the grime off Ravenclaw's diadem—specifically, the kind that could neutralize Dark Arts residue.

"Hey, little guy, don't move."

A gentle voice came from behind a pile of hay.

Julian turned his head and saw Cho Chang standing on her tiptoes, trying to put a grayish-brown owl back into its high nest.

Today, she wore Ravenclaw's blue-and-silver robes. Her long hair was a bit messy from the wind, with a few strands sticking to her fair cheeks, making her look exceptionally delicate.

"Need some help, Miss Chang?" Julian walked over. With a gentle flick of his wand, a soft force supported the struggling owl and steadily sent it back into its wooden cubby.

Cho Chang was startled. Seeing it was Julian, a flash of surprise and shyness immediately crossed her eyes.

Brushing the feathers off her hands, she smiled a bit awkwardly. "Thank you, Rosier. I... I didn't notice anyone come in. Are you here to send a letter too?"

"Just letting my family know I'm safe," Julian lied without blinking. He walked to Cho Chang's side and leaned against the stone window, letting the morning breeze ruffle his pale blond hair.

"Last night at the club, I didn't seem to have the chance to formally greet you. Senior Penelope mentioned you; she said you're Ravenclaw's most talented seeker."

"She's exaggerating. I'm still practicing," Cho Changlowered her head, her fingers twisting the edge of her robes, her voice as thin as a mosquito's hum.

"That spell of yours last night... it was truly impressive. Cedric was still talking about it after returning to the common room, saying your use of Runic Script is practically an art form."

"magic itself is an art; most people just treat it as a tool." Julian turned his head, his eyes possessing a nearly transparent quality in the sunlight. He gazed at Cho Chang, his tone gentle with a hint of casual flirtation.

"If you're interested, I can explain that part of the trajectory in detail at the next meeting. However, in exchange, perhaps you could teach me how to keep my balance on a broomstick? I don't have much talent in that area."

Cho Chang burst into laughter, much of her original tension dissipating.

She looked up, bravely meeting Julian's gaze. "Deal. But if the Slytherin captain finds out you're getting tutoring from a Ravenclaw, he might go crazy."

The two talked for a while in the morning breeze until the bell for the Great Hall rang.

Julian bid her a polite farewell, leaving Cho Changstanding alone in the Owlery, staring blankly at his retreating back.

Ten o'clock in the morning, Transfiguration classroom.

This class was shared by Slytherin and Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, looking stern, her pointed Wizard's hat appearing particularly majestic.

"Today, we will be learning Beginner Biological Transformation," Professor McGonagall tapped the blackboard.

"Turning inanimate objects into living beings requires great imagination and an understanding of the essence of life. You each have a teapot in front of you; I require you to turn it into a Tortoise."

The classroom was soon filled with the sounds of spells being cast one after another.

Harry was poking his teapot while sweating profusely. As a result, the spout only grew longer, making it look like a deformed elephant's trunk.

Ron's situation was even worse; his wand emitted a puff of foul-smelling smoke, and the teapot actually grew a pair of furry ears.

On the other side of the classroom, Hermione Granger's small face was tense as her wand moved with precision.

Her teapot had already sprouted four legs and a small head, but the shell still retained the blue-and-white porcelain patterns.

"Well done, Miss Granger. Two points." Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and looked toward Julian with a bit of pride. However, when she saw what was on Julian's desk, her pride instantly froze.

Julian was nonchalantly playing with a Galleon in his hand. On the table before him, a dark green Tortoise with a heavy shell was slowly crawling toward the edge.

Most amazingly, the Tortoise's shell didn't have messy patterns; instead, natural bony protrusions formed an exquisite crest—the coat of arms of the Rosier Family.

"Merlin's beard..." Professor McGonagall walked over quickly, bending down to examine the Tortoise closely. "Not just a complete transformation, but even a morphological reshaping? Mr. Rosier, you've even given it some... lineage traits?"

"I just felt that since I'm creating life, I should give it a sense of belonging, Professor," Julian smiled modestly.

"Ten points to Slytherin!" Professor McGonagallstraightened up and announced loudly.

"Furthermore, in light of Mr. Julian Rosier's outstanding performance in Transfiguration, I have decided to appoint him as the first-year Transfiguration Class Representative. If you encounter difficulties in your practice, besides asking me, you may also consult Mr. Rosier."

A wave of gasps erupted in the classroom. The Slytherinstudents looked proud, while the Gryffindors were filled with lament.

Hermione bit her lip, staring fixedly at the Tortoise with the family crest. She had always thought she could stand on equal footing with Julian academically, but now, it seemed the gap was growing wider and wider.

Just then, the Tortoise suddenly sped up, crawled onto Hermione's parchment, and then... under everyone's gaze, it retracted its head and spat out a small red rose created with Transfiguration from its shell.

"Pfft—"

A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the classroom.

Hermione was stunned. She looked at the red rose and then at Julian, who was winking at her, silently mouthing two words: "Dummy."

"Mr. Rosier! Do not tease your excellent classmates in my class!" Although Professor McGonagall was scolding him, there was a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. "Though the texture of that rose is very realistic... two more points."

Hermione's face instantly turned red down to her neck. She grabbed the rose, stuffed it into her bag, and didn't dare look at Julian again. However, her hands twisting together under the table betrayed the intense turmoil in her heart.

Chapter 34: Meeting Blanche Again

The bell rang, signaling the end of class.

"Julian, you're a genius!" Draco walked over, his tone tinged with a hint of jealousy but mostly filled with admiration.

"Did you see Potter's face? It looked like he'd swallowed a fly. By the way, are you really not planning to show off during Flying Class this afternoon?"

"I told you, Draco, I'm just an ordinary student." Julianpacked his textbooks, his gaze sweeping over Hermioneas she hurried out of the classroom. "We'll see about this afternoon. Right now, I have to deal with the 'aftermath of my rose'."

He stepped quickly out of the classroom and intercepted Hermione at the corner of the corridor.

"Hey, Miss Granger, why the rush?" Julian leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking at her with a lazy smile.

"I—I'm going to the Library!" Hermione clutched her bag tightly, looking like a ruffled kitten. "What you did just now was too much! The whole class was laughing!"

"Laughing? I thought it was praise." Julian took a step closer, looking down at her. "Or do you not like that rose? If you don't, I'll turn it into a slug right now."

"Don't you dare!" Hermione instinctively protected her bag, then realizing her slip, she glared at him crossly. "Julian Rosier, what exactly are you trying to do? You could clearly have done better, why did you deliberately..."

"Because watching you get angry is much more interesting than watching you recite books." Julianreached out and gently pinched her puffed-up cheek.

"Remember to stay away from Potter during Flying Classthis afternoon. His reckless nature will hurt someone eventually."

Hermione froze, and before she could retort, Julian had already turned and walked away.

He had someone else to meet.

At the entrance of the Trophy Room on the second floor, he saw Filch cleaning, and Blanche, hidden in the shadows, casting a spell on a statue.

Julian couldn't help but frown. Why was this woman here?

The corridor outside the Trophy Room was dimly lit, and the portraits of past Principals on the walls were letting out faint snores.

Julian walked unhurriedly toward the figure fumbling with the base of the statue, his leather shoes making only the slightest sound on the stone floor.

Blanche's body stiffened visibly; her cat-like ears seemed to catch the subtle vibrations in the air.

"If I recall correctly, today should be a business day for the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley." Julian stopped five paces away from her, his hands elegantly folded in front of him, his amber eyes full of playfulness.

"Miss Blanche, what kind of 'big business' could bring a shopkeeper who never wakes up early to deign to crawl into the Hogwarts Trophy Room?"

Blanche spun around, her ink-black hair flying.

She was wearing a deep purple, tight-fitting Wizard's robe today, which made her figure look even more petite and delicate. Seeing it was Julian, the panic in her eyes was quickly replaced by a practiced shrewdness.

