Chapter 93: The Fuse
"Knock, knock."
Julian curled his fingers, the sound of his knocking echoing in the empty corridor, sounding exceptionally dull.
"Get in."
From inside came a low, silky, yet clearly irritated voice.
Julian pushed the door open and entered.
The office was dimly lit, with shelves all around filled with strange biological specimens soaked in glass jars—floating toad brains, shriveled lizard eyeballs, and the internal organs of unknown creatures, gently swaying in the murky preservative fluid along with the candlelight.
Snape was sitting behind that massive dark wood desk, holding a bright red quill, scrawling fiercely on a piece of parchment, his movements so forceful it was as if he were about to tear through it.
That was some unlucky Gryffindor's Potion essay.
"If it's because your hand is still hurting, Rosier,"
Snape didn't even look up, his greasy black hair hanging down on both sides of his face, obscuring most of his expression,
"then you should go find Pomfrey instead of bothering me while I grade this pile of... rubbish."
He finally scrawled a massive "T" on the parchment and tossed it aside in disgust.
"My hand is fine now, Professor."
Julian closed the door, not backing down because of Snape's foul attitude, walked to the desk, and bowed slightly.
"I came to thank you for the Potion last night."
Snape finally looked up.
Those hollow black eyes stared intently at Julian, as if trying to perform a live dissection on him with his gaze.
"Pomfrey said you crushed the bottle." Snape's voice was so soft it was hair-raising.
"I had a very terrifying dream, Professor."
Julian did not avoid his gaze, a perfectly measured smile on his face, "But fortunately, I've woken up."
Snape narrowed his eyes, keenly catching the underlying meaning in Julian's words.
He put down the quill, crossed his hands on the desk, and leaned back slightly, sinking into the shadows.
"What are you trying to say, Rosier? Don't beat around the bush like a Gryffindor."
"It's Potter."
Julian said softly, his tone carrying a hint of helplessness and concern.
"I ran into him at the Hospital Wing today. He looked... very excited. He kept muttering something about 'tonight,' 'the last chance,''stopping the thief,' and things like that."
Julian paused, observing Snape's expression.
Sure enough, upon hearing the keywords "Potter" and "tonight," the corner of Snape's eye twitched violently, and his lips thinned into a pale line.
"What an arrogant, reckless, brainless..." Snape squeezed a string of curses through his teeth, "Who does he think he is? A Ministry of Magic Auror?"
"I tried to advise him too, Professor."
Julian sighed, looking innocent, "I told him the school has the Professors and Headmaster Dumbledore, and there's no need for a first-year student to play the hero. But he seems to think... the Professors have all been deceived, or that a Professor is the 'thief'."
"Hmph."
Snape gave a short, cold laugh, filled with contempt for Potter's intellect.
"Typical Potter-esque delusions, exactly like his self-righteous father, always thinking the world won't turn without him."
Snape stood up abruptly, his black robes billowing with his movement like a giant bat spreading its wings.
He paced back and forth in the office, his brow furrowed.
Although he was mocking Harry, Julian knew Snapeunderstood the importance of the Philosopher's Stonebetter than anyone, and the danger of Quirrell better than anyone.
If that idiot the chosen one really broke in tonight...
"That old fool Dumbledore just left the school..." Snapemuttered to himself, his voice extremely low, yet still clearly audible in the deathly silent room.
He stopped abruptly, turned to look at Julian, his gaze sharp as a knife.
"Are you sure he said tonight?"
"Absolutely certain, Professor." Julian nodded sincerely, "He even borrowed some... strange props from me."
"Idiot! A bunch of idiots!"
Snape swept his sleeve angrily, the empty Potion bottles on the desk buzzing from his magic.
"Fine, you can get out, Rosier."
Snape sat back in his chair, but this time, he didn't reach for the red quill. Instead, he opened a drawer, seemingly checking the wand and some emergency Potions inside.
"Go back to sleep. If I see you in the corridor tonight, even if you are a Slytherin, I won't go easy on you."
"Of course, Professor."
Julian smiled slightly and bowed again, "Goodnight... to you."
He turned toward the door, and as his hand gripped the cold brass handle, Snape's unique, silky warning came from behind:
"And, Rosier. Don't think I don't know what role you're playing in this. Put away your little cleverness; Hogwartsis not your chessboard."
Julian's movement paused for half a second.
"I'm just a first-year student who wants to win the House Cup, Professor."
He didn't look back, spoke softly, and pulled the door open to leave.
As the door slammed shut behind him, the respect on Julian's face vanished instantly.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, a playful curve tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"The fuse is connected."
Although Snape had warned him, it precisely proved that Snape was now in the game.
This double agent would never allow Harry to die at Quirrell's hands—at least not now.
Once Harry and the others made a commotion down there or fell into a desperate situation, Snape would definitely rush down at the first moment.
And this was Julian's greatest confidence in letting three first-year rookies go up against Lord Voldemort.
With Snape as a safety net, he could shamelessly go and be the one to reap the rewards.
...
...
Half an hour later.
Eighth Floor, Room of Requirement.
Julian pushed open the door, and the room had changed its appearance.
It was no longer the usual dueling training ground or Potion lab, but an overly comfortable private cinema.
Thick Persian carpets covered the floor, and a warm fire burned in the fireplace, dispelling the Castle's nighttime chill.
A huge, soft velvet sofa sat in the center, and the low table next to it was piled with Honeydukes' sweets, chilled pumpkin juice, and even a plate of steaming roasted lamb chops just obtained from the kitchen house-elves.
Blanche had already deactivated her Animagus form.
She was wearing an oversized white shirt, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs, her two long, fair legs casually crossed as she nestled in the sofa, clutching a chocolate frog and trying to bite its head off.
"You're finally back."
Blanche said indistinctly, a bit of chocolate staining the corner of her mouth, "I almost fell asleep. Has the chosen one set out yet?"
"The show is just beginning."
Julian took off his robes, wearing only his shirt and trousers, walked to the sofa and sat down, casually lying back against Blanche.
Her body was soft and warm, with a faint milky scent, and she compliantly adjusted her posture.
Julian pulled a fist-sized crystal ball from his pocket and placed it gently on the low table.
"Aparecium."
Chapter 94: Entering the Fray
He tapped the crystal ball with his wand.
The mist inside the crystal ball began to churn, and after a few seconds, the image gradually cleared.
The perspective was somewhat shaky, with a few strands of brown curly hair at the edges—this was the view from Hermione's hair clip.
In the image was a dimly lit corridor.
"There!"
Harry's hushed voice came from the crystal ball, tinged with obvious trembling and excitement.
The view moved forward, and a slightly ajar wooden door appeared at the end of the line of sight.
"Alohomora."
Hermione's voice sounded, and the lock gave a soft click.
The door was pushed open.
A low, thunderous snoring sound emanated from the crystal ball, causing ripples to form in the pumpkin juiceon the table.
The view lifted, and three enormous, fanged dog heads filled the entire field of vision.
Fluffy.
Hagrid's three-headed dog was sprawled fast asleep on the trapdoor, with a self-playing harp beside it—clearly, Quirrell had already been here and left the harp to keep Fluffy asleep.
"It seems our Professor Quirrell is quite musically inclined."
Julian popped a Fizzing Whizzbee into his mouth, his gaze playful, "He even left the door open for those who came after."
In the image, the trio visibly relaxed.
"Quick! While it's still asleep!" Ron's voice came through.
They pushed aside Fluffy's enormous paw together, revealing the trapdoor beneath.
"I'll go first," said Harry.
Then, the image shook violently, accompanied by the sound of wind and Hermione's startled cry, as the perspective plunged into darkness.
A few seconds later, there was a dull thud—the sound of landing on some sort of soft plant.
"Soft landing."
Ron's voice came through, "Lucky we had these plants."
Julian raised an eyebrow, gently twirling Blanche's long hair around his finger.
"Lucky? Ha, Weasleys are always so optimistic."
Sure enough, the next second, the darkness in the image began to writhe.
Countless snake-like vines surged from all directions, tightly entangling their ankles and waists.
Devils Snare.
"Ah! It's moving!" Hermione screamed, "It's Devils Snare!"
"Don't move! The more you struggle, the tighter it gets!" Hermione shouted, reciting the textbook knowledge, but Harry and Ron were clearly panicking, frantically tearing at the vines, only to end up wrapped like two dumplings.
"Light! It's afraid of light!"
Hermione finally remembered Julian's advice.
In the image, a slender hand reached into a pocket and pulled out the crystal vial containing golden powder.
"Crack!"
The vial was smashed hard against the ground.
Instantly, a blinding light, bright as the midday sun, erupted in the dark cellar.
Julian instinctively squinted, and even Blanche was startled.
The image in the crystal ball turned a stark white.
Amidst the hissing and retreating sounds of the vines, the trio tumbled heavily onto the stone floor below.
"Cool..."
Ron's shaken voice came through, "Julian's stuff really packs a punch! This is a hundred times better than Lumos!"
...
In the crystal ball's image, giant stone chess pieces were locked in fierce battle.
"Knight... to H3."
Ron's trembling yet resolute voice came through, followed by the deafening crash of shattering stone and Hermione's stifled scream.
"Such a touching Gryffindor-style sacrifice."
Julian chuckled softly, stood up, casually straightened his shirt cuffs, and then draped his Slytherin robe over his shoulders.
"Where are you going?"
Blanche was draped over the back of the sofa, stretching her back like a lazy Persian cat, half a chocolate frog leg dangling from her mouth, "Not watching the finale? That red-haired boy seems to have passed out."
"To watch the live version."
Julian turned, his wand sliding into his palm, a hunter's gleam flashing in his eyes, "It's not much fun through a screen, and... I have a score to settle with that Professor."
"Wait here for me, don't wander off. If anyone comes, remember to hide the crystal ball."
"Tch, what a hassle." Blanche rolled her eyes and curled back into the sofa, "Remember to bring back some trophies."
Julian smiled faintly, his figure blurring slightly.
"Disillusionment Charm."
An icy sensation flowed through his body, and his figure instantly melted into the air, leaving only an extremely faint ripple of magical energy.
...
...
Deep underground.
The air was thick with a nauseating stench—the distinctive odor of Troll, mixed with the smell of stale blood.
Julian held his breath and stepped lightly over the Trolllying on the ground, foaming at the mouth.
There was a huge lump on its head—it seemed Quirrell, though weakened, was more than capable of handling such a stupid creature.
Ahead was a curtain of purple flames.
That was the Potions riddle designed by Snape; only by drinking the correct Potion could one pass.
On the table, the smallest bottle was already empty.
"Not even leaving the last drop, how inconsiderate."
Julian stood before the flames, the searing heatwave washing over him. This Dark Magic fire was enough to melt steel into liquid in an instant.
But he did not search for another Potion.
As a newly minted practitioner of Space Magic, the concept of an obstacle was different for him than for most.
"Vade Passus—Phase Fold."
He murmured the incantation, a flash of silver light passing through his pupils.
The space before him seemed to twist under the hand of an invisible force.
The purple wall of fire suddenly appeared to him like a two-dimensional sheet of paper, and he simply needed to step past it from the side.
One step.
Just one step, and the burning sensation vanished instantly.
He had passed through the flames, unscathed.
Before him was a spacious circular stone chamber, torches lining the walls, illuminating the room brightly.
In the center of the room, the imposing mirror of erisedstood silently, its frame inscribed with the famous phrase: I show not your face but your heart's desire.
And before the mirror, the usually timid, stuttering Professor Quirrell was pacing anxiously back and forth.
"Where... where is it..."
Quirrell's voice was no longer stuttering but filled with a cold, frantic madness. His hands frantically groped over the smooth surface of the mirror, his nails scraping against it with a grating sound.
"I see it... I'm giving the stone to my master... but where the hell is the stone?!"
He roared in anger, slamming a fist against the mirror's frame, "This damned mirror! This damned Dumbledore!"
"Perhaps you should try smashing it?"
"Though I wouldn't recommend it; it's an antique, after all."
"Who's there?!"
Quirrell whirled around as if stepped on the tail, his wand instantly pointing toward the source of the voice with astonishing speed.
The air shimmered.
Julian dispelled the Disillusionment Charm, stepping out slowly from the shadows.
His hands were in his robe pockets, posture relaxed and at ease. To an unknowing observer, one might think he was the Dark Wizard.
"Good evening, Professor Quirrell."
Julian tilted his head slightly, "Or should I address you as... Lord Voldemort's landlord?"
"Rosier..."
Chapter 95: The Philosopher's Stone
Quirrell's eyes narrowed into slits, the muscles on his face twitching slightly with anger. 'You actually managed to get here... Did that useless Snape fail to stop you?'
'Professor Snape is quite busy.'
Julian shrugged. 'Besides, I thought it would be better if I came myself rather than him. After all, I remember quite clearly the few hits you gave me last night.'
His voice suddenly turned cold, his gaze sharpening. 'You know, we Slytherins always repay our debts.'
'Arrogant brat!'
Quirrell laughed in extreme fury, a green light glowing at the tip of his wand.
'You think knowing my secret gives you leverage? Since you've delivered yourself to me, I'll use your blood to celebrate my master's resurrection first!'
'Avada—'
'Wait.'
A cold voice suddenly emerged from Quirrell's body—more precisely, from the back of his head.
Quirrell's movements instantly froze.
His hand trembled, his face showing extreme fear and submission.
'But... Master... he's a threat...'
'Silence.'
The voice was filled with unquestionable authority. 'Turn around... let me see him...'
Quirrell's body began to tremble uncontrollably. He slowly, stiffly turned around, his back now facing Julian.
Then, he raised his hands and began unwinding the thick layers of purple turban.
The turban fell to the floor.
Julian's pupils contracted slightly.
On the back of Quirrell's head, there was no hair, but a face.
A chalk-white face, with slit-like nostrils like a snake's, and red eyes gleaming with malevolence.
Lord Voldemort.
Even as a mere remnant of a soul, the overwhelming malice and dark magic he radiated seemed to congeal the air around them.
'Julian Rosier...'
Lord Voldemort's red eyes fixed intently on Julian, his voice hoarse and soft. 'I smell... a familiar scent on you...'
He took a deep breath, as if savoring something.
'Darkness... ambition... and ancient magic...'
Lord Voldemort suddenly laughed, a sharp, piercing sound. 'You are not Dumbledore's man, boy. Your soul lacks that nauseating stench.'
Julian was not intimidated.
On the contrary, he felt something within him resonating—the knowledge he had absorbed from the diadem and the Horcrux ring he carried with him.
He performed an elegant pure-blood noble's salute, his movements impeccably precise.
'That is my honor, Lord Voldemort.'
Julian raised his head, meeting those red eyes without a trace of fear. 'In this school full of hypocrites, to gain your recognition is more precious than winning a hundred House Cups.'
'A fine gaze.'
Lord Voldemort seemed satisfied with Julian's attitude. 'Join me... Rosier. I know what you desire... power, immortality, dominion over this world... I can give you everything...'
'Just help me obtain that stone.'
Lord Voldemort's voice was full of temptation. 'Look into this mirror... tell me, what do you see?'
Julian looked at the mirror of erised.
In the mirror, he saw himself.
But he was not holding the Philosopher's Stone.
The Julian in the mirror sat upon a throne woven from bone and thorns, idly toying with the broken diadem. At his feet lay the ruins of Hogwarts, and Lord Voldemortknelt before him.
A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of Julian's lips.
'I see... the future.'
He said softly, turning his head to look at Lord Voldemort. 'A future belonging to the strong.'
Lord Voldemort smiled with satisfaction. 'Excellent... take out the stone... give it to me...'
At that moment.
*BOOM!*
The wall of flames behind them erupted with a violent surge.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached, accompanied by Harry Potter's distinctive, panting breaths.
'Someone's coming.'
A flash passed through Julian's eyes as he quickly took a step back, retreating into the shadows once more.
'It seems your nemesis has arrived, my Lord.'
A hint of amusement colored Julian's tone. 'The Boy Who Lived... I believe you would prefer to... catch up with him personally.'
'Potter...'
Lord Voldemort's attention was instantly diverted, his red eyes blazing with profound hatred. 'Harry Potter...'
Quirrell swiftly turned around, facing the entrance again, his wand raised.
The next second, Harry charged through the flames.
His face was smudged with soot, his glasses askew, his chest heaving violently. But upon seeing Quirrell, he froze.
'It's you?!'
Harry let out an incredulous gasp. 'Not Snape?!'
Glancing at the mirror beside him, Harry's pupils contracted. He looked at his reflection.
The Harry in the mirror suddenly winked at him, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a bright red stone, waved it triumphantly, and stuffed it back into his pocket.
In that very instant, Harry in reality felt his right trouser pocket suddenly become heavy.
The tangible sensation made his heart pound wildly, almost leaping from his throat.
The stone!
The stone was in his pocket!
Harry's furtive movements were completely transparent to Quirrell, who appeared before him in an instant. 'What did you see?!'
'I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore...' Harrystammered, lying in an attempt to hide his panic. 'I... I won the House Cup...'
'He lies!'
Lord Voldemort's raspy voice sounded again. 'He lies... Quirrell, search him!'
Quirrell abruptly released Harry and lunged at him like a vulture diving for prey.
'No!'
Harry recoiled in terror, clutching his pocket tightly with both hands, turning to run.
But how could he outrun a grown Wizard?
Just as Quirrell's fingers were about to touch Harry's robes.
Julian, in the shadows, moved.
He gave his wand a slight flick, his left hand rising gently, thumb and forefinger pinching a pebble—one he had casually picked up by the Black Lake.
Space Magic: Coordinate Transposition.
This was an extremely high-level technique, its principle similar to Apparition, but its target was not the caster themselves, but the swapping of coordinates between two objects.
It required immense mental power and precise control over space. The slightest mistake could shred the objects in spatial turbulence.
The red point of light in Harry's pocket and the gray point of light in his own hand overlapped at this moment.
'Swap.'
He mentally intoned the word.
There was no sound, no light effect, no discernible magical fluctuation.
Just an imperceptible distortion in the air.
The weight in Harry's pocket did not change.
Lord Voldemort, weakened and with his attention wholly on Harry, failed to notice this minor action.
The bright red Philosopher's Stone appeared silently in the palm of Julian's hand.
It felt warm to the touch, with a strange, pulsating rhythm, as if he were holding a living heart.
A rich vitality surged from his palm into his body, instantly causing Julian's somewhat depleted magic to boil.
'Got it.'
A smile curled at the corner of Julian's lips as he swiftly slipped the Philosopher's Stone into a specially crafted alchemical box. He had spent a month making it in the Room of Requirement—a container designed specifically to block magical fluctuations.
Chapter 96: Discovered
The box closed.
All traces of its presence vanished instantly.
On the other side, Harry was still desperately clutching the pocket holding the pebble, his face a mask of grim determination.
"Seize him! The stone is in his pocket!" Lord Voldemortcontinued to shriek.
Quirrell lunged forward, his hands closing like vices around Harry's neck.
"Give me the stone, you damned brat!"
"Agh—!"
Harry let out a pained, choked sound. Darkness began to creep at the edges of his vision, but he still didn't loosen his grip on the pocket.
Suddenly, a sharp, sizzling sound erupted.
*Sizzle—!*
It was the sound of flesh meeting red-hot iron.
"Aaaaaah!"
This time, the scream didn't come from Harry, but from Quirrell.
He recoiled as if electrocuted, staggering backward to stare at his own hands.
They were smoking, the skin rapidly reddening, blistering, and festering, as if they had just been plunged into lava.
"What is this?! What kind of magic is this?!"
Quirrell cried out in terror, his already contorted face twisting further with agony.
"Kill him, you fool! Kill him!" Lord Voldemort roared. "Don't touch him with your hands! Use a curse!"
Harry was stunned too.
He looked at Quirrell's festering hands, then at his own, and suddenly realized this was the protection his mother had left him.
A strange surge of courage flooded his heart.
He stopped trying to flee. Instead, he charged forward, grabbing Quirrell's face with both hands.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
Quirrell let out an even more piercing scream. His face began to melt like wax as he thrashed wildly in excruciating pain.
"Now."
Watching this brutal scene, Julian felt not a shred of pity.
He knew the play was about to end.
Because he could already sense it—beyond the wall of fire, a vast and oppressive magical presence was approaching.
Snape was coming.
Julian took one last look at Harry, still wrestling with Quirrell, and at the remnant of Lord Voldemort's soul on the verge of collapse.
"Goodbye, the chosen one."
He whispered softly, his body melting into the shadows once more, like a drop of water merging with the sea.
...
...
Three minutes later.
"Impedimenta!"
A furious roar accompanied a streak of red light that blasted the now barely-conscious Quirrell aside.
Snape's black-clad figure charged into the room like an avenging grim reaper.
Without so much as a glance at the fallen Quirrell, he rushed straight to Harry's side.
Harry was unconscious.
He still clutched the pebble in a death grip, a serene, 'I-saved-the-world' smile on his face.
With a trembling hand, Snape checked Harry's breathing. Only after confirming he was alive did he let out a long, shaky sigh, his whole body seeming to sag with relief.
Then, he looked at Harry's tightly clenched fist.
Frowning, Snape pried Harry's fingers open with some difficulty.
A dull, gray pebble rolled out.
"..."
Snape's expression froze.
He picked up the pebble, examined it three times over, even tapped it with his wand.
It was just an ordinary pebble.
"This is... the Philosopher's Stone?"
A corner of Snape's mouth twitched, a profound sense of absurdity washing over him.
Had Dumbledore gone to all that trouble to protect... this thing?
Or perhaps...
Snape's head snapped up, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding shadows.
The air held the faintest, almost imperceptible residue of Space Magic fluctuation. But under the Potion Master's keen senses, it could not hide completely.
"Someone was here."
Snape muttered to himself, his voice icy.
He remembered the silver-haired boy who had smiled at him in his office just hours before.
"Rosier..."
...
The Slytherin Common Room.
It was already two in the morning.
The common room was empty. The fire in the hearth had died, leaving only a few glowing embers.
Julian's figure materialized beside a sofa.
He looked somewhat weary, his face paler than usual, a fine layer of cold sweat on his forehead—consecutive use of high-level Space Magic and suppressing the Philosopher's Stone's resonance was still a significant strain for him.
But the excitement in his eyes was impossible to conceal.
"You're back?"
A voice came from the corner of the sofa.
Daphne Greengrass was sitting there with her knees drawn up, a dark green blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
She had clearly been waiting for him.
Seeing Julian appear, she immediately jumped up, hurried to his side, and looked him over. Only after confirming he was unhurt did she let out a sigh of relief.
"You're insane."
Daphne said quietly, her tone reproachful but tinged more with concern. "You know if Snape had discovered you..."
"He already has."
Julian smiled, taking the alchemy box from his robes and placing it gently on the table.
"But that doesn't matter. What matters is, the winner takes all."
He opened the box.
A soft, profound red light instantly illuminated the dim common room, casting a crimson glow on Daphne's delicate features.
The life force within was so dense, so tangible, it seemed to freshen the very air around them.
Daphne's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth.
"This... this is..."
"The Philosopher's Stone."
Julian picked up the stone, feeling the boundless power contained within.
"Nicolas Flamel's masterpiece. The touchstone. The Elixir of Life."
He turned to look at Daphne, holding the stone out to her.
"Take it."
"What?" Daphne started, instinctively taking a step back. "Give it to me? No... it's far too precious, and besides..."
"Just to feel it."
Julian took her hand and placed the warm stone in her palm.
"Remember this feeling, Daphne. This is the taste of power."
His voice was low and compelling. "One day, we won't need to steal from others. We will create wonders greater than this."
Daphne held the stone, feeling the warm current that seemed capable of cleansing the very soul.
Chapter 97: Visiting Harry
Harry lay on the pristine white hospital bed, looking like a ragdoll that had been played with until it broke and was then clumsily stitched back together.
His glasses were mended with tape, his face pale.
And on his bedside table, a mountain of candy and cards was piled high.
"It seems I've arrived just in time, or perhaps... a little too late?"
Julian entered the ward, carrying an exquisite gift box in his hand, a stark contrast to those vulgar piles of candy.
"Julian."
Harry struggled to sit up, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "Madam Pomfrey said I shouldn't have too many visitors, but... it's really good to see you."
"Stay put, Mr. Chosen One."
Julian smiled, gently pressing on his shoulder to keep him down, then settled into the chair by the bed.
"You're a rare specimen at Hogwarts now. If I broke you, the Gryffindor lions would tear me to shreds."
He placed the gift box on the bedside table and opened it gently, revealing a complete set of self-inking quills and a bottle of pale golden Potion.
"This is a strong Blood-Replenishing Potion from Professor Snape's private stock. I... borrowed it. Of course, you mustn't breathe a word. And these quills... I thought you might not want to hand-write those dreadful Potions essays while you're recovering."
"Thank you... really, thank you, Julian."
Harry's eyes grew slightly moist. He glanced around, lowered his voice, and his tone became urgent and excited. "Those things you gave me... we'd never have made it through without them."
"Just a minor investment on my part." Julian blinked, his tone light.
"Seems the returns were substantial. I heard you single-handedly took down Quirrell last night? Or should I say... You-Know-Who?"
Harry's face darkened. He unconsciously touched his forehead.
"It was Voldemort... he was on the back of Quirrell's head." Harry shuddered. "He wanted the Philosopher's Stone. If it wasn't for... if it wasn't..."
Harry suddenly stopped, frowning deeply as if trying to recall something puzzling.
"If it wasn't for what?" Julian asked, his expression unchanged.
"Professor Dumbledore said it was the love my mother left behind that protected me." Harry looked somewhat lost, staring at his own hands.
"And... the stone. In the end, it seemed to turn into a pebble. Dumbledore said it was the residue left after the Philosopher's Stone was destroyed... He said he and Nicolas Flamel had agreed to destroy it to prevent Voldemort from trying to steal it again."
"Destroyed?"
Julian raised an eyebrow, inwardly chuckling.
That old fox reacted quickly. Discovering the stone had been swapped, and not wanting Harry to become suspicious or admit the embarrassing fact that it had been stolen right under his nose, he simply went along with the flow and fabricated this 'destruction' lie.
It soothed Harry, cut off Voldemort's hopes, and neatly closed the chapter.
A perfect political maneuver.
"Yes, destroyed." Harry sounded a bit regretful, but more relieved. "Even though Nicolas Flamel will die, Dumbledore said that for him, death is just another great adventure."
"Such noble sentiment."
Julian murmured in admiration, though a flicker of a smile danced in his eyes. "Well then, to the great adventure? Cheers?"
He picked up the water glass from the table and clinked it against Harry's cup of awful-tasting pumpkin juice.
"Cheers." Harry grinned foolishly.
Just then, a golden-red bird suddenly materialized in the ward.
Fawkes.
It clutched a scroll of parchment and landed gracefully on Julian's shoulder. Its long tail feathers brushed his cheek, carrying a warm, fiery scent.
Harry stared, stunned. "Is that... Professor Dumbledore's Phoenix?"
Julian took the parchment and unrolled it.
On it was only a single line of slender, loopy, cursive script:
[The Fizzing Whizzbee were quite tasty, Mr. Rosier. If you don't mind, I'd like to invite you to try some. — A.P.W.B.D]
Julian looked at the parchment, frowning slightly. After a moment's thought, he stood up and gently patted Fawkes's head. "Get some rest, Harry. We'll discuss the details of that 'adventure' once you're discharged."
"Say hello to Dumbledore for me!" Harry called out from behind.
Julian waved a hand over his shoulder without turning. The smile vanished from his lips, replaced by hesitation.
He wasn't sure if he should go see Dumbledore. After all, a white king is still a king.
And this was a white king at the peak of his power.
...
...
The gargoyle statue slowly rotated and ascended.
Julian pushed open the oak door and entered the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
It was a circular room filled with subtle sounds — the hiss of silver instruments emitting steam, the snores of past headmasters in their portraits, and that ever-present pressure of magical power.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, holding a lemon drop. His bright blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles did not twinkle with their usual benevolence, but were as calm as the sea before a storm.
"Sit, Julian."
Dumbledore gestured to the high-backed chair opposite him. His voice was gentle, yet carried an undeniable force.
Julian complied and sat down, his posture relaxed as if he didn't feel the almost solidifying pressure in the air at all.
"Tea? Or a cockroach cluster?" Dumbledore pushed a plate forward.
"Tea is fine, thank you. I don't fancy things crawling around in my mouth." Julian declined with a polite smile.
Dumbledore waved his wand, and a steaming cup of black tea appeared out of thin air.
He watched Julian, remaining silent for a long while.
This silence was a psychological tactic. For an eleven-year-old child, being stared down by the greatest Wizardof the century was enough to shatter any mental defenses.
But Julian simply drank his tea quietly, even taking a moment to admire the silver instrument on the desk that was puffing out smoke rings.
"You are more composed than I imagined, my boy."
Dumbledore finally spoke, his tone carrying a hint of complexity.
"Tom, at your age, was charming too, but he couldn't hide the hunger in his eyes. You... you hide everything behind that smile."
"To survive in this world, a smile is the best mask, Professor." Julian set down his teacup.
"Indeed."
Dumbledore nodded. Suddenly, his gaze turned sharp. A terrifying magical pressure erupted instantly, crashing down on Julian like a landslide or a tidal wave.
"Then, behind the mask... why did you take it?"
Chapter 98: The White Wizard is Truly Terrifying
No preamble, no probing.
Straight to the point.
The air in the entire office seemed to have been sucked dry. Julian felt as if an invisible hand had clenched his heart, making it hard to breathe. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his back.
This was the power of a legendary Wizard.
Mere presence alone was enough to make an ordinary Wizard kneel.
But Julian did not kneel.
He mustered all the magic flowing into his brain, locking all fear and panic deep within a black box in the recesses of his mind.
Meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Julian spoke with difficulty. His voice was somewhat dry but remained steady:
"Because leaving it in that mirror isn't safe."
"Not safe?" Dumbledore seemed somewhat surprised by this answer, but the pressure in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest. "That was a mechanism of my design."
"Mechanisms can always be broken, just like last night."
Taking a deep breath, Julian continued under the pressure, "Quirrell got in, Potter got in. What if Potter had failed? What if Quirrell had forcibly taken the mirror? Or... what if Potter had been killed?"
"You placed all your bets on an eleven-year-old child, Professor. That is the greatest insecurity."
Leaning forward, Julian's gaze burned intensely, "Before my power has reached its peak, as a pure-blood, I do not wish to face the Dark Lord so early. Therefore, I wanted to add an insurance policy."
"Insurance..."
Dumbledore repeated the word, the blue light in his eyes flickering uncertainly, "Taking possession of the Philosopher's Stone for yourself, is that your insurance?"
"If I intended to give it to Lord Voldemort, or use it myself, I wouldn't be sitting here drinking tea now. I would have already fled to Albania."
Spreading his hands, Julian adopted an extremely candid attitude, "I am still at school, I am still here. That is sufficient proof of my stance."
"What is your stance, Julian?"
Dumbledore's tone softened slightly, and that suffocating pressure eased a bit as well. "Slytherin ambition? Or..."
"Order."
Julian uttered the word, "Lord Voldemort represents chaos and destruction. That kind of senseless, unappealing ruin does not align with my interests. I want a stable world where I can climb upwards. Therefore, I will not help him."
"As for the Philosopher's Stone..."
Julian paused, then took the Alchemical Box from his pocket and placed it on the table.
But he did not let go.
"This thing is too dangerous, Professor. It can grant immortality, but it can also drive one mad. Publicly declaring its destruction was a wise decision. Since it has already been 'destroyed,' what does it matter where it actually is?"
Dumbledore looked at the box, then at Julian.
He was assessing.
He was weighing.
The young man before him possessed talent no less than Tom's, but was more rational and understood the rules better.
If left to develop, Dumbledore had reason to believe Julian could be the next Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord referred to here was not a madman like Lord Voldemort, but a certain person he loved most.
But forcibly taking it back would inevitably rupture their relationship and might even push this young man to the opposite side.
Moreover, Dumbledore was genuinely curious about Julian.
A first-year student who could play with Space Magicright under his nose and outwit Lord Voldemort.
This was a huge variable.
But it could also be a sharp sword, if used well...
"You don't seem like the type who would safeguard it for world peace." Dumbledore suddenly smiled, the smile of an old fox who had seen through the ways of the world.
"Of course, I also need some compensation."
Julian also smiled. The pressure suddenly lessened; he knew his gamble had paid off. "Research rights. I am very interested in Mr. Nicolas Flamel's Alchemy. I promise that when you need it, or when Potter truly needs it, it will appear where it should be."
"Moreover, I swear I will never use it to make the Elixir of Life, nor will I give it to Tom."
This was a high-stakes gamble.
Dumbledore remained silent for a full minute.
Finally, he picked up a Fizzing Whizzbee, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
"You know, Julian, sometimes being too clever is not a good thing."
Dumbledore chewed the candy, his voice somewhat muffled, "But I am willing to give you a chance, or rather, to give the future one more option."
He waved his hand, and the Alchemical Box slid back in front of Julian.
"It is now the residue of something destroyed. Since it's residue, naturally it's not worth the Headmaster's effort to reclaim it."
Dumbledore's eyes regained their kindly look, but a warning was hidden deep within. "But remember your vow. If one day I find it being used for evil purposes..."
"Then you will personally come to take it, and my life along with it."
Julian finished the sentence, calmly put away the box, stood up, and bowed.
"Deal, Professor."
When Julian walked out of the Headmaster's office and the door closed behind him,
he felt his back was completely soaked through, and his legs were even slightly weak.
But he had won.
He had not only kept the Philosopher's Stone but had also established his position before this White Wizard—no longer a student to be manipulated at will.
Although he was still a novice who didn't even have the qualification to sit at the table.
"Hah..."
Leaning against the cold wall, Julian let out a long sigh. A Dark Lord at the peak of his power was truly terrifying.
...
With the conclusion of the Philosopher's Stone incident, Hogwarts also welcomed its year-end assessment.
In the Great Hall, the originally hanging green and silver banners instantly transformed into glaring scarlet and gold with a gentle wave of Dumbledore's wand.
The massive Gryffindor lion roared on the banners, as if mocking Slytherin's efforts throughout the entire year.
Cheers almost lifted the roof.
At the Gryffindor table, students hugged each other, throwing their hats into the air.
Harry was lifted high by the Weasley twins, his face beaming with bewildered delight.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was as cold as an ice cellar.
Draco's goblet creaked in his grip, his face flushed red. He stared fixedly at Dumbledore, his lips moving, clearly uttering some rather inelegant vocabulary.
"#@￥...!%%...%*&...**(*@**&..."
"This isn't fair! This is cheating!"
Pansy shrieked, tears welling in her eyes, "We clearly won! That old madman added so many points at the last moment!"
"Calm down, both of you." Julian cut a piece of steak. He showed no anger, not even a frown.
In truth, he couldn't possibly be angry, as he had already received the best compensation from Dumbledore.
"But Julian! This is our honor!" Draco turned his head, his voice choked with tears, "Aren't you angry? You got so many O's this term."
"Honor isn't given by others, Draco."
Putting down his knife and fork, Julian picked up a napkin and gently wiped the corner of his mouth. His eyes calmly swept over the cheering crowd.
"A true winner doesn't need such empty titles to prove themselves. And..."
He glanced at the white-bearded old man at the teachers' table.
Dumbledore was raising his glass in a toast to Harry.
"...sometimes, losing is also winning."
Julian chuckled softly, "Let the lions enjoy their moment. After all, that's all they pursue."
His voice wasn't loud, but it acted like a sedative, calming the previously agitated Slytherins around him.
This could also be considered a gesture of goodwill extended to Headmaster Dumbledore.
Chapter 99: The Beauty
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Steam billowed, and the hoots of owls rose and fell.
Students dragged heavy trunks through the crowd, hugging teachers or saying goodbye to friends.
Julian stood by a pillar, holding a thick copy of 'A Guide to Medieval Alchemy,' while Blanche beside him idly poked a toad trying to climb onto her luggage with a cat's paw.
"Julian!"
A little Witch with brown hair ran over, panting, a large stack of books clutched to her chest.
Hermione's hair was unruly, and the arrogance she'd had when first starting school was gone from her eyes, replaced by a touch of admiration and dependence.
"Hermione." Julian closed his book and smiled at her. "Congratulations, top of the year."
"Oh, that... I probably wouldn't have gotten so many O's without your notes."
Hermione's face flushed. She fidgeted nervously, pinching the corner of her robe. "Um... will you write to me over the summer? I mean, about that... Space Magic research?"
"Of course."
Julian pulled a delicate notebook from his pocket and handed it to her. "These are some insights I've organized. They might help, but don't practice in front of Muggles. You know the rules."
"Thank you!"
Hermione accepted the notebook as if receiving a priceless treasure, clutching it to her chest. Then, she suddenly stepped forward and gave Julian a quick hug.
"Have a happy summer, Julian!"
With that, she ran off like a startled little rabbit, disappearing into the crowd.
Julian raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Before he could fully process it, a familiar, subtle fragrance wafted from behind him.
Immediately after, a pair of soft arms encircled his waist.
"It seems our know-it-all Miss has also developed a worldly heart,"
Daphne's voice sounded in his ear, laced with a dangerous sweetness. "What, bought off with a single notebook?"
"That was merely academic exchange, my dear."
Julian turned around to look at the blonde, blue-eyed girl before him.
After a year of interaction, Daphne had completely shed her youthful naivety. Her every movement now carried an elegance and allure unique to nobility.
She wore a dark green gown today, which made her skin appear as white as snow.
"It better have been."
Daphne humphed, stood on her tiptoes, and straightened his tie. "Remember to visit me over the summer. Father says he wants to meet you. And..."
She leaned close to Julian's ear, her warm breath brushing against his neck. "That stone... don't play with it too much. I don't want to see a mad king next term."
"As you command, my queen."
Julian took her hand and gently kissed the back of it.
Daphne's face instantly flushed crimson. She shot him a reproachful