Chapter 53: Myrtle's Bathroom
Time slipped through fingers like shifting sand, and the autumn of Hogwarts was unknowingly carried away by the biting cold wind.
In the blink of an eye, ice and snow covered the Scottish Highlands.
The surface of the Black Lake was covered with a thick layer of ice, like a giant gray mirror full of cracks.
Hagrid's hut looked like a gingerbread house coated in icing, standing lonely in the snow at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The Castle was filled with the rich aroma of roast turkey, pine needles, and mulled wine.
Hagrid had already dragged twelve giant fir trees into the Great Hall, and Professor Flitwick was busy directing fairies to hang golden bubbles on the branches.
It was a season full of laughter and anticipation, except for those with ill intentions.
...
Friday morning, the Great Hall.
As Julian Rosier walked through the doors, he brought in a cold wind mixed with snowflakes.
He wore a well-tailored black wool robe with silver patterns embroidered on the collar and cuffs, and a dark green scarf around his neck.
It was hand-knitted by Daphne; though the stitching was slightly amateur in some hidden places, the material was top-tier Acromantula silk blended with cashmere.
Julian's appearance caused the originally languid atmosphere at the Slytherin table to stiffen slightly.
These past few months had been enough for Julian to establish absolute authority in the snake house—no longer a blatant provocation, but a subtle, pervasive sense of pressure.
Draco Malfoy immediately and attentively moved to make space beside him, wiping the already spotless bench with a handkerchief.
"Good morning, Julian," Draco said with obvious fawning in his voice. "Today's The Daily Prophet has a follow-up report on that illegal break-in at Gringotts... I think you'll find it interesting."
"Leave it there," Julian nodded faintly and sat down elegantly.
Opposite him, Daphne was elegantly slicing a sausage; seeing him wearing that scarf, the corners of her mouth curled into an imperceptible, sweet smile.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Daphne asked softly, pushing a cup of hot black tea with just the right amount of pumpkin juice toward him.
"Not bad." Julian took a sip of the tea, but his gaze drifted past the Slytherin table toward the distant Gryffindortable.
There, Hermione Granger sat at the very edge of the table, far from Ron and Harry, who were loudly discussing wizard's chess.
She looked terrible.
Her originally bushy brown hair now looked a bit messy, as if it had been frizzed by static electricity.
Heavy dark circles hung under her eyes, her face was pale, and she clutched an old book as thick as a brick, her fingers turning slightly white from the grip.
But her eyes—those brown eyes burned with a feverish fire, the excitement of having solved a puzzle.
Seeing Julian's gaze, Hermione gave an imperceptible nod, then closed her book, took a quick sip of pumpkin porridge, and stood up to leave the Great Hall.
"I'm full."
Julian set down his teacup and elegantly wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
"So soon?" Draco was a bit surprised. "The first period is History of Magic with Professor Binns, we could..."
"I have things to do." Julian stood up, his slender fingers adjusting his scarf. "You guys go ahead."
Daphne seemed to sense something; she gave Julian a deep look but didn't ask further, only saying softly, "Be safe, and don't be late."
This was the benefit of a clever woman; she knew when to play dumb.
...
Second-floor corridor.
The temperature here was several degrees lower than in the Great Hall; the glass of the windows was covered in frost, blocking the light from outside and making the entire corridor look gloomy.
Hermione was standing in the shadow of a stone pillar; when she saw Julian approaching, she almost lunged forward.
"I found it! Julian! I really found it!"
She lowered her voice, but the excitement in her tone was impossible to hide. She shoved a book titled "Hogwarts: A Revised History (Manuscript Version)" into Julian's arms.
"Look at page 394! I found this in a corner of the Restricted Section. The author is a distant cousin of Phineas Nigellus Black, and he recorded architectural details that were erased from official history."
Julian flipped open the book.
On the yellowed parchment, a sketch was drawn in faded ink.
It was a sink.
And on the side of the sink, below the copper tap, was a tiny snake coiled into the shape of an "S".
Beside it was a line of scrawled annotation:
"The crying ghost guards the entrance, and only the language of snakes can open the door to the abyss. — Let this serve as a warning to future generations: do not disturb the sleeping terror."
"The crying ghost..." Hermione took a deep breath and looked up at Julian, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and excitement. "It's Myrtle! The girl who died fifty years ago! Her bathroom is just ahead!"
"Well done, Hermione." Julian closed the book, a smile of appreciation touching the corners of his mouth. He reached out and gently patted the top of Hermione's messy head, as if praising a hound that had performed a great service.
"These past few months of effort haven't been in vain; you are even more outstanding than I imagined."
Hermione's face instantly flushed red, the satisfaction of being recognized by her idol washing away her fatigue.
"So... are we going now? But class is about to start, and it's a girls' bathroom..."
"Precisely because class is about to start, there won't be anyone there." Julian's voice became low and full of allure. "As for it being a girls' bathroom... to seek the truth, sometimes we need to break some worldly rules, don't we?"
He turned and walked toward the end of the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him like a dark cloud.
Hermione hesitated for a second, gritted her teeth, clutched the book in her arms, and hurried after him.
...
Myrtle's Bathroom.
This was a dark, damp room. The puddles on the floor reflected the stained mirrors, several thick candles emitted a dim light, and the air was filled with a musty smell.
"Boo hoo... nobody likes me... everyone hates me..."
A shrill sound of crying came from the innermost stall.
Julian frowned; this noise made him feel displeased.
He pulled out his wand and gave it a light flick.
"Muffliato."
An invisible barrier enveloped the stall, and the crying instantly became barely audible, as if isolated in another world.
"Peace at last."
He walked to the set of large circular sinks in the center of the bathroom.
These sinks looked like they hadn't been used for many years, and the copper taps were covered in green verdigris.
"It's here..." Hermione pointed to one of the taps, her voice trembling slightly. "Look, on the side."
Julian leaned in to observe.
Sure enough, on the side of that copper tap, a tiny snake was engraved.
It would be impossible to notice without looking closely.
"Only the language of snakes..." Hermione looked at Julian nervously. "But neither of us knows Parseltongue. That's the symbol of Slytherin, and they say Harry..."
"Shh."
Julian raised a finger.
Closing his eyes, his thoughts sank deep into his mind.
That rowena ravenclaws diadem, that Horcrux, had not only given him knowledge but also left behind some fragmented soul imprints belonging to Lord Voldemort.
Although he had purified the evil consciousness within it, that instinct belonging to the Slytherin bloodline—Parseltongue—had been analyzed and retained by him as a linguistic talent.
Julian visualized a snake in his mind—a giant, slimy, cold snake.
When he opened his eyes again, his originally amber pupils had turned into eerie vertical slits, emitting a faint golden light.
Hermione took a step back in terror; she felt that the Julian before her had become extremely unfamiliar and dangerous.
Chapter 54: Sensitive Snape
Julian opened his mouth, and what came out was no longer human speech, but a low, raspy hissing sound.
"Open."
The sound seemed to drill directly into one's marrow, sending a chill through the entire body.
The next second.
The copper tap engraved with a small snake emitted a dazzling white light and began to spin rapidly.
Then, the entire sink began to vibrate.
Amidst a bone-jarring screech of grinding metal, the sink slowly sank, revealing a massive pipe behind it.
The pipe was wide enough for a person to slide down; it was pitch-black inside, emitting a rotten and damp odor as if leading to the throat of hell.
This was the legendary entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Hermione covered her mouth, too shocked to speak.
"You... you can speak Parseltongue?!" Her eyes widened, as if she were seeing Julian for the first time.
"A minor talent." The vertical pupils in Julian's eyes slowly faded, returning to their normal amber color. He turned his head and gave Hermione a gentle but meaningful smile.