"Oh, look who it is, our noble young Mr. Rosier." Blancheraised an eyebrow and gave a sweet smile that was as fake as could be, her voice dripping with irony.

"What, after becoming the Transfiguration class representative, do you have to personally handle drudgery like patrolling the school?"

"I'm just looking for some... lost family glory." Juliansmiled and took a step forward, closing in on her personal space.

"As for you, Blanche, the House of Rosier intelligence network tells me that an Animagus looking remarkably like a black-and-white calico cat has been frequently visiting Knockturn Alley lately, trying to find news about the 'Relics of the Four Founders'."

Julian stared into Blanche's eyes and said, "Tell me, what if I gave this information to Filch, or perhaps the more rigorous Professor McGonagall..."

Blanche's face turned pale instantly, and her feigned composure shattered.

She instinctively backed up, her back hitting the cold trophy cabinet with a sharp clink.

"You... you actually investigated me?" She gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with irritability and unease. "Julian Rosier, you insidious little venomous snake!"

"Investigation is only for better cooperation." Julianreached out and propped his hand against the cabinet, trapping her in the shadows, his voice low.

"I don't care what you want to steal. I can even help you, but on the condition that you understand who your most reliable ally is at Hogwarts."

Blanche stared intently at Julian, her chest heaving.

Looking at the boy's face so close to her, she suddenly realized that this eleven-year-old boy's mind was far more terrifying than those of adult Wizards.

"What do you want?" Blanche finally softened, her tone carrying a hint of self-abandoning despondency. "Let's get this straight, I don't have any money for you."

"I don't need money, Blanche." Julian reached out and naturally adjusted the crooked brooch on her collar, his fingertips brushing against her face, causing her to shiver slightly.

"I want you to be my eyes. Outside the school, in Knockturn Alley, and even in those unknown corners."

"In exchange, I will allow you to stay in this Castle as a 'pet' and provide you with necessary protection. After all... an ownerless, unregistered Animagus is worth quite a bounty in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic."

Blanche gave a resentful huff, but her eyes involuntarily dodged his. "Deal... you demon."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Blanche." Julianstraightened up and gave an elegant bow. "Now, I think you can change back into that charming cat."

...

Two o'clock in the afternoon, the Quidditch Pitch.

The sunlight was somewhat blindingly bright, and a breeze blew across the lawn, bringing the scent of fresh grass.

Twenty broomsticks were laid out neatly on the ground; they were the old 'Cleansweep Sevens' provided by the school, their wooden handles covered in the scratches of time.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor students were lined up in two rows.

Harry Potter was staring nervously at the broom on the ground, his palms sweaty, while Draco Malfoy was nearby loudly mocking Neville Longbottom's round figure.

"All right, everyone stand to the left of your broomstick!" Madam Hooch strode over, her yellow, hawk-like eyes scanning the field. "Extend your right hand over the broom and say: 'Up!'"

"Up!"

A chorus of disorganized shouts rang out across the pitch.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand immediately, bringing a surprised smile to his face; Draco's broom was equally obedient.

Over on Julian's side, he didn't even shout. He just calmly gazed at the wooden handle at his feet, his fingers slightly spread, and spoke a command in his mind.

"Up."

The broom rose as if pulled by some magnetic force, ascending with extreme stability and fitting precisely into his palm without even a tremor.

"Very good, Mr. Rosier, perfect control of will." Madam Hooch nodded approvingly.

In the ensuing practice, Neville, as in the original events, took off early due to nervousness. His broom was like a wild horse, darting frantically through the air.

"Help! I can't stop!" Neville screamed, hanging onto the broom, teetering precariously.

"Longbottom! Come down!" Madam Hooch shouted anxiously, but she hadn't had time to mount her own broom yet.

Just a second before Harry Potter was about to rush out, a green-clad figure had already taken to the air.

Julian didn't charge blindly like Harry; he gripped the broom tightly with his legs and leaned forward, almost merging into one with the wooden handle.

"Give me your hand, Neville!"

Julian's voice remained steady and powerful even in the wind.

At the moment they were about to crash into the tower, he controlled his broom with one hand and reached out with the other, firmly grabbing Neville's collar.

Simultaneously, he secretly cast a non-verbal Arresto Momentum.

The violently shaking broom instantly became docile.

Julian brought Neville down in a beautiful spiraling descent, landing steadily in front of Madam Hooch.

The entire field was silent.

Harry's outstretched hand froze in mid-air, his eyes full of astonishment.

Draco whistled excitedly. "Nicely done, Julian! You're more professional than a pro player!"

"Mr. Rosier..." Madam Hooch hurried over, checked on the fainted Neville, and then looked at Julian with an expression bordering on awe.

"Another textbook rescue. Not just the flying technique, but the calmness and decisiveness you displayed... Twenty points to Slytherin!"

Julian hopped off his broom, tidied his slightly messy robes as if nothing had happened, and turned to look at Harry nearby, offering a warm smile.

"Potter, next time you want to save someone, remember to keep your feet steady on the footrests first."

Harry's face turned beet red; he felt an unprecedented sense of frustration.

The highlight moment that should have been his had been completely stolen by this almost perfectly elegant Slytherin.

Just then, Julian felt something brush against his pant leg.

Chapter 35: Plundering the diadem

Looking down, a black-and-white calico cat was crouching at his feet. Its golden vertical pupils were full of disdain, yet its tail hooked around his ankle in a fawning manner.

"It seems our audience is satisfied," Julian chuckled inwardly.

As evening fell, the Great Hall was brilliantly lit.

Julian sat at the Slytherin table, elegantly slicing his steak.

Theodore leaned in and whispered, "On the way back just now, I noticed Professor Quirrell sneaking off toward the Forbidden Forest. Should we..."

Before Julian could answer, the black-and-white cat suddenly crawled out from under the table and jumped onto Julian's lap. From an angle where no one was looking, it used its claws to scratch a few letters into Julian's palm:

"FOREST. BLOOD. Quirrell."

Julian's gaze narrowed slightly. It seemed Blanche was even more useful than he had imagined.

Although he already knew this information, with the addition of a 'butterfly' like himself, who knew if the plot would change? In this magic world full of crises, he didn't dare to gamble.

In the Slytherin boys' dormitory.

Silvery moonlight filtered through the waters of the Black Lake, refracting into cold spots of light that flowed slowly across the ceiling.

Theodore Nott was already breathing steadily in sleep, but Julian remained sitting cross-legged on his bed, the heavy book "The Gambit of Mind and Liquid" spread across his knees.

Before him, the diadem inlaid with a massive blue gemstone floated quietly in mid-air.

If one ignored that nauseatingly cold aura, it was truly the most perfect work of art in the world.

Julian extended a slender finger, his tip only half an inch from the sapphire. He could feel a faint static in the air—the remnant soul fragment inside the diadem radiating temptation outward.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure..."

An ethereal, overlapping voice echoed in his mind, carrying an almost irresistible sense of benevolence and majesty.

"Indeed," Julian whispered, his lips curling into a cold arc. "But if wisdom is tainted by greed and betrayal, it is merely the lowest form of poison."

Julian abruptly closed his eyes.

In that instant, Julian's mental power acted like a sharp needle, stabbing ruthlessly into the core of the diadem.

"Vroom—!"

The world before his eyes collapsed instantly.

Julian found himself standing upon a boundless wasteland. Dark green mist swirled in the sky, and countless shrill wails echoed in his ears.

Those were the grudges of the victims murdered by Lord Voldemort when he created the Horcrux.

"Lowly brat... how dare you..."

A blurry figure coalesced from the mist. It had no facial features, only a pair of blood-red eyes that flickered incessantly—the most primitive malice left behind by Tom Riddle when he split his soul.

"You don't look very elegant right now, Tom." Julian stood his ground, his amber eyes staring directly into the pair of blood-red ones.

He knew this was just a fragment. It had no complete memories, no complex logic; it had only instinct.

It was attempting to tear through Julian's mental defenses using fear, seeking to occupy this gifted physical vessel.

The mass of black mist roared and charged, transforming into countless hideous venomous snakes that coiled around Julian's limbs.

Coldness, despair, and agony—these negative emotions flooded into his brain like a tide.

Julian felt his breathing become difficult, as if countless ants were gnawing at his skin.

"Is this all you've got?"

Julian let out a low chuckle.

Between the complex human power plays he had experienced in his past life and the rigorous training as the heir of the Rosier Family in this life, his soul strength was exceptionally high. This was exactly why he dared to keep 'courting death'.

Julian began to construct a defensive array in his mind—a variation of the Occlumency mentioned in Snape's notes.

No matter how the black mist washed over it, his soul remained as immovable as a mountain. Not only that, he began to counterattack.

Julian mobilized the pure magic within him, which carried the rhythm of Ancient Runes, and thrust it like a burning torch directly into the center of the black mist.

"Algiz!"

The rune of protection exploded within the mental world.

The mass of black mist let out a piercing scream and shriveled rapidly as if burned by a branding iron. Julianseized the opportunity to reach out and grab fiercely into the void of the mist.

Julian began his own plunder.

He plundered insights regarding the essence of magicthat originally belonged to Ravenclaw—though they were only fragments, and though they were mixed with evil memories.

But for the current him, this was the best nourishment.

He was not the Boy Who Lived, nor was he the protagonist. He didn't have Harry's incredible luck. If he wanted to survive the future, he had to seize every opportunity to improve.

...

"Huff... huff..."

Julian snapped his eyes open, gasping for air.

Sweat had soaked through his shirt, feeling chilly against his back.

The diadem before him had lost its luster, falling back onto the velvet cushion, looking dull and ordinary.

He felt new things in his mind—advanced Transfigurationtheories regarding 'Molecular Restructuring' and several long-lost ancient spells.

Though not much, it was enough to let him take a giant leap forward on the paths of Transfiguration and Runic Script.

More importantly, his magic had become more condensed.

If his magic had been a clear spring before, now that spring carried a hint of a heavy, abyssal hue.

"You're not dead yet; that surprises me."

Theodore's voice suddenly came from the neighboring bed.

Julian turned his head to see Theodore sitting up, toying with a withered leaf, his eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the darkness.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Theodore," Julian said, casually wiping the sweat from his forehead. His voice remained steady, albeit slightly raspy.

"This thing is weaker than I thought. It's just a prisoner in a cage now, and I... am the one holding the key."

"Those who toy with souls will eventually be toyed with by them." Theodore jumped off the bed, walked over to Julian, and looked down at the diadem.

"There are many legends about the Dark Arts in SlytherinHouse, but no one has ever dared to try and analyze 'that man's' things in their first year like you."

"Because they fear failure, whereas I only care about results." Julian stood up and walked to the window, watching the shadow of the giant squid swim past in the Black Lake.

"Theodore, you must understand that power itself has no attributes. Only the weak label it as 'dark' or 'light'. As long as it achieves the goal, even a soul fragment can be a stepping stone."

Theodore was silent for a long time before finally revealing a stiff smile.

"Perhaps you're right. So, our 'Fiendfyre' plan..."

"Next weekend." Julian turned around, his eyes flashing with the light of ambition. "Before then, I need you to do something for me. Use your family's influence on the Board of Governors to investigate the whereabouts of the 'Unicorn Potion' recently purchased by the school."

"No problem." Theodore nodded and turned back to his bed.

Julian sat back down on his bed. He felt the black-and-white cat quietly crawling into his covers, its warm little body pressing against his thigh as it let out a comfortable purr.

He reached out and stroked Blanche's soft fur.

"Blanche, if you dare to tell anyone what you saw tonight..."

The kitten's body stiffened for a moment, then it fawningly licked his finger and let out a delicate meow.

"Good girl."

Julian closed his eyes and entered a deep state of meditation.

The next morning.

When Julian appeared in the Great Hall, almost all eyes were focused on him.

Not just because of his heroic performance yesterday, but also because of the distinctly different aura he displayed today.

If yesterday he was a magnificent decorative sword, today he was like a famous blade freshly quenched from the forge—elegant, yet possessing a chilling edge.

"Julian! Over here!"

Draco waved excitedly. He looked radiant today, clearly having taken Julian's advice to heart.

"Marcus just came to find me," Draco whispered, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

"He said he saw your flight yesterday and thinks very highly of you. He wants to invite you to the team tryouts this afternoon—as a candidate for a starting Chaser!"

"Chaser?" Julian raised an eyebrow, elegantly spreading jam on his bread. "I thought he'd want me as a seeker."

"The seeker position is currently held by Higgs, but Marcus said if you can show that kind of speed from yesterday, he's willing to adjust the formation." Dracorubbed his hands together somewhat sheepishly. "And... he also agreed to let me try out for a reserve spot."

"It seems your father's sponsorship fees are working, Draco," Julian teased, then looked toward the Gryffindortable.

Harry was looking down while eating porridge, while Hermione was rapidly flipping through a book. She occasionally looked up at Julian with a gaze full of inquiry and a hint of... a dependency she hadn't even noticed herself.

"For the tryouts this afternoon, I will..." Julian took a sip of black tea, his gaze profound.

Just then, an owl landed in front of Julian with a letter tied to its leg that carried a faint scent of perfume.

It was from Penelope Clearwater.

The letter contained only one sentence: "Eight o'clock tonight, Trophy Room. I want to talk to you about the advanced application of 'Runic Arrays'. — P.C."

Chapter 36: Penelope

A meaningful smile played across Julian's lips.

It seemed that the upper-year senior sisters were also starting to get restless.

The night was as dark as ink, and the corridors of Hogwarts were filled with the scent of old wax and the chill of stone.

The rain outside finally began to fall, pitter-pattering against the stained glass, wrapping the entire Castle in a damp and private atmosphere.

Julian didn't bring a lamp; his eyes adjusted perfectly to the darkness—or rather, ever since coming into contact with that diadem, the darkness was no longer an obstacle for him.

He wore a well-tailored black silk shirt, the collar slightly open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the smooth lines of his forearms.

His ebony wand was tucked casually into his waistband, swaying gently with his steps.

The door to the Trophy Room on the fourth floor was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm yellow light glowing from within.

Julian pushed the door open, met by the scent of metal polish and the dust of history.

Inside the crystal display cases, countless gold and silver trophies shimmered under the candlelight, reflecting blurred spots of light.

At the end of the room, a figure stood with her back to the door, staring at the Special Award for Merit belonging to 'Tom Riddle.'

Penelope Clearwater.

She wasn't wearing school robes today; instead, she had changed into a form-fitting dark blue long dress, the hem swaying gently with her movements. Her long, curly hair was carefully pinned up, revealing her long, fair neck.

Hearing the door, she spun around abruptly, her face showing a hint of panic at being caught, but upon seeing it was Julian, that panic instantly transformed into a mix of pleasant surprise and a faint blush.

"You came," Penelope's voice was a bit tight, and she subconsciously smoothed her dress. "I thought... you didn't go to the Quidditch tryouts this afternoon because you were sick, or had some urgent business."

"I did have urgent business, though it wasn't illness." Julian closed the door behind him and casually cast a silent 'Muffliato' charm.

Stepping slowly toward Penelope, "For the mediocre, Quidditch is a stage to show themselves off." Julianstopped in front of her, his gaze sweeping over the medal behind her before settling on her bright eyes, a playful smile curving his lips.

"But for us, Penelope, exploring the truths of magic is far more meaningful than chasing a golden ball on a broomstick, isn't it?"

Penelope's breath hitched slightly.

"Us...?" She chewed on the word, a strange light flashing in her eyes.

"Yes, you're right. That Runic Script formation you showed at the club the other day—I went back and checked all the materials, even scoured the Ravenclawlibrary section, but found very few similar records. It was too... too perfect, almost like a natural extension of Ancient Runes."

"Because it doesn't exist in current textbooks," Julian said softly.

He walked to a display case, his fingers lightly sliding across the glass surface.

"Current Runic Script teaching focuses too much on 'translation' and ignores 'resonance'." Julian turned around and reached out to Penelope. "Come, give me your hand."

Penelope hesitated for a moment but obediently extended her right hand. Her fingers were long, her fingertips slightly cool, carrying a faint scent of ink.

Julian took her hand, spreading Penelope's palm open, face up.

Lowering his head slightly, the distance between them closed instantly, close enough for Penelope to smell the cold cedar scent on him—a mix of Potion ingredients and a certain indefinable air of danger.

"Close your eyes, Penelope." Julian's voice was low, like an incantation. "Feel the flow of my magic."

Penelope's eyelashes trembled as she slowly closed her eyes.

Julian didn't pull out his wand; instead, he extended his index finger, a faint point of ghostly blue light condensing at the tip—the purest manifestation of magic extracted from Ravenclaw's diadem.

He slowly traced it onto her palm.

As his fingertip crossed her palm lines, it brought a numbing, electric sensation. Penelope's body trembled slightly; she felt a warm, domineering power boring into her meridians from her palm. It wasn't just magic; it felt more like an intrusion of will.

"Is this... 'Kenaz'?" Penelope asked with a trembling voice, feeling her cheeks burning.

"Not entirely," Julian whispered in her ear, his warm breath fanning her earlobe. "This is a reversed variant of *'Kenaz'*, representing 'revealed secrets' and... 'the burning of passion'."

Finishing the last stroke, his fingers slid into the gaps between hers, interlocking their hands.

"Open your eyes."

Penelope snapped her eyes open.

She was surprised to find that the blue rune on her palm hadn't disappeared; instead, it shimmered like a tattoo before slowly sinking beneath her skin.

At the same time, she felt her thoughts become clearer than ever before, and the flow of magic in the surrounding air seemed to become traceable.

"Merlin..." Penelope looked at her hand, then at Julian, her eyes full of admiration and shock. "How... how did you do it? This is... this is Professor-level technique!"

"This is only the beginning, my senior sister." Juliansmiled, not letting go of her hand. Instead, he pulled slightly, bringing her a step closer.

Their bodies were almost pressed together.

Penelope could even feel the rise and fall of Julian's chest.

As a fifth-year prefect, she had always been the embodiment of reason and wisdom in Ravenclaw, but at this moment, before this boy several years younger than her, she felt like a helpless first-year student.

"How... how can I repay you?" Penelope's voice was so low it was almost inaudible, her eyes glazed.

"Repay?" Julian chuckled, raising his other hand to lightly brush away the stray hairs by her ear, his fingers ghosting over her sensitive earlobe.

"We are friends, Penelope. However... if you really want to help me, perhaps you could keep an eye on some movements in the Ravenclaw Tower."

"Movements?"

"For example... regarding the recent emotional changes of Lady Helena Ravenclaw." Julian's eyes were as deep as an abyss. "Or, if there are any strange people trying to approach those ancient ghosts."

Though Penelope didn't understand why Julian was interested in ghosts, in this atmosphere, she simply couldn't refuse.

"I will." She nodded solemnly, her gaze toward Julianfilled with the fervor of a devoted follower. "Whatever you need, Julian."

Julian smiled with satisfaction.

He let go of her hand and stepped back half a pace. The suffocating, ambiguous pressure eased slightly, but a great sense of loss welled up in Penelope's heart.

"That's all for tonight's lesson." Julian straightened his cuffs, returning to his elegant and aloof demeanor. "That rune will last for three days. During these three days, your perception in Charms will be elevated by a level. Use it well, Penelope. Don't disappoint me."

"Wait!"

Just as Julian turned to leave, she suddenly called out to him.

"Thank you, Julian, and..." Penelope leaned back against the trophy cabinet, her face flushing, "Goodnight."

Although Julian's actual age wasn't great, his usual maturity—far beyond his peers—combined with that excellent noble temperament was enough to make this Ravenclaw prefect take notice.

Julian stopped, turned his head, and gave a gentle smile that could make any Witch's heart stop.

"Goodnight, Penelope."

...

Walking out of the Trophy Room, the tenderness on Julian's face vanished instantly, replaced by a cold calm.

While multi-line romancing could easily lead to trouble—even a'shuraba'—it seemed his appearance naturally prevented women from harboring ill will toward him.

In that case, if he didn't utilize his own advantages, how would he be any different from a certain noseless Wizard?

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, lightly wiped his hand, and then casually tossed the handkerchief into a trash bin by the corridor.

"Emotions... truly are the easiest Runic Script to manipulate in this world," Julian muttered to himself, walking toward the Dungeons.

Chapter 37: Investigating Quirrell

It was already ten o'clock at night when I returned to the Slytherin common room.

The common room was still bustling, with most people discussing Julian's absence from the tryouts.

"He's back!"

Someone shouted, and the noisy common room instantly fell silent.

Marcus Flint, the burly Quidditch captain with buck teeth, pushed through the crowd and walked over.

He seemed a little angry, but more so, he was anxious.

"Rosier!" Flint said loudly, "Where were you this afternoon? Do you know how long I had to explain to Madam Hooch? I told her you didn't come because of a Magical Backlash!"

"Magical Backlash?" Julian raised an eyebrow, walked to the sofa in front of the fireplace, and sat down unceremoniously in a spot usually reserved for prefects.

"Good excuse, Flint, but I was indeed conducting an important... magical research."

With that, Julian raised his hand, and a faint blue flame ignited on his fingertip—the embryonic form of Fiendfyre. Although it was only a tiny bit, the destructive aura instantly dropped the surrounding temperature to freezing point.

Flint had originally intended to get angry, but the moment he saw that flame, he swallowed hard and instinctively took a step back.

"Alright... alright." Flint wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his attitude immediately softening. "Anyway, the Seeker position is yours. Training starts next Monday. If you don't come, I'll... I'll beg you to come."

A ripple of low laughter spread through the room.

Draco walked over in disbelief: "Julian, you're so cool! You didn't see Flint's face just now, he looked like a frightened Troll."

"Oh, right, Julian." Theodore emerged from the shadows and handed him a piece of parchment. "There's a lead on what you asked me to investigate. The Board of Governors' accounts show that a batch of valuable Potioningredients was indeed 'lost' last month, and the person who signed off... was Quirrell."

Julian took the parchment, glanced at it, and a cold smile played on his lips.

"Very good."

He stood up, tossing the parchment into the fireplace's flames, watching it turn to ash.

"It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor is already impatient to 'replenish his nutrition.'"

Hogwarts was completely sealed off by a continuous autumn rain on Saturday.

The rain outside the window was like flowing silver bars, separating the Castle from the outside world.

The air in the Library was damper than usual, a mix of musty parchment and fresh ink, creating a drowsy yet oppressive atmosphere that demanded alertness.

Madam Pince patrolled silently between the bookshelves like a vigilant vulture, holding her feather duster, ready to strike any student who dared to snack in the sacred hall of knowledge.

Julian sat in a secluded corner by the window.

The lighting here wasn't good, but he didn't mind.

He held a heavy book,

The pages were yellowed and slightly curled at the edges, densely filled with early theories on Alchemy—how to change the properties of matter at a microscopic level.

Since encountering Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, his understanding of these profound theories had been astonishingly fast.

The obscure ancient magical texts seemed to automatically deconstruct into the most intuitive magical energy structure diagrams in his eyes.

Just as he turned a page, his fingertips gently caressing a passage about "Mercury Solidification," a hurried and anxious rustling of pages broke the tranquility of the area.

Julian tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of books to the messy brown head at the next table.

Hermione looked terrible, her characteristic brown curly hair wilder than usual, as if she had just been through a static storm. There were faint dark circles under her eyes, clearly indicating a restless night.

At this moment, she was surrounded by at least seven or eight open tomes, her quill furiously dancing across the parchment, muttering to herself.

...No, according to page 34 of

She irritably ran her fingers through her hair, pressing too hard with her quill, leaving an ink blot on the parchment.

"Damn it!" Hermione cursed under her breath, a hint of a sob in her voice.

Julian closed his book, a faint smile playing on his lips. He could see through the little Witch's source of anxiety—the fear of her own mediocre talent.

Especially after witnessing Julian's almost miraculous performance in other classes, this fear was infinitely magnified. She tried to bridge that seemingly insurmountable gap with diligence.

Julian stood up, his movements so light they made no sound.

When a shadow fell across Hermione's desk, she looked up in alarm, her quill nearly dropping to the floor.

"Ju... Julian?" Hermione's eyes widened, and she instinctively tried to close her notes, as if they were some unspeakable secret. "You... what are you doing here? I thought you'd be playing... or sleeping."

"Knowledge never rests, Miss Granger." Julian pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down elegantly. His gaze swept over the messy books on Hermione's desk, with no mockery in his eyes, only a calming tranquility that reassured Hermione. "And, in this weather, I can't think of a better place than the Library."

His gaze swept over the messy books on Hermione's desk, with no mockery in his eyes, only a calming tranquility that reassured Hermione. "And, in this weather, I can't think of a better place than the Library."

Hermione pursed her lips awkwardly, her fingers tightly gripping the quill's shaft: "I'm... I'm reviewing for next week's Transfiguration class. Professor McGonagall said we'll be learning an advanced version of 'Match to Needle,' which is 'Detail Sculpting in Metal Forms.'"

"I can see that." Julian extended a slender finger and lightly tapped a line in her notes. "However, you seem to have fallen into a misconception."

"Misconception?" Hermione's back instantly straightened, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her defenses immediately activating. "This is the latest theory from the

"Waffling is a great theoretician, but he overlooked a fundamental fact—Hogwarts' magical environment." Julian interrupted her, his voice gentle but firm. He took out an ordinary wooden match from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

He took out an ordinary wooden match from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

"Books tell you that Transfiguration is 'forcibly twisting the physical properties of A into B.'" Julian looked into Hermione's eyes, where amber stars seemed to swirl. "But that's just an explanation for the mediocre. True Transfiguration is deception."

"Deception?" Hermione was stunned; this word was completely outside her scope of understanding. "But... Transfiguration is scientific magic..."

"Everything has a spirit, Hermione." Julian called her by her first name for the first time, making Hermione's heart skip a beat.

"What you need to do is not to forcibly suppress this match with magic, forcing it to become a needle, but to tell it—'You were always a needle, you just forgot.'"

With that, Julian did not chant a spell, nor did he wave his wand. He simply extended his index finger and lightly touched the tip of the match.

An extremely faint but high-frequency magical fluctuation emanated from his fingertip.

Hermione was astonished to find that the match did not transform into a needle with a 'pop' as usual, but rather flowed and reorganized like a liquid. The wooden texture faded, and a silvery metallic luster shone through from within.

In the blink of an eye, an exquisitely beautiful silver needle appeared on the tabletop, with a tiny rose carved on its head, almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

"This..." Hermione gasped, trembling as she picked up the silver needle; its cold touch told her it was real. "Non-verbal Spell? And... this level of detail... how is this possible?"

"This is the art of 'deceiving' matter." Julian withdrew his hand and leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture languid. "You are too fixated on the spell pronunciations and gestures in books; those are merely auxiliary tools to help beginners concentrate. When you understand the essence of matter, spells are just superfluous noise."

Hermione stared at him blankly, the silver needle in her hand feeling impossibly heavy.

A deep sense of frustration washed over her, but it was followed by an even stronger, almost fanatical, craving.

"Teach me."

Chapter 38: The vanishing cabinet

The words blurted out, startling even Hermione herself. Her face instantly flushed deep red, but her eyes remained fixed on Julian without the slightest retreat.

"Please... teach me this." Hermione bit her lip, her voice dropping lower. "I know I'm stupid, and I can only rely on rote memorization... but I don't want to..."

Julian looked at her, a glimmer of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

The fish had taken the bait. And it had bitten harder than he had imagined.

"You aren't stupid, Hermione." Julian's voice softened, carrying a captivating, magnetic quality.

As he spoke, Julian leaned over and pulled out the thinnest book, *Basic Magic Construction*, from her messy pile of books, then pushed all the others aside.

"On the contrary, you are very clever. It's just that your cleverness is bound by these rigid textbooks."

Picking up a quill, he wrote a line of Runic Script formulas on the title page of that book.

"Forget all these books." Julian pushed the book back in front of her.

"From today on, think about magic according to the logic I give you. Don't 'memorize' it, 'perceive' it. When you can feel the sound of magic flowing in your veins, you will understand what I said today."

Hermione held the book like a precious treasure, looking at the vigorous handwriting as if it were the key to a new world.

"According to... your logic?" she murmured to herself, looking up at Julian. The original sense of competition in her eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a kind of blind trust. "You mean... you can guide me?"

"As long as you are willing to learn." Julian stood up with a smile and straightened his robes. "However, my teaching is very strict. If you can't keep up with my pace..."

"I can!" Hermione interrupted him urgently, her eyes terrifyingly determined. "No matter how difficult it is, I can learn it! I... I will prove I am qualified to be your student."

"Student?" Julian mulled over the word, the smile at the corners of his mouth deepening. "A nice title. Then, as the homework for our first lesson..."

He lowered his head, leaning close to Hermione's ear, his voice so low only the two of them could hear:

"Go and check all the records regarding 'Nicolas Flamel'. Don't ask why, and don't tell Potter and Weasley. This is our... academic secret."

Hermione felt her ears burning and her mind went blank; she could only nod mechanically.

"Very good."

Julian straightened up, gave her one last look, and turned to walk deeper into the Library, leaving behind only a dashing figure.

Hermione sat in her place, clutching the carved silver needle and the book with the formulas.

The rain outside was still falling, but the gloom in her heart had been swept away.

She looked at Harry and Ron playing not far away—they had just entered the Library and were grinning cheekily after being chased out by Madam Pince.

A sense of unprecedented alienation rose in her heart.

"They don't understand magic at all," Hermione thought to herself, her gaze falling back onto the line of handwriting Julian had left behind. "Only he understands."

...

After leaving Hermione's sight, the smile on Julian's face faded slightly.

He stopped in front of a shelf about "Dark Creatures." A calico cat was perched on top of the bookshelf, looking down at him from above.

"A brilliant performance." Blanche (in cat form) licked her paw and sent a message via telepathy. "The way that little girl looks at you now is like she's seeing Merlinreborn. Aren't you afraid of breaking her?"

"Granger is a piece of unpolished jade, Blanche." Juliancasually pulled out a copy of *Vampire Habits* and flipped through it nonchalantly. "Her potential is immense. If I can shatter her blind worship of authority, she will surely be truly useful to me. And..."

His finger paused on an illustration in the book about the "Unicorn Blood Curse."

"I do indeed need a diligent assistant to help me filter useful information from the vast sea of data. After all, my time is precious."

After finishing his studies for the day, Julian chose to leave the Library.

The rain outside had not only failed to weaken but was instead mixed with a cold wind, frantically battering the stone walls of the Castle.

The torches in the corridor flickered in the draft, stretching Julian's slender shadow into a distorted and eerie shape.

He didn't go directly back to the Slytherin Dungeon but headed all the way up the marble stairs.

Blanche, in his pocket, moved restlessly, her sharp claws lightly scratching his thigh through the fabric, seemingly in protest.

"Be patient, greedy lady." Julian reached out and pressed the warm bundle through his robes. "The place we are going hides the thing you are most interested in."

Hearing Julian's words, the movement in the pocket immediately stopped.

A mocking curve curled at the corner of Julian's mouth, and he stepped lightly onto the Eighth Floor corridor.

Few people usually came here, with only the "Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls" tapestry swaying slightly in the wind.

He stood before that blank wall, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

"I need a place to hide things... a place full of forgotten items..."

He walked back and forth three times in front of the wall.

As the final step fell, a smooth ebony door silently emerged on the wall.

The door handle was made of brass, oxidized by time into a dull bronze color.

Julian pushed the door and entered.

Although this was his second time here, the sight before him still inspired a suffocating sense of awe.

A labyrinth built from the contraband hidden by Hogwarts students over centuries.

Broken furniture, rusted weapons, moldy books, shriveled Potion specimens... they were piled up like trash into precarious towers, stretching into the dark depths where the ceiling was invisible.

The air was filled with a strange smell of dust, decaying wood, and some sort of old magic mixed together, so quiet it was as if even time had stopped here.

"Come out."

Julian patted his pocket.

A flash of black and white light flickered, and Blanchelanded lightly on the ground.

Amidst the shifting light, the elegant little cat disappeared, replaced by a petite young woman.

Blanche was wearing an ill-timed long black lace dress—clearly a product of Transfiguration—with a very low neckline, revealing a large expanse of snow-white skin.

She fanned the dust in front of her with her hand in distaste while warily scanning her surroundings with her eyes.

"Merlin's smelly socks..." Blanche wrinkled her nose, her voice carrying undisguised disgust. "What did you bring me here for? To collect junk? Master Rosier, although I love money, I have no interest in picking through trash."

"Shallow."

Julian coldly spat out the word, and without looking back, walked straight into the depths of the labyrinth.

A ball of cold white light lit up at the tip of the wand in his hand, illuminating the narrow passage ahead.

"Every piece of 'trash' here might hide a family secret or a forgotten history of the Dark Arts."

Bypassing a mountain of broken broomsticks, he stopped in front of a massive cabinet.

It was a towering black cabinet with golden patterns inlaid on its surface. Although most had peeled off, revealing the mottled wood texture beneath, its former grandeur was still evident.

The cabinet doors were tightly closed, emitting a cold and heavy aura, as if it were not just a container, but a closed mouth.

"This is..." Blanche's expression changed instantly. She stepped forward quickly, ignoring the dust, and reached out to stroke the patterns on the cabinet's surface, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Chapter 39: Probing

"Your taste isn't too bad." Julian crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby headless stone statue.

"If I remember correctly, that cabinet in that old miser Borgin's shop has always been tucked away in a corner as a non-sale item."

"Because it's broken." Blanche turned around, the shrewd light in her eyes intensifying. "That old geezer said this cabinet can only take things in but not out, or only out but not in... Anyway, its transmission circuit is broken. If you're telling me you want to repair it..."

"Why not?" Julian countered, his amber eyes flashing with the light of ambition in the darkness. "Imagine it, Blanche. A secret passage leading directly from Hogwarts to Knockturn Alley, with no need for inspections, no scrutiny from owls—Potions, contraband, Dark Arts books... even those'special pets' in your shop."

Blanche sucked in a sharp breath.

She was a clever merchant and naturally understood what this meant. This wasn't just convenience; it was a monopoly. It was opening a back door into the safest fortress in all of Britain.

"But that's impossible." Blanche shook her head, her reason returning slightly. "This kind of space-folding magic is technology from centuries ago. Modern Wizards don't understand the principles at all, unless you're Ravenclaw reborn..."

"Or, I've received Rowena Ravenclaw's gift."

Julian chuckled, stepped forward, and pressed his palm against the cabinet door.

He didn't use a wand.

Deep in his mind, the knowledge fragments left by that diadem began to spin wildly.

In Julian's perception, the dilapidated cabinet before him was no longer wood and metal, but countless intertwined lines of magic.

It was a spatial coordinate system composed of Runic Script.

"Fehu (Wealth/Flow)... Raidho (Journey/Passage)... Eihwaz (Connection/World Tree)..."

He could clearly see a hideous crack on the main axis representing the "passage," like a scar blocking the flow of magic.

"The spatial coordinates here have shifted." Julian closed his eyes, his voice low and ethereal, as if performing some kind of chant.

"Someone tried to move it by force, causing a misalignment of the internal dimensions. Repairing it requires a large amount of 'adhesive'."

"Adhesive?" Blanche leaned in, curiously watching Julian's glowing palm.

"Mercury Blood, and... a medium capable of carrying spatial oscillations." Julian suddenly opened his eyes, and a powerful surge of magic erupted from his palm.

"Harmonia Nectere Passus (Harmonize as One)!"

Although it wasn't the perfectly correct incantation, Julianforcibly simulated that frequency with his current magic control and the empowerment from the diadem.

"Buzz—!!!"

The cabinet, which had been silent for decades, suddenly began to tremble violently.

An eerie green light seeped through the cracks of the cabinet door, accompanied by a low rumbling sound, as if something was waking up.

"My god..." Blanche exclaimed, instinctively taking a few steps back.

Suddenly, a cacophony of sounds drifted out from the cabinet.

The sounds were muffled, as if separated by a thick layer of water, but they were still distinguishable. It was the unique, sinister hawking of Knockturn Alley, along with Borgin's characteristic oily and sharp voice:

"...No, no, Mr. Malfoy, I cannot accept this price. This is genuine goblin silver..."

The voice lasted for less than three seconds before coming to an abrupt halt.

The cabinet shook violently once, the green light extinguished, and it returned to dead silence.

Julian withdrew his hand, panting slightly, as a layer of fine sweat broke out on his forehead. The exertion of forcibly connecting the spaces was much greater than he had imagined.

"Did you hear that?" He turned around and looked at the stunned Blanche, a triumphant smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "The path is open; it's just that the lock is broken."

Blanche swallowed hard, the shock in her eyes gradually turning into fervor.

"You... you really connected to Borgin's shop..." The way she looked at Julian had completely changed. She was no longer looking at a wealthy young master, but at a monster—or rather, a future Dark Lord.

"What kind of monster are you? A first-year? Ha! I'd believe it if you said you were Lord Voldemort's bastard!"

"Don't insult me by comparing me to that noseless lunatic." Julian adjusted his cuffs, his tone indifferent. "I have more style than him, and I understand the rules better."

"Noseless?" Blanche was full of questions.

Without satisfying Blanche's curiosity, Julian pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and quickly wrote down a list.

"This was just a preliminary test. To stabilize the passage, I need these materials." He handed the parchment to Blanche. "Since you run a pet shop, I assume getting some 'mercury' and 'runespoor fangs' won't be difficult for you?"

Blanche took the list, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

"runespoor fangs? These are controlled items." Although Blanche complained, her hand was very honest as she stuffed the parchment deep into her cleavage. "But... for this golden passage, I suppose I can use my connections a bit."

She walked up to Julian and leaned in slightly, her exquisite face carrying a hint of wickedness as she got close to him.

"However, Master Rosier." Blanche stuck out her tongue and licked her lips, her gaze seductive. "For such a large business, how will my dividends be calculated? I don't want to just take a small errand fee."

"Once the passage is established, you will take thirty percent of all profits." Julian extended a finger, pressed it against her forehead, and gently pushed her away.

"Furthermore, I will allow you to develop your pet sub-agents within Hogwarts. For example... a rat named Scabbers. I think you'd be very interested in studying another Animagus."

Blanche's eyes lit up instantly.

"Deal!" She snapped her fingers, and her body was instantly enveloped in light, transforming back into that black and white calico cat.

"Meow~ (Remember to leave a window open for me, I'm going to write a letter.)"

Julian looked at the cat on the ground, a deep meaning flashing in his eyes.

"Go on. And while you're at it, keep an eye on Quirrell for me. If he buys anything strange in Knockturn Alley, remember to tell me."

...

When he left the Room of Requirement, Julian was in an exceptionally pleasant mood.

Though his body was somewhat tired, the spiritual satisfaction was incomparable.

Repairing the vanishing cabinet didn't just mean a passage; it meant he had secured a strategic pivot.

As long as the materials were in place, in a month at most, he could continue his clandestine activities right under Dumbledore's nose.

Just as he walked down the stairs and passed the fourth-floor corridor, a pungent smell of garlic made him frown.

Not far ahead, Professor Quirrell was wrapped in that ridiculous large purple turban, hurriedly walking out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

Quirrell looked even more neurotic than usual, looking back as he walked as if something was chasing him.

"Professor Quirrell."

Julian suddenly spoke.

Quirrell jumped in fright, nearly tripping over his own robes. He turned around in terror, and only after seeing it was Julian did he breathe a small sigh of relief, though the wariness in his eyes did not disappear.

"M-Mr. Rosier?" Quirrell stammered, his body trembling slightly. "W-what are you... d-doing here... s-so late?"

"Just returning from the Library, Professor." Julian smiled as he stepped forward, his gaze seemingly inadvertently sweeping over the back of Quirrell's head.

"You look... a bit unwell. Have you been too tired lately? After all, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed."

At the mention of the curse, Quirrell's cheek twitched.

"N-no, nothing of the sort." Quirrell managed to squeeze out a strained smile. "I... I'm just... going to check the... edge of the Forbidden Forest. I heard... I heard there have been... d-dangerous creatures recently."

"Is that so?" Julian narrowed his eyes and said meaningfully, "Then you must be careful, Professor. The things in the Forbidden Forest are sometimes more dangerous than the Dark Arts, especially... for those with incomplete souls."

Quirrell's pupils constricted sharply as he stared fixedly at Julian, seemingly trying to read something from the face of this first-year student.

But Julian simply maintained that elegant and impeccable smile, as if the previous sentence had just been a casual expression of concern.

"T-thank you for the reminder." Quirrell silently withdrew his hand from his wand and spoke hurriedly before walking away quickly.

Watching Quirrell's retreating back, the smile at the corners of Julian's mouth gradually turned cold.

"An incomplete soul... It seems you felt it too, Tom."

Julian reached out and touched the small pouch placed close to his chest—inside was Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem.

The moment he had approached Quirrell just now, the fragment within the diadem had produced an extremely weak resonance.

It was the sensing of one's own kind.

Chapter 40: Shadowing Quirrell

Julian stood in the shadows of the fourth-floor corridor, watching Quirrell's purple turban disappear around the corner of the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, his lungs filled with damp air, bringing a slight stinging sensation, but this pain happened to dispel the dizziness from his previous use of Space Magic.

"Damn it, fortune favors the bold..." Julian whispered, drawing his Ebony Wand and lightly tapping the top of his head.

"Disillusionment."

It wasn't a perfect spell; for a first-year's magical reserves, though his current magic was already stronger than most of his peers, maintaining such high-level invisibility magic was extremely taxing.

It felt as if cold, raw egg yolk was flowing down from the top of his head over his entire body, and the surrounding light began to refract strangely across the surface of his skin.

Looking down, he saw his body had turned into a sort of translucent, chameleon-like fluid; while easily seen through under bright light, in this dim, rainy night, it was sufficient.

Julian glided silently like a ghost across the stone steps, through the empty entrance hall, and slipped out of the oak front doors.

Moist soil instantly coated his leather shoes, and the grass had become muddy from the soaking rain, letting out a faint "squelch" with every step.

Julian had to slow his pace, using the sound of the wind and distant thunder to mask his movements.

Ahead, the figure wrapped in the purple turban stumbled along.

Quirrell seemed to be in extreme pain, clutching his head with both hands as he walked, his body twitching from time to time, letting out intermittent moans.

"No... Master... please... not now..."

The wind tore Quirrell's voice apart as it carried over, imbued with a spine-chilling servility.

Immediately after, another voice rang out.

It didn't come from Quirrell's mouth, but was a sharp hissing sound that seemed to vibrate directly in the air, like a venomous snake crawling on an eardrum.

"Useless... even if... death... you must... find it for me..."

Julian's pupils constricted sharply. Lord Voldemort.

That name, which had once struck terror into the entire wizarding world, was now parasitic on the back of this wretch's head.

They passed Hagrid's hut—the windows glowed with a warm orange light, and Fang's barking could be heard faintly, but it didn't slow Quirrell's pace.

Like a manipulated puppet, Quirrell stiffly crossed the boundary of the Forbidden Forest.

Once inside the woods, the light almost completely vanished.

The towering ancient trees were like a group of silent Giants, their twisted branches weaving an airtight web overhead.

The air was thick with the scent of rotting leaves, damp moss, and a deeper, metallic smell belonging to ancient magic.

Julian stepped carefully on tree roots, trying his best to avoid the bushes that looked like traps.

The diadem grew slightly warm against his chest, as if issuing a warning, or perhaps in excitement.

Quirrell's speed suddenly increased.

He rushed into a slightly open clearing where a massive oak tree, struck by lightning, lay charred across the muddy ground.

Beside the trunk lay a mass of something so white it was blinding.

It was a Unicorn.

It wasn't dead yet, but it was dying. Its hind legs were twisted unnaturally, clearly broken by the Dark Arts.

Its silvery-white mane was scattered in the black mud, like shards of broken moonlight.

There was a gruesome wound on its belly, leaking a glowing, mercury-like liquid—Unicorn blood.

The blood emitted a strange fragrance mixed with the smell of rust, nauseating yet inexplicably drawing one closer.

"Go... drink..."

The hissing voice sounded again, carrying an unquestionable command.

Quirrell let out a desperate whimper, but he couldn't resist. He lunged onto the Unicorn like a beast, his hands pinning down the beautiful creature's neck.

The Unicorn let out a faint, mournful cry, then could only feebly kick its legs.

What followed made Julian, a self-proclaimed cold-blooded Slytherin, feel his stomach churn.

Quirrell buried his face in the Unicorn's wound.

Drinking Unicorn blood was the most blasphemous violation of purity.

Silver blood flowed down the corners of Quirrell's mouth, dripping onto his robes and instantly corroding the cheap fabric into smoking holes.

As the blood was ingested, Quirrell's previously trembling body gradually calmed down, even beginning to emit a strange vitality.

The Unicorn's curse.

Hiding behind a thick beech tree, Julian stared intently at the scene, his mind racing to engrave the image deep into his Mind Palace.

"A half-life... a cursed life," Julian murmured in his heart. "To linger on, you don't hesitate to become such a monster. Tom Riddle, is this the immortality you seek?"

Just then, an unexpected change occurred.

The small cloth pouch on Julian's chest—where the diadem was kept—suddenly throbbed violently.

It was the resonance between Horcruxes.

Like two magnets suddenly brought close together, an undeniable ripple of magic radiated outward with Julianas the center.

Quirrell, who was drinking the blood, snapped his head up.

His once cowardly face was now covered in silver blood, looking hideous and terrifying, but even scarier were his eyes—in that instant, they turned scarlet, his pupils narrowing into vertical slits.

"Who's there?!"

The hissing voice was no longer a whisper, but a roar.

A cold killing intent instantly locked onto the direction where Julian was hiding.

Damn it!

Julian's heart skipped a beat; he had underestimated the Main Soul's ability to sense its Fragments.

Without any hesitation, he immediately mobilized all of his mental strength.

He pushed his Occlumency to its limit, wrapping layers around the diadem's aura, disguising it as a rock, a tree, or a patch of lifeless moss in the surrounding environment.

At the same time, he held his breath, pressing his body against the tree trunk, not daring to move even a finger.

Quirrell—or rather, Lord Voldemort—stared fixedly at the beech tree.

"I smell... a familiar scent..."

There was doubt in the voice, and even a hint of... longing?

Quirrell swayed as he stood up, silver blood still trailing from the corners of his mouth. He raised his wand, and a sickly green light lit up at the tip.

"Reveal yourself!"

A flash of green light hit the bushes next to Julian; the shrubbery instantly withered and turned into a pile of black ash.

Julian's palms were slick with cold sweat, but he remained absolutely calm.

He was gambling—gambling that the current Lord Voldemort was too weak to perform precise magical detection, and that the chaotic magical field in the Forbidden Forest could mask his presence.

Quirrell gradually approached with his wand.

"Come out!"

Chapter 41: Writing a Letter

Just as Quirrell was about to take a second step, the sudden sound of rapid hoofbeats echoed from the distance.

"Someone's coming!" Quirrell cried out in panic; it was his own voice.

"Go... get out of here..." Lord Voldemort snarled.

Quirrell didn't dare stay any longer. He cast one last glance toward where Julian was hiding, a trace of resentment flashing in his eyes, before transforming into a cloud of black smoke and fleeing rapidly along the ground.

Julian didn't let out a long breath of murky air until he was certain that oppressive presence had completely vanished.

His back was completely drenched.

The effect of the Disillusionment Charm had failed due to his earlier mental fluctuations, and his figure reappeared in the air.

He didn't leave immediately, instead walking over to the Unicorn.

This beautiful creature had stopped breathing; its eyes remained open, reflecting the pitch-black shadows of the trees as if protesting the injustice of fate.

Julian knelt down and pulled a small crystal vial from his pocket.

He carefully collected a pool of silver blood from the ground that hadn't yet solidified, mixed with soil.

"Though contaminated, as a substitute for 'Mercury Blood' to repair the vanishing cabinet's spatial anchor... it should barely suffice."

He corked the vial and looked at the Unicorn's corpse with a complex expression.

"Rest in peace. Your death will become a stepping stone toward greatness."

In the distance, the sound of hoofbeats grew closer, accompanied by Hagrid's gruff shouting: "Who's there?! Fang, don't run!"

Julian stood up and smoothed his rain-drenched robes one last time. He didn't choose to return the way he came, but instead turned and slipped into the dense thicket on the other side, stealthily heading toward the secret entrance of the Slytherin Dungeon.

Tonight's harvest was enough for him to process for a long time.

...

By the time he returned to the Castle, Julian felt as if his legs were made of lead.

He avoided Filch's patrol route and returned directly to the dungeon through a secret passage known only to upper-year Slytherins.

The common room was empty, with only the embers in the fireplace still radiating a faint heat.

Julian slumped onto the sofa, holding the small vial of Unicorn blood before his eyes, observing the flowing silver liquid by the dim firelight.

The liquid swirled slowly in the bottle as if it had a life of its own.

"You're playing with fire, Rosier."

A cold voice suddenly came from the shadows of the common room.

Julian didn't show much surprise. He tucked the vial away, turned his head, and looked at Daphne Greengrass as she stepped out of the shadows.

She was wearing a silk dressing gown, her long blonde hair draped casually over her shoulders, holding a cup of steaming black tea.

There was no usual arrogance in Daphne's eyes, only a deep sense of worry.

"Still awake at this hour, Miss Greengrass?" Julian's voice was a bit raspy, yet it still carried that nonchalant elegance.

"I can smell it." Daphne walked up to him and looked down at him. "Rain, soil, rotting leaves... and a nauseating scent of blood. Did you go to the Forbidden Forest?"

Julian raised an eyebrow and didn't deny it.

"That's against school rules, Julian." Daphne's voice dropped. "And that's the Forbidden Forest. Even the upper-year students don't dare go in there casually."

"Danger often comes with opportunity, Daphne." Julianleaned back and closed his eyes tiredly. "Besides, I found some interesting things."

Daphne was silent for a moment.

She suddenly bent down and placed the black tea in her hand on the table in front of Julian.

"It's calming tea," she said softly. "Drink it. Your face is as pale as a dead man's."

After speaking, she turned to leave, but stopped at the dormitory door.

"Whatever you're plotting, Julian... don't get yourself killed."

Julian opened his eyes, watching her departing figure, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He picked up the cup of tea and took a sip.

The warm liquid flowed down his throat, dispelling the chill in his body.

"Don't worry, Daphne," Julian whispered to the empty common room. "Who lives and who dies is not yet certain."

...

Sunday sunlight pierced through the waters of the Black Lake, spilling onto the stone walls of the Slytherin boys' dormitory.

When Julian woke from his deep sleep, he felt as if every muscle in his body had been trampled by a Troll, every joint screaming in pain.

He had overused magic yesterday, and the high-level Disillusionment Charm he had forced himself to cast last night left his magic core feeling somewhat parched, like a deep well that had been pumped dry.

Propping himself up on the edge of the bed, his pale gold hair clung messily to his forehead.

The dormitory was quiet. Theodore had probably already gone to the Great Hall for breakfast, while Draco—that young master accustomed to being woken by a House-elf—was currently curled up in his dark green velvet blankets, breathing like a pig.

Julian looked down at his palms; his fingertips still seemed to hold the stinging sensation from touching the spatial rift last night.

"Power is still too weak, after all," Julian mocked himself with a slight twitch of his lips.

He didn't disturb anyone. After washing up, he changed into a well-tailored set of casual clothes.

Walking to his desk, he spread out a thick sheet of parchment embossed with the Rosier Family crest and picked up a fountain pen made from a Thunderbirdfeather.

In the games of Pure-blood families, words were never just tools for communication; they were extensions of power.

Taking a deep breath, he began to write, his handwriting elegant and vigorous, carrying a steadiness far beyond his years:

"To my most respected father, Alick Rosier:

I hope that by the time this letter reaches your desk, London's autumn rain has not disturbed your mood.

Two weeks into the term, life at Hogwarts is far more exciting than expected, and also far more... chaotic.

Slytherin's glory still shines here, but I have noticed that under Dumbledore's seemingly kind gaze, the Castle's foundations are stirring with unsettling ripples.

Regarding this year's Defense Against the Dark ArtsProfessor—Quirinus Quirrell—I have some observations that are not optimistic.

This man exudes a decayed and contradictory aura.

Father, you hold a high position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation; surely you have heard 'that rumor' regarding this position.

I urgently require deep records from the family library regarding 'curses,' especially those forbidden fields involving soul attachment and life overextension.

Additionally, I have encountered some bottlenecks in the cross-research of Transfiguration and spatial magic.

If the family could provide some literature on 'ancient spatial node repair,' I believe it would be of great help in consolidating the House of Rosier's influence at Hogwarts.

I look forward to your reply and the family's wise guidance.

Your loyal son,

Julian Alaric Rosier"

Julian put down the pen, his gaze lingering on the parchment for a moment.

He knew his father was a clever man; such subtle hints were enough to make Alick realize that his son had discovered something at school significant enough to change the landscape of the wizarding world.

Carefully folding the parchment, he sealed it with wax and stamped it with the Rosier Family's rose crest.

As he walked out of the common room, he ran into Daphne, who was on her way to breakfast. Today she had changed into a light purple cinched-waist dress, looking exceptionally tall.

"Going to mail a letter?" Daphne glanced at the envelope in his hand, keenly catching the family crest. "To Uncle Alick?"

"Just some minor family matters." Julian nodded slightly, polite and graceful.

"It seems last night's 'calming tea' didn't do much; your dark circles are still quite heavy." Daphne stepped closer, lowering her voice with a hint of teasing, "Or were you off on a date with a Unicorn in the Forbidden Forest again in your dreams?"

"Miss Greengrass's imagination is always so vivid." Juliansmiled noncommittally and stepped past her. "See you at breakfast."