"Knowledge is power, Hermione. As long as you are willing to learn, nothing is impossible."
He walked to the edge of the opening and looked down.
It was bottomless.
"This is Salazar Slytherin's legacy," Julian whispered, his voice echoing in the hollow pipe. "A Basilisk that has slept for a thousand years, waiting for its new master."
He turned around and looked at Hermione, who was still in shock.
"Alright, Hermione. Today's exploration ends here."
"What?" Hermione was stunned. "Are we... not going down?"},{
"Go down?" Julian raised an eyebrow. "In school uniforms? At this time? No, that would be too reckless—something only a Gryffindor would do."
He pulled a delicate small bottle from his pocket, containing several silver, glowing beetles.
He threw the bottle into the pipe.
"We need to scout first. And..." Julian glanced at the antique watch on his wrist, "class starts in ten minutes. If that old ghost finds his prize student is late, he'll be very upset."
"But..." Hermione wanted to say more, but looking at Julian's unquestionable gaze, she could only swallow her words.
"This is our secret, Hermione."
Julian walked up to her and helped straighten her crooked tie, his movements intimate and natural.
"No one else can know besides us. Not even Harry and Ron. Understand?"
Hermione looked at his face so close to hers, feeling the temperature of his fingertips, and nodded subconsciously.
"I understand, Julian. I will never tell anyone."
"Very good."
Julian turned back to the opening once more and let out a hiss.
"Close."
The sink rose back up with a rumble, returning to its original state as if nothing had ever happened.
Only the lingering trace of decay in the air proved that everything just now wasn't a hallucination.
When the two walked out of the bathroom, the corridor was still empty.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione."
As they parted at the stairs, Julian suddenly spoke.
He took a beautifully wrapped small box from his pocket and handed it to her.
"This is a thank-you gift for you; I think you'll like it."
Hermione took the box in surprise and opened it.
Inside was an exquisite quill; the barrel was made of some unknown silver metal, engraved with intricate magical Runic Script.
"This is an improved version of the Quick-Quotes Quill," Julian explained with a smile. "I've added a small Memory Extraction Spell to it; it can directly record the thoughts in your mind without you having to speak. For a quick-thinking Witch like you, it should be very useful."
Hermione's eyes instantly lit up; it was a gift practically tailored for her!
"Thank you, Julian! This is too precious..."
"It is worthy of your wisdom."
Julian waved his hand and turned to walk toward the Dungeons.
Looking at Hermione's expression, as if she were about to cry from being moved, the smile at the corner of Julian's mouth became somewhat cold.
The quill was indeed useful.
But it also had a small "side effect"—everything it recorded would be backed up through a backdoor he had left.
In other words, from today on, as long as Hermione used that quill, every thought in her brain and every note she took would be transparent to Julian.
That was the true meaning of the Christmas gift.
The air in the Dungeons was always stagnant, with a damp cold that seemed to seep into one's bones.
There were no windows here, only the dim light from torches on the walls casting distorted shadows of animal specimens in glass jars.
The toad innards and lizard eyeballs floating in cloudy liquid seemed to be peering at every intruder from the darkness.
Bang.
The heavy oak door of the Potion Class classroom slammed shut behind him, cutting off the faint festive cheer from the corridor.
Professor Severus Snape stood behind the lectern, his black robes billowing like bat wings, his hollow, deep black eyes coldly scanning the class.
"I do not expect any foolish wand-waving in this class." Snape's voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet it possessed a strange piercing quality that instantly silenced the room.
"In the final lesson of this term, I require you to brew a proper forgetfulness potion."
Snape's gaze lingered on Harry Potter for a moment, his lips curling into a mocking sneer.
"I suppose this shouldn't be difficult for some... whose fame exceeds their talent. After all, forgetting is what they do best—like forgetting to bring their brains to class."
The Slytherin students let out a suppressed burst of laughter; Draco laughed particularly loudly, even clanging his cauldron on purpose.
Julian didn't laugh.
He was methodically processing the valerian roots in his hand.
A small silver knife danced between his fingertips; every slice of the root was paper-thin and perfectly uniform in thickness.
This precise control left Daphne beside him somewhat entranced, nearly causing her to add too much Lethe River water.
"Focus, Daphne," Julian reminded her in a low voice without looking up. "Unless you want your potion to turn into cement."
"Oh... sorry." Daphne blushed, quickly retracting her gaze and hurriedly adjusting the heat.
Just then, a cloud of black smoke suddenly enveloped Julian's senses.
Snape had somehow appeared silently at his desk.
Those obsidian eyes stared intently at Julian's cauldron before slowly moving up to lock onto his face.
Snape's nose twitched slightly, as if sniffing something nauseating.
"Mr. Rosier," Snape's voice was as slick as a snake. "Your valerian is processed perfectly. However..."
He suddenly leaned down, his sallow face closing in on Julian, the distance between them so small they could almost feel each other's breath.
"There is a scent on you." Snape narrowed his eyes. "Sulfur, charcoal... and an unsettling, beastly musk."
Chapter 55: Justification
Julian's heart rate remained steady, and even his hand cutting the ingredients did not tremble in the slightest.
He knew what Snape had smelled.
It was the scent of Norbert.
Last night, while helping Hagrid reinforce that invisibility barrier, he had accidentally been hit by a few sparks from the little dragon.
Although he had used Scourgify, the traces left by a high-level magical creature like dragon breath were as obvious as a lighthouse in the dark to a Potion Master.
The eyes of the whole class were focused on them; Harryand Ron watched the scene with glee, thinking that Slytherin's favorite was finally going to be in trouble.
"Perhaps it is because I have been practicing a variant of the Fire-Making Spell recently, Professor." Julian put down his silver knife and looked up, his amber eyes calmly meeting Snape's gaze. "You know, winter always makes one want to seek some warmth."
"Warmth?" Snape sneered. "I find this scent smells more like some kind of... contraband reptile. Something that should not be appearing at Hogwarts."
The air froze instantly.
Snape's gaze became sharp, and Julian felt an invisible mental power attempting to probe his prefrontal cortex—Legilimency.
Though it was only a tentative touch, it was an extremely offensive act.
Julian immediately mobilized the power of the Black Onyx Ring, constructing a labyrinthine barrier on the outer layer of his mind.
He forged a memory in his surface thoughts: himself in front of the Common Room fireplace, trying to roast a strange alchemical material with magical fire.
Snape's probe touched this "memory," his brow furrowed slightly, and he immediately withdrew his gaze.
"I hope your Alchemy does not blow the SlytherinDungeons sky-high." Snape straightened up, his tone still icy, but that aggressive killing intent dissipated somewhat.
"Continue with your Potion, Rosier. If it does not present a perfect orange-red color before the end of class, you will spend your entire holiday scrubbing toad jars."
"Yes, Professor." Julian bowed slightly, elegant and composed.
In the time that followed, Julian's operation could be described as textbook-level.
After adding the mistletoe berries according to the standard recipe, he did not stir clockwise three times as the textbook instructed, but instead stirred counter-clockwise for a turn and a half, then clockwise for two turns.
This was an ancient, long-lost processing technique that could maximize the activity of the berries while neutralizing any impurities that might exist.
When the last grain of sand in the hourglass fell.
In Julian's cauldron, the Potion presented a crystal-clear, deep orange-red color like a sunset, with a faint layer of silver mist even floating on the surface.
This was the mark of "Perfect Quality."
In contrast, Harry's Potion was a pot of turbid mud, while Neville's cauldron had melted a hole directly and was sizzling with smoke.
"Stop." Snape waved his wand.
Walking past row after row of tables, Snape used his full capacity for mockery on the Gryffindors' work, deducting a full twenty points from Gryffindor, of which Harryaccounted for fifteen.
Snape's behavior once again drew the enmity of the little lions, but the damage was infinitely close to zero.
Finally, he stopped at Julian's table.
Looking at that pot of perfect Potion, Snape was silent for a few seconds.
"Ten points to Slytherin," he said briefly. "For... precise operation."
The bell for the end of class rang.
The students, as if granted a great reprieve, hurriedly packed their things and fled this gloomy place.
"You guys go ahead," Julian said to Daphne and Draco, who were waiting for him. "I have some questions about Potion I want to ask the Professor."
Daphne gave him a worried look, but still nodded and left.
Only two people remained in the classroom.
Snape sat behind the podium, grading that pile of appalling parchment essays, without looking up: "If you are here to show off your cleverness, Rosier, the door is over there."
"Of course not, Professor."
Julian walked up to the podium and took a delicate small box wrapped in black velvet from the inner pocket of his robes, gently placing it on the corner of Snape's desk.
"What is this?" Snape stopped his quill and raised his eyelids.
"A Christmas gift," Julian said with a smile.
Snape raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard some kind of joke: "I do not believe I assigned any homework for exchanging gifts."
"This is just a bit of respect from a student to a mentor." Julian opened the box.
Inside lay a crystal vial only the size of a thumb.
The vial contained an emerald green, viscous liquid that flickered with an eerie fluorescence under the firelight; the mouth of the vial was tightly wax-sealed, yet one could still feel a heart-palpitating magic fluctuation.
Snape's pupils contracted sharply.
As a Potion Master, he recognized what it was almost instantly.
"Peruvian Vipertooth venom..." Snape's voice carried a hint of surprise for the first time. "And... live-extracted? This level of purity cannot be bought on the market at all."
"I had the honor of receiving a gift from a distant uncle." Julian lied without changing expression; in reality, this was contraband he had exchanged through Borgin and Burkes using those dragon eggshells. "I thought that only in your hands, Professor, could such a thing realize its true value. For instance... improving that Wolfsbane Potion you have been researching?"
Snape suddenly looked up, his gaze sharp as a knife: "You know about the Wolfsbane Potion?"
"I have seen some journals in the Library," Julianshrugged. "Purely academic curiosity."
Snape stared at him for a long time.
That look was as if he wanted to dissect Julian to see if his internal organs were also black.
Finally, Snape reached out a pale hand, picked up the small vial, and shook it before his eyes.
"Rosier," Snape said slowly, his tone complex. "You are very smart. Much smarter than your classmate (Draco) who only knows how to show off his broomstick, and much more dangerous than that self-righteous chosen one (Harry)."
Snape tucked the vial into his sleeve.
"I do not care who your uncle is, nor do I care why you have the scent of a dragon on you. But..." Snape leaned forward, warning in a low voice.
"The walls of Hogwarts hide many eyes. If you cross that line, Dumbledore will be the first to know. When that time comes, even I will not be able to protect you."
"I understand the limits, Professor." Julian smiled slightly. "I only do what is in my own interest, and blowing up the school clearly does not serve my interests."
"Get out." Snape picked up his quill again. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Professor."
Julian turned and left, his steps light.
Chapter 56: Norbert Goes Berserk
(Thanks to "Hongxiu Gege de Fushan Yashi" for the gift)
The moment he stepped out of the Dungeons, he let out a long sigh of relief.
That bottle of venom had cost him a full 200 Galleons, but it was a worthwhile investment.
This not only dispelled Snape's suspicions about the dragon scent, but more importantly, it established a subtle relationship of mutual benefit with the SlytherinDean.
In this school, with Snape's tacit approval, many "gray" matters became much easier to handle.
For example... tonight's trip to the Forbidden Forest.
That idiot Hagrid actually thought he could hide a rapidly growing Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon with just a wooden shed.
If the barrier wasn't reinforced, the entire school might see a fire-breathing dragon circling the towers during breakfast tomorrow morning.
Julian touched the ring on his finger, his gaze darkening.
"Truly a troublesome pet... but also a decent weapon."
In the Entrance Hall, the massive fir trees emitted the fresh scent of pine resin.
Daphne stood at the foot of the stairs, a parchment list in her hand; when she saw Julian emerge, her somewhat cold expression instantly broke into a bright smile.
"Julian! Over here!" Daphne hurried forward and naturally took his arm with practiced ease. "I just checked the kitchen menu; they're serving roasted lamb chops and French onion soup for lunch today. We could..."
"Woof! Woof woof!!"
A series of shrill, frantic barks shattered the warmth of the moment.
The main doors burst open as a freezing wind, thick with snow, howled inside, extinguishing several torches on either side of the hall.
A massive black boarhound stumbled inside.
It was Hagrid's dog, Fang.
But this boarhound, which usually looked imposing (though it was actually as timid as a mouse), was currently in a wretched state.
Its normally smooth fur was scorched in several places, and a large patch of hair on its tail had been burned bald, still emitting wisps of blue smoke.
It sniffed frantically through the crowd, causing several Hufflepuff first-years to scream and scramble up the marble staircase.
Filch rushed out from a corner with a mop. "Damned beast! Who let this filthy dog in?! I'll turn it into a rug!"
However, Fang completely ignored Filch's roaring. He had caught a familiar scent—the human who carried the aura of dragon prestige and the Dark Arts.
He charged straight toward the Slytherin crowd, skidding to a halt in front of Julian. His front legs buckled, and he actually knelt down, letting out a whimpering whine.
Fang frantically rubbed his massive head against the hem of Julian's robes, his drool and soot instantly staining the expensive wool fabric.
Daphne stepped back half a pace in shock, her brow furrowed in disgust. "Merlin's beard... Is this that half-Giant's dog? Has it gone mad?"
Julian's eyes instantly darkened.
He looked down at Fang; the dog's pupils were dilated and its muscles were tense—signs of extreme terror.
Moreover, beneath the smell of burning, Julian detected something even more dangerous—a strong scent of sulfur and a violent aura unique to high-level magical creatures.
Something had happened to Norbert.
That idiot Hagrid must have failed to control the rapidly developing Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon.
"It seems our lunch will have to be postponed, Daphne." Julian calmly drew his wand, cast a silent 'Scourgify' on Fang, and then gently patted the back of Daphne's hand.
"What? But..." Daphne was a bit disappointed, but seeing Julian's serious expression, she immediately put aside her girlish pouting. "Is it something very important?"
"Very important," Julian said in a low voice. "I have to go take care of it."
He wasn't entirely lying; after all, Norbert was his cash cow.
Daphne was a smart girl; she understood the underlying meaning.
"Alright." She nodded obediently, even helping Julianstraighten his collar which had been ruffled by the wind. "Then be careful. It's snowing hard outside. I'll wait for you in the Common Room..."
"I'll be back as soon as possible."
Julian gave Daphne a slight nod, then turned and, under the astonished gazes of the gathered students, followed the massive boarhound into the swirling blizzard.
...
The moment they left the shelter of the Castle, the violent north wind, carrying icy sleet, slammed into his face.
The snow was already knee-deep, and every step required immense physical effort.
But Julian did not slow down.
He cast a Feather-Light Charm and a Warming Charm on himself; his black silhouette left an afterimage in the snow as he closely followed the sprinting Fang.
Before he even reached Hagrid's Hut, he saw thick smoke.
It wasn't the white smoke of burning wood, but thick, black smoke filled with sparks.
The hut's windows were shattered, and occasionally a pillar of orange-red flame erupted from within, accompanied by sharp, piercing shrieks—a noise like metal scraping against glass that made his eardrums ache.
"Dammit!"
Hagrid's gruff roar came from inside the house. "Norbert! No! That's me mum's teapot! Don't bite that! Oh Merlin, me beard!"
Julian rushed to the door and kicked open the half-closed wooden door.
The scene inside was absolute hell.
Furniture lay overturned everywhere; the massive wooden table had been burned to charcoal and snapped in two. The floor was covered in porcelain shards and torn cotton stuffing.
In the center of the room, a dragon nearly the size of a wolfhound was perched on the mantelpiece.
It was no longer the shriveled little thing that had just hatched.
Its scales had turned a hard, iron-black color, and a row of sharp bone spikes rose along its spine. Its wingspan was a full two meters wide, and the wind from their flapping blew sparks all over the room.
Its eyes were a murky orange-yellow, filled with violence and a desire for destruction.
Hagrid was cowering in a corner, using a massive pot lid as a shield. His face was covered in blood—marks from dragon claws. Half of his beard was scorched, making him look both comical and pathetic.
"Ro... Rosier!" Hagrid cried out upon seeing Julian, as if seeing a savior, yet also an inquisitor. "Get out! Don't come in! He... he's a bit cranky today! Maybe he's teething!"
"Cranky?" Julian sneered, closing the door behind him and giving his wand a stylish flourish.
"He's asserting his territory, you idiot. He sees you as a rival..."
Before he could finish, Norbert seemed to sense the threat of the new intruder.
He whipped his head around, his orange-yellow vertical pupils locking onto Julian.
"Roar—!!"
He opened his maw full of Fangs, a blinding red light glowing deep in his throat.
Boom!
A blast of dragon fire capable of melting rock shot straight toward Julian's face.
Chapter 57: Plotting for Norbert
(Thanks to "Hongxiu Gege's Tomoyama Masashi" for the gift)
"Aguamenti (High-Pressure Water Gun Version)!"
Julian didn't dodge. A high-pressure water jet erupted from the tip of his wand, like a white water Dragon, striking the center of the flames with precision.
Sizzle—!
Water and fire collided, erupting into a cloud of white steam that instantly filled the entire cabin.
Taking advantage of the moment his vision was obscured, Julian moved.
The Black Onyx Ring on his left hand flashed with a faint light, and his mental power instantly erupted.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
But when the spell hit Norbert's scales, it merely sparked and bounced off; a Dragon's magic resistance was naturally and ridiculously high.
Norbert burst out of the steam, wings flapping, lunging at Julian like a black cannonball, sharp claws aiming straight for his throat.
"Interesting."
A bloodthirsty glint flashed in Julian's eyes. Since its magic resistance was high, he would use physical means.
"Oppugno!"
With a wave of his wand, the sharp porcelain shards and iron nails on the ground instantly levitated, turning into a rain of projectiles that pelted Norbert mercilessly.
Crackle!
Norbert let out a cry of pain as the attack slowed its momentum.
In that instant, Julian had already closed the distance.
Instead of retreating, he rushed directly in front of the Dragon.
Under Hagrid's horrified gaze, the eleven-year-old boy actually reached out his left hand and grabbed Norbert's scaly neck!
It was practically suicidal!
But on Julian's finger, the Black Onyx Ring was now emitting a heart-palpitating chill.
"Kneel."
Julian's voice was no longer in English, but a hoarse, cold language filled with ancient majesty—Parseltongue.
Although Dragons are not snakes, as the pinnacle of reptilian creatures, they have an instinctive sensitivity to this "superior" language originating from the depths of the soul.
Norbert's body suddenly stiffened.
It felt as if the hand gripping its neck wasn't human, but that of a giant, cold, Ancient Python.
The suppression from its bloodline caused its flames to instantly extinguish in its throat.
"Incarcerous!"
Julian pressed his wand in his right hand against the Dragon's belly—its softest part.
Several thick black iron chains appeared out of thin air. They weren't ordinary ropes but barbed metal chains that instantly bound Norbert tightly, pinning it firmly to the ground.
Bang!
Norbert crashed heavily onto the ash-covered floor, struggling desperately and letting out unwilling roars, but the chains tightened further, biting into the gaps between its scales.
Julian stepped on the Dragon's head, pinning it ruthlessly to the floor.
He leaned down, his amber eyes turning into eerie vertical slits, staring directly into Norbert's fear-filled eyes.
"Sss— (Quiet)."
It was Parseltongue again.
This time, Norbert stopped struggling completely. It sensed the aura of death from this human hatchling. If it moved again, that wand would pierce its heart.
A deathly silence fell over the room.
Only Hagrid's heavy breathing could be heard.
"Merlin..." Hagrid put down the pot lid, staring at the scene in a daze. "You... you... subdued it?"
Julian slowly withdrew his foot and tidied his slightly messy robes. The vertical slits in his eyes faded, returning to his usual elegance and indifference.
Julian turned to look at Hagrid, his tone mocking. "If I had been five minutes later, you would have been its dinner, Hagrid."
Hagrid lowered his head in shame, wiping the blood from his face with a large, dirty handkerchief. "It... it just doesn't know its own strength... it's still small..."
"It's a Dragon, Hagrid. It will never be your pet."
Julian walked over to the bundled-up Norbert, took out a crystal vial, and unceremoniously pried open the Dragon's mouth with his wand to collect a large bottle of smoking saliva and residual Dragon Breath.
"Listen, Hagrid." Julian shook the vial in his hand and tucked it into his robes. "This school will be very empty during this holiday. It's the best chance to move it."
"Move it?" Hagrid's tears instantly welled up. "No... I can't send it away... It's Norbert! It's like my own child!"
"Then wait to be sent to Azkaban," Julian said coldly. "Illegally raising a Dragon and causing casualties is enough to make you spend the rest of your life under the Dementor's Kiss. And Dumbledore will be implicated for shielding you."
At the mention of Dumbledore, Hagrid's body trembled.
"Then... what should I do?" The half-giant looked at Julianlike a helpless child.
"I'll arrange it." Julian walked to the door, looking at the wind and snow outside. "My family has the relevant channels."
In truth, Julian just wanted the Dragon for himself. Although he didn't have a heaven-defying suitcase like Newt Scamander's, the Rosier Family could still provide a low-end version of a Pet Space.
After observing for a while, he found that Norbert's bloodline quality was very high—a total cash cow.
"But... how will it be transported?"
"I have my ways." Julian turned back with a meaningful smile. "As payment for cleaning up your mess, I'll be coming by often these next few days. I need to take a little... interest from Norbert. I don't suppose you'll mind?"
Looking at the shivering, chain-bound Norbert, Hagridswallowed hard and shook his head frantically.
"No... I don't mind. Just don't hurt it..."
"Of course." Julian pushed open the door, letting in the cold wind. "I'm an animal lover, after all."
Stepping out of the cabin, Julian glanced at the crystal vial in his hand.
Pure Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon breath.
This stuff was a priceless treasure in Knockturn Alley; just one drop could double the power of any fire-attribute Potion.
"Merry Christmas, Norbert."
He chuckled softly and disappeared into the white expanse of wind and snow.
Chapter 58: Dragon Breath - Embers
On the Eighth Floor of the Castle, opposite the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by Trolls.
Julian's hurried footsteps echoed crisply against the marble floor.
He looked a bit disheveled now: the hem of his expensive wool robe was scorched with several holes, and the tips of his hair carried a faint scent of sulfur, but a startling fervor burned in his eyes.
He walked past that blank stretch of wall three times.
I need a place to work with violent elements, a completely safe and fully equipped alchemy laboratory.
I need a place to work with violent elements, a completely safe and fully equipped alchemy laboratory.
I need a place to work with violent elements, a completely safe and fully equipped alchemy laboratory.
The wall rippled like water, and a heavy iron door slowly emerged.
Julian slipped inside, and the iron door shut heavily behind him, completely sealing out the whistling north wind and the clamor of the campus.
This was a room filled with medieval mystery; the surrounding walls were built of obsidian capable of absorbing magic fluctuations, and a slowly rotating Brass orrery hung from the ceiling.
In the center of the room, a massive alchemy table engraved with Runic Script emitted a faint blue glow.
Julian placed the crystal vial containing Norbert's Dragonbreath on the table; the liquid inside crashed angrily against the walls as if alive, each impact accompanied by faint orange-red sparks.
"Now, let's see what you're made of."
Shedding his tattered outer robe, he wore only a crisp white shirt, his sleeves neatly rolled up with silver clips to reveal the smooth lines of his forearms.
Julian took a set of precision alchemy tools from his ring: silver droppers, sealed magic-conducting tubes, and several pieces of high-purity magic crystals.
His goal was simple: to compress this violent Dragonbreath and etch it into the Black Onyx Ring on his left hand through a Runic Script circuit.
Alchemy is a gamble with the soul of matter.
Julian took a deep breath, his mental energy spreading out like spider silk to envelop the alchemy table. He slowly but firmly unscrewed the stopper of the crystal vial.
"Roar—!"
A burst of blazing red light erupted instantly, as if a miniature Dragon were trying to break free from its shackles.
The temperature in the air rose sharply; the Runic Scripton the alchemy table brightened to the extreme, emitting a humming sound as it attempted to suppress the riotous energy.
"Still."
Julian gave a low shout, a flick of faint blue magic from his fingertips transforming into several thin chains that precisely coiled around the flowing flame.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; the violence of the Dragon breath far exceeded his expectations. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his left hand onto the center of the alchemy array.
"In the name of Rosier, constrict!"
In the magic-conducting tube, emerald green Dragon Saliva was slowly injected as a neutralizing agent.
The moment the previously violent fire elements touched the Dragon Saliva, they hissed like hot iron meeting water; a large amount of white steam billowed up, blurring Julian's vision.
He didn't close his eyes; his vertical pupils flickered within the steam, staring intently at the flow of magic.
Picking up the engraving tool, he etched a set of tiny "Embers" circuits onto the inner side of the Black Onyx Ring with startling speed. Every cut was precise to the micron, every stroke infused with intense focus.
As the final stroke was completed, Julian suddenly clenched his palm.
"Condense!"
Boom—!
A visible ripple of red energy spread out from the alchemy table, causing the surrounding test tubes to clink.
The once-violent Dragon breath transformed into a thin red line, following the Runic Script circuit and submissively boring into the Black Onyx Ring.
A flash of dark red fire light crossed the surface of the black onyx before vanishing.
The once-cold surface of the ring now felt warm to the touch, as if a miniature heart were slumbering within.
Julian leaned against the workbench, exhausted and panting. His shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his chest.
He raised his left hand, gently stroking the ring.
With just a thought, he could instantly release a fan-shaped flame with power no less than that of an adult Dragon's breath; it was a tamed force of nature.
"Whew... it's finally done."
He glanced at the clock on the wall; damn, it was already five in the afternoon.
He had completely missed lunch and even missed Daphne's wait in the common room; he could imagine how resentful—or angry—Daphne would be right now.
"I need to think of a decent excuse... or a compensation."
Julian laughed self-deprecatingly, putting his scorched robe back on. He noticed some Discarded red diamondsin the waste pile next to the alchemy table, created from the failed fusion of Dragon breath and crystal.
Though they couldn't be used as core materials, if cut into jewelry, they would emit a never-fading faint glow and warmth.
He picked up a few, an idea already forming in his mind.
By the time he left the Room of Requirement, torches had already been lit in the corridors.
With the Christmas holidays approaching, most students were in their dormitories packing their bags, making the corridors seem somewhat eerie.
As Julian passed the Corridor of armor on the fourth floor, he suddenly stopped.
That feeling was back.
A viscous, cold, nauseating sensation, like a venomous snake slithering down his spine.
In the shadows of the corner ahead, a figure wrapped in a thick purple turban stood with his back to him.
Professor Quirrell was murmuring something to a closed empty classroom door, his body trembling slightly, and something behind that turban seemed to be writhing restlessly.
"...No... Master... it's not time yet... Potter... he hasn't..."
Intermittent groans reached Julian's ears.
Julian narrowed his eyes slightly, his right hand already quietly gripping his wand. He knew what was hidden under that turban—it was the remnant soul of Lord Voldemort, that stray dog parasitizing the back of a coward's head.
Quirrell seemed to sense the movement behind him and whipped his head around.
That pale, twisted face, filled with terror, looked exceptionally hideous in the firelight.
"Oh... it's... it's Mr. Rosier," Quirrell stammered, his face pulling into an extremely ugly smile, his eyes darting away. "So late... what... what are you doing here?"
"I just came from the Library, Professor." Julian lied without changing his expression, giving an elegant bow. "You don't look very well? Should I help you contact Madam Pomfrey?"
"No... no need!" Quirrell shrieked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, pressing his hand tightly against the back of his head. "Just... an old ailment... a migraine. I... I'll be going now."
He stumbled away, the smell of garlic lingering in the air for a long time.
Julian watched his retreating figure coldly.
"It's not time yet, Tom." He whispered to himself. "Once I have the things from the Chamber of Secrets, we'll have a good talk about the topic of immortality."
He turned and walked toward the stairs leading to the Dungeons.
Now, he had to face someone more troublesome than Lord Voldemort—a Slytherin girl in love who had been waiting for him all afternoon.
Chapter 59: Heart to Heart
Slytherin Common Room.
The fire in the fireplace burned vigorously, making a crackling sound.
Daphne was sitting in an armchair by the window, holding a copy of powerful potions, but she hadn't turned a page for over ten minutes.
Her face looked somewhat gloomy reflected in the firelight; her long legs were crossed, and her toes tapped the floor rhythmically.
Draco and Pansy sat in the distance, whispering about something, stealing glances over here from time to time, clearly waiting to see how Rosier would handle the situation.
When Julian pushed open the stone door and entered the common room, Daphne's gaze locked onto him instantly.
She saw his tattered robes, the mess in his hair, and the trace of fatigue on his face that he couldn't hide.
The harsh words she had prepared swirled in her throat before turning into a cold snort filled with grievance and heartache.
"So you finally know to come back, Mr. Rosier?"
Daphne stood up, arms crossed, and walked up to Julianlike a cat whose territory had been invaded.
"I thought you were taken to the Forbidden Forest by that mad dog as a snack. Or perhaps you met some charming Ravenclaw senior outside and forgot the time?"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a coldness characteristic of Slytherin.
Julian didn't explain; he just looked at her quietly, his eyes revealing a rare, apologetic tenderness.
He slowly approached and, before Daphne could try to step back, reached out to grasp her shoulders.
"Sorry, Daphne," he said softly, his voice raspy. "I ran into some... unexpected trouble. But I brought back a compensation that will satisfy you."
He pulled the cut and polished ember red diamond, which emitted a faint reddish warmth, from his pocket. Under Daphne's surprised gaze, he gently pulled her hand and placed the gem, representing the Dragon Essence, into her palm.
"Merry Christmas, my Daphne."
"Merry Christmas, Julian."
...
As curfew approached, most students had returned to their dormitories.
Draco and Pansy had also left ten minutes ago. Before leaving, Draco had glared fiercely at the red diamond, clearly calculating to write to his father to buy an even larger one.
Now, only the firelight in the fireplace still flickered, stretching two snuggling figures long and projecting them onto the cold, damp stone wall.
Julian felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.
High-intensity Alchemy experiments had nearly drained his mental energy; the stinging pain deep in his brain hit him in waves like a tide.
But he didn't move, because Daphne was letting him lean against her shoulder.
The girl had a faint scent of vanilla mixed with parchment, warm and reassuring.
"So..." Daphne broke the silence, her voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something, "you were missing all day just to get this?"
She raised her hand, and the ember red diamondshimmered with a lava-like luster under the firelight.
"Not just for this." Julian closed his eyes, his voice raspy and lazy. "Also to deal with a slightly large trouble."
"Trouble?" Daphne's hand paused. "Does it have to do with that dog?"
"That dog was just a messenger." Julian opened his eyes, the flickering flames reflected in them. "The real protagonist is a dragon—a rapidly growing, short-tempered Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon."
"You mean that half-giant is really raising a Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon in the Forbidden Forest?" Daphnegasped, her body suddenly stiffening. "Merlin, is he mad?"
Although Julian had given her a heads-up beforehand, it still surprised Daphne.
"He's not just mad; he almost turned himself into roasted meat." Julian chuckled, a hint of mockery in his tone. "But I helped him solve the problem—at least for now."
He sat up straight and turned to look at Daphne.
The firelight reflected on her face, plating her cold and elegant features with a soft golden edge.
Her deep blue eyes were filled with shock, but even more so with a kind of excitement for unknown thrills—the very essence of the adventure gene in Slytherin's bones.
"Do you want to know how I solved it?" Julian leaned in close to her, their noses almost touching.
"How did you solve it?" Daphne subconsciously held her breath, her gaze involuntarily falling on Julian's slightly pale lips.
"I beat it into submission," Julian said nonchalantly. "Using some slightly illegal methods. Now, that dragon is mine."
"Yours?" Daphne's eyes widened. "Where do you plan to keep it? In the dormitory? Pansy would faint from fright."
"Of course not." Julian smiled and gently flicked her nose. "I have a more secret place... I need a helper, an absolutely trustworthy, clever, and sufficiently daring Slytherin."
His voice was low and seductive, as if inviting her to join a magnificent crime.
"Daphne, are you willing?"
Daphne looked at him, and in that instant, she felt as if she were being sucked into a massive whirlpool.
The boy before her was not just the elegant top student, but a mystery full of danger and secrets. This aura of danger held a fatal attraction for her.
"As long as it's not to Azkaban..." A sly smile curled at the corner of Daphne's mouth. She leaned forward proactively and planted a kiss as light as a feather on the corner of his lips. "I'm with you all the way, Mr. Rosier."
The kiss was short, yet it carried a solemnity like an oath.
"Very well." Julian narrowed his eyes with satisfaction, his fingers gently rubbing the pulse on her wrist. "Then, for the upcoming holidays, we'll have a lot of things to do."
...
Walking Daphne back to the girls' dormitory didn't take long.
In the shadows of the corridor before parting, the two shared another long and lingering kiss until Daphnepushed him away breathlessly and fled through the stone door with a flushed face.
As the stone door closed, the tender smile on Julian's face vanished instantly, replaced by an extreme calm and indifference.
"Break time is over."
He whispered to himself and turned toward another passage.
Though his body was exhausted to the limit, his mind had recovered a bit of clarity from the tenderness just now.
Tonight there is still one last task.
He had to take advantage of this residual mental energy to complete the first physical transmission test of the vanishing cabinet.
Chapter 60: The First Transaction
When he returned to the Room of Requirement, the place had changed its appearance.
It was no longer that mysterious alchemy laboratory, but had transformed into a massive warehouse piled high with junk—the place where generations of Hogwartsstudents hid their contraband.
Amidst these mountains of dilapidated brooms, rusted suits of armor, and moldy books, stood a black, towering cabinet.
It looked unremarkable, with even a few scratches on the cabinet door, but it was the only shortcut to the Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley.
He stepped forward, gently stroking the cold surface of the cabinet.
Previously, he had only transported letters and parchment. Although successful, the transmission of inanimate objects versus living things, and simple matter versus complex magical materials, were completely different concepts.
This time, he was going to transport a batch of real "hard currency."
Julian pulled several small packages tightly wrapped in moisture-proof cloth from his robes.
Inside was Acromantula venom he had collected at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and a few strands of shed Unicorn tail hair. Although he hadn't plucked them himself, the scavenged items were just as valuable...
These things were merely contraband at Hogwarts, but in Knockturn Alley, they were hot commodities that people would fight over.
"I hope that old fellow Borgin isn't asleep yet."
Julian placed the packages into the cabinet and closed the door.
He took a deep breath, raised his wand, and lightly tapped the Runic Script lock on the cabinet door.
"Harmonia Nectere Passus."
As the incantation was uttered, the cabinet began to vibrate slightly.
A low humming sound emanated from inside the cabinet, as if something was being squeezed and stretched within a spatial rift.
Julian stared intently at the sliver of eerie light peeking through the crack in the cabinet door.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
The humming stopped abruptly.
Everything returned to tranquility.
Julian was in no hurry to open the cabinet. He waited for a minute until he was certain there were no signs of magical backlash before waving his wand again.
The cabinet door popped open.
It was empty inside.
It worked.
A satisfied curve tugged at the corner of Julian's mouth. But he didn't leave; instead, he continued to wait.
After about ten minutes, the cabinet vibrated once more.
This vibration was even fainter.
When the door opened again, a heavy coin pouch and a parchment note had appeared on the previously empty shelf.
Julian picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand.
The pleasant clinking of gold coins echoed in the silent room.
At least 500 Galleons.
Borgin might be greedy, but in business, as long as you could provide sufficiently rare goods, he was quite prompt with payment.
Unfolding the note, he saw Borgin's flowery and slightly scrawled handwriting:
"Respected Mr. R:
The goods are of excellent quality. If you can steadily provide items of this caliber, I am willing to increase the purchase price by another ten percent. Additionally, regarding the lead you mentioned last time about 'that diadem,' I have kept an eye out for you. It seems an old customer has an ancient book related to it... Looking forward to our next cooperation."
Julian casually burned the note to ashes.
"Pleasure doing business, Borgin."
He tucked the coin pouch into the space within the reinforced Black Onyx Ring.
With this, the most critical link of his underground commercial empire at Hogwarts—'logistics'—had finally been established.
With this passage, he could not only fence stolen goods but also continuously purchase various Dark Artsmaterials and books strictly forbidden by Hogwarts from Knockturn Alley.
Even... in times of necessity, this could serve as a perfect escape route.
Having finished all this, Julian finally felt a wave of irresistible dizziness.
He staggered, only managing to steady himself by leaning against a nearby pile of old books.
"Time to sleep..."
He dragged his heavy steps out of the Room of Requirement.
By the time he returned to the Slytherin dormitory, it was already two in the morning.
The dormitory was pitch black; only Theodore Nott's steady breathing and the thunderous snoring of Crabbeand Goyle could be heard.
Julian didn't turn on the light. He skillfully removed his robes and slipped into the dark green silk bedding.
Almost the moment he hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep.
...
The dream was not a void.
In the deepest part of his consciousness, Julian felt as if he were submerged in dark, underwater depths.
All around were massive, coiled stone pillars carved with entwined serpents.
In the distance stood a colossal statue—the face of an old man with a sparse beard, his mouth wide open as if screaming, or as if it were a black hole.
"Sss... ssss..."
A strange sound echoed in his ears.
It wasn't the sound of wind or water, but the friction of some massive creature sliding across stone slabs.
That sound carried an ancient magic, pulling Julian's consciousness toward that black hole.
He heard a name in his dream.
"Salazar..."
Then, the voice changed, becoming shriller and colder.
"Open it... Heir... only you can open it..."
Julian snapped his "eyes" open in the dream.
He saw a pair of yellow, massive eyes capable of freezing the soul.
The Basilisk.
It was calling to him.
Or rather, it was calling to the one who held the key.
Just as Julian was about to meet those eyes, the Black Onyx Ring on his finger suddenly erupted with a surge of searing heat, violently pulling him out of that dangerous dream.
"Hah!"
Julian bolted upright in bed, gasping for air, cold sweat soaking his pajamas.
Outside the window, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
The blizzard had stopped, and all of Hogwarts was shrouded in a deathly silent silver-white.
He looked down at the ring in his hand; the Ember Circuits on it were flickering slightly, as if signaling a warning.
"The Chamber of Secrets..."
Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead, his gaze becoming incredibly sharp.
That dream was no coincidence.
That was the soul fluctuation of the Basilisk.
It seemed that as his strength grew, especially with the frequent use of Parseltongue, the connection between him and the Chamber of Secrets was becoming tighter and tighter.
This was both an opportunity and a massive risk.
If Lord Voldemort discovered he could sense the Basilisk, that madman would absolutely stop at nothing to eliminate him as a competitor.
"I must speed up the progress."
Julian rolled out of bed. Despite having slept for less than four hours, he was currently not sleepy at all.
Today was the first day of the Christmas holidays.
Most students would be taking the hogwarts expresshome after breakfast.
The Castle would become empty and quiet.
This was the best time for action.
Chapter 61: Contacting the Basilisk
The first day of Christmas.
As the last batch of carriages rolled over the thick snow toward Hogsmeade Station, the entire ancient Castleseemed to have half its soul sucked out, falling into a kind of lethargy and silence known as "vacation."
Julian stood in the shadows of the Entrance Hall, a steaming cup of pumpkin juice in his hand, gracefully waving goodbye to Draco, who was bundled up like a green ball.
There was also the aloof Theodore; the two looked at each other and nodded slightly to bid farewell.
Watching the carriage disappear into the vast white horizon, the smile at the corner of Julian's mouth instantly cooled.
He casually placed the remaining pumpkin juice on the base of a nearby suit of armor, turned around against the flow of people, and headed toward the marble staircase.
Hogwarts right now was exactly how he liked it best.
Empty, deep, and filled with secret echoes that could only be heard in the silence.
Most of the students staying at school—including those red-headed Weasleys from Gryffindor and Harry Potter, the chosen one—were probably huddled around the fireplace in their common room playing wizards chess or rolling around in the snow.
No one would notice a Slytherin first-year quietly slipping toward the darkest corners of the Castle.
The second floor.
The temperature here seemed a few degrees lower than on other floors.
Julian lightened his steps, his dragon-hide boots making almost no sound on the stone slabs.
The air was thick with a damp, musty smell—a scent born from years of standing water and neglect.
Ahead was that famous door—its paint long since mottled and peeling, with a crooked sign hanging on it: "Out of Order."
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Julian glanced around, and after confirming that the portraits at both ends of the corridor were dozing, he quickly pushed the door open and bolted it behind him.
"Splash—"
As soon as he entered, a puddle of water washed over the soles of his shoes.
It was a dark, depressing room. The stone sinks were cracked and peeling, and most of the wooden cubicle doors were rickety, with only the one at the very end tightly shut.
"Boo-hoo... boo-hoo-hoo..."
A fitful, miserable sobbing came from behind that door, accompanied by the sound of splashing water.
"Who is it now?"
That shrill, neurotic voice suddenly spiked. "Are you here to throw books? Or to laugh at my glasses? Oh, it's a boy this time... a Slytherin!"
Above that door, a translucent ghost girl wearing thick glasses suddenly floated out.
Myrtle looked down at Julian with an expression that was both sorrowful and aggressive.
"Get out! This is the girls' bathroom! You Slytherins are always so rude, just like Olive Hornby was back then..."
"Shut up, Myrtle."
Julian's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable coldness.
He didn't even look up at the ghost once, walking straight toward the circular set of sinks in the center.
Myrtle was stunned.
Usually, when students saw her, they either screamed and ran away or tried to comfort her with clumsy words; no one had ever dared to speak to her in such a tone, as if commanding a House-elf.
"You... how dare you..." She trembled with rage, her body bloating as she prepared to dive down and drench Julianin filthy water.
"If you don't want The Bloody Baron to come here and talk to you about noise control," Julian said nonchalantly, pulling his wand from his robes and lightly tapping the edge of the sink.
"Or, if you don't want me to turn your secret crush on that Ravenclaw prefect when you were alive into a giant poster and stick it at the entrance of the Great Hall..."
Myrtle's movements instantly froze.
Her face turned a silvery-gray, a sign of a ghost's extreme anger, but it was mostly fear.
Slytherin's Bloody Baron was a nightmare for all ghosts, and as for that secret about the prefect... how could this boy know?!
"You... you demon!"
Myrtle shrieked like a punctured balloon and zipped back into the toilet with a "whoosh."
With a loud flush, the world finally became quiet.
Julian withdrew his gaze with satisfaction.
When dealing with such emotional ghosts, fear was always more effective than politeness.
He walked to a specific copper tap.
On the side of that tap, a tiny snake was engraved—so small it was impossible to notice without looking closely.
This was it.
Julian took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting that cold, slimy feeling he had felt in his dreams fill his body once more.
He imagined that the little snake had come to life.
He imagined that he wasn't speaking, but hissing.
"Ssia-hassa (Open)."
A strange, hair-raising sound came from his mouth.
It wasn't a human language, but a hiss that seemed to come from an underground abyss, carrying the smell of sulfur and decay.
The sound echoed in the empty bathroom, and even the air seemed to freeze with it.
The next second, a miracle happened.
The copper tap emitted a brilliant white light and began to spin rapidly.
Then, the entire sink began to tremble.
The vibration wasn't violent, but it was incredibly deep, as if the very foundations of the Castle were responding to the command.
The sink slowly vanished from sight, revealing a very large pipe, wide enough for an adult to slide into.
A cold, foul wind, mixed with a thousand years of stale air, blew out from the dark mouth of the pipe.
It was the breath of the Chamber of Secrets.
Julian stood at the edge of the pipe, staring down into the bottomless darkness.
His heart was pounding wildly, not from fear, but from an indescribable excitement.
Salazar Slytherin's legacy was right down there.
"Sss... (Master?)"
Suddenly, an extremely faint but very real voice drifted up from the depths of the pipe.
The voice echoed against the pipe walls, becoming blurred after countless reflections, but the submission and longing within it were so clear.
The Basilisk was awake.
It had heard the call of Parseltongue.
Julian clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, forcing himself to stay calm.
Now was not the time to go down.
He had no rooster, no Fawkes, and no sword of Gryffindor.
Although he had learned Parseltongue and could theoretically control the Basilisk, facing such a thousand-year-old Dark Arts creature meant that any slight oversight would result in death.
Furthermore, once he went down, he would inevitably leave traces; that old fox Dumbledore's control over the Castle was far beyond imagination.
Confirming the entrance was usable and establishing initial contact was enough.
"Ssia-seth-ha (Sleep, wait for my command)."
Julian whispered the instruction into the dark abyss.
The voice from the depths seemed somewhat disappointed, letting out a dull scraping sound as if some massive object had rolled over on stone, and then silence returned.
"Ssia-ha (Close)."
With the final hiss, the sink vibrated again, slowly rising to cover the black hole seamlessly.
The copper tap stopped spinning, and the white light dissipated.
Everything returned to how it was, as if nothing had happened.
Except for that faint, lingering fishy smell in the air.
Julian let out a long breath, feeling his back soaked with cold sweat.
The mental exhaustion from that moment was actually greater than last night's alchemy experiment; it was a confrontation of pressure at the soul level.
He walked to the mirror and straightened his collar.
The boy in the mirror was pale, but his black eyes were frighteningly bright, and deep in his pupils, a trace of a lingering slit-pupil shadow seemed to remain.
"Is this what power feels like..."
He gave the mirror an elegant and dangerous smile.
Just then, footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.
Light, slow, and accompanied by the harsh sound of nails scraping against the stone wall.
Chapter 62: Frost Rose
Julian's eyes sharpened instantly.
Filch? Or that damned cat?
He quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and silently slipped into the shadows behind the door.
The door was pushed open a crack.
A skinny grey cat poked its head in and slipped inside.
Madam Norris.
Its lamp-like eyes scanned the lavatory, its nose twitching as if it had caught the strange scent leaked when the Chamber of Secrets opened earlier.
It circled the sink a few times, letting out a confused "meow," then hissed at the toilet where Myrtle was hiding.
It did not discover Julian hiding in the corner.
A few seconds later, Filch's raspy grumbling came from the corridor: "What is it, my sweet? Smelled a troublemaking student?...Damned Peeves..."
Madam Norris took one last look at the sink and turned to slip out.
The door closed again.
Julian lifted the Disillusionment Charm and stepped out from the shadows.
That was close.
If Filch had found him here, although it wouldn't necessarily expose the Chamber of Secrets, explaining his presence would be a hassle.
"It seems this cat's intuition is sharper than I imagined."
Julian looked at the door thoughtfully.
Perhaps, before dealing with the Basilisk, he should find a way to get rid of those wandering eyes, or perhaps let Blanche handle it.
...
After leaving the second floor, Julian did not return directly to the Slytherin Dungeons.
The excitement of having just touched extreme Dark Artsmade it impossible for him to calm down.
He needed something else to neutralize this emotion.
Something warm, vivid, and belonging to the aura of "the living."
His steps involuntarily turned toward the Great Hall.
It was lunchtime.
Not many students remained at school; the four house tables had been merged into one, with the Professors sitting there as well.
This relaxed atmosphere was exactly the disguise he needed right now.
Besides, if he remembered correctly, Daphne had also stayed at school.
An exquisitely folded silver paper crane flapped its wings, lightly weaving through the noisy crowd in the Great Hall, and landed precisely beside the dinner plate in front of Daphne.
Daphne was listlessly poking a piece of Yorkshire pudding with her fork when her deep blue eyes immediately lit up the moment she saw the paper crane.
Unfolding the paper crane, there was only a single line of elegant script:
"I'll wait for you at the Black Lake. Dress warmly."
...
The Black Lake was completely frozen over.
The vast lake surface was like a piece of unpolished dark crystal, reflecting the grey-white sky and the distant mountains covered in thick white snow.
The chilly wind howled, whipping up snow spray that stung the face.
Julian stood on a boulder by the lakeshore, his black wool coat flapping in the wind, with a silver and green scarf tied around his neck—it was a gift Daphne had given him before.
He watched the figure in the distance trudging through the snow.
Daphne wore a thick white velvet cloak today, trimmed with soft rabbit fur, and matching earmuffs; she looked like an exquisite snow doll.
Seeing Julian, she picked up her pace, even jogging a little, her white breath condensing into clouds in the air.
"Are you crazy, Rosier!"
She ran up to him, complaining breathlessly, her cheeks flushed red from the cold, but her eyes were full of smiles. "Calling a lady to this godforsaken place in this weather, if it weren't for..."
Before she could finish, she was stunned by the sight before her.
Julian smiled and raised his wand, lightly tapping the hard ice surface in front of him.
"Glacius Rosa (Frost Rose)."
This wasn't a standard spell, but a combination of Transfiguration and elemental magic.
As the faint glow from the wand's tip flickered, the originally mirror-smooth ice surface suddenly let out a crisp cracking sound.
But the ice layer didn't collapse; instead, it grew and curled upward like layers of petals.
In just a few seconds, a massive ice rose a full meter in diameter bloomed on the lake.
The crystal-clear petals refracted rainbow light under the weak sunlight, and the texture of every petal was clearly visible, as if it were nature's most perfect masterpiece.
But this wasn't the end.
Julian waved his wand like a conductor wielding a baton.
Countless small ice roses began to spread outward along the lake, forming a winding, crystal-clear flower path that extended all the way to the center of the lake.
"For what?" Julian turned his head, looking at the completely dazed Daphne with a playful glint in his eyes. "To freeze you into an ice sculpture?"
"You..."
Daphne opened her mouth but couldn't make a sound.
Born into a Pure-blood family, she had seen countless expensive magical fireworks and luxurious banquet decorations, but she had never seen such pure, stunning magic.
This wasn't just Transfiguration; it was an absolute mastery of elements, an art that perfectly blended violence and aesthetics.
"Let's go."
Julian jumped down from the boulder and naturally took her hand, which was clad in a thick glove. "The view at the center of the lake is better."
The two walked along the path paved with ice roses toward the center of the lake.
The ice beneath their feet was thick and solid; through the transparent surface, one could even see the shadows of the Giant Squid's tentacles swimming by occasionally in the depths.
That feeling of walking above an abyss was both terrifying and fascinating.
"Julian..." Daphne gripped his hand tightly, her voice trembling slightly. "Is your magic level... really just that of a first-year student?"
"Perhaps." Julian answered softly. "Or maybe I'm a genius? Which explanation do you prefer?"
"I prefer... the explanation that you are mine." Daphnesuddenly stopped, turned around, and looked at him very seriously.
The cold wind tousled her blonde hair, and a few strands stuck to her lips.
Julian reached out and tucked the strands behind her ear, his fingertips brushing against her cold but delicate cheek.
"I am yours, Daphne." Julian said in a low voice, his eyes growing deep. "As long as you are willing to stand by my side, no matter where I go... even if it's into the abyss."
"As long as you are in the abyss." Daphne stood on her tiptoes and clumsily cupped his face with her gloved hands, pressing a cold kiss firmly onto his cheek.
It was a pure kiss, without any impurities.
No calculations or desires of the adult world, only two souls leaning on each other in this world full of magic and danger.
Just then, a series of massive, heavy footsteps broke the tranquility.
"Boom... boom..."
The two looked toward the sound.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest on the opposite shore, a massive figure was trudging through the snow, dragging a fir tree at least three stories high.
It was Hagrid.
He was wearing that massive moleskin coat, his beard covered in icicles, muttering something as he walked.
"That big oaf..." Daphne frowned and said disdainfully, "He always makes such a commotion."
Julian, however, narrowed his eyes.
He saw a corner of something peeking out from Hagrid's coat pocket—it was a tablecloth that looked half-burnt.
It seemed our little friend "Norbert" had quite an appetite lately, and a temper to match.
"That's our opportunity, Daphne." A meaningful smile curled at the corner of Julian's mouth.
"Opportunity?"
"That's a Christmas tree, for the Great Hall decorations." Julian pointed at the tree.
"But for Hagrid, every minute away from his hut right now is a torment. Because his little pet is in its teething period and could set his house on fire at any moment."
"You mean..." Daphne seemed to understand something, an excited gleam flashing in her eyes.
"We need to pay our gamekeeper a visit." Julian brushed the snow off his hands. "And while we're at it, check on the dragon's growth. If it's growing fast enough... perhaps we can move that plan forward."
"But now?" Daphne glanced at the sky. "It's almost time for lunch."
"Lunch can wait." Julian pulled her along as he walked back, his steps light. "But dragon breath... doesn't wait for anyone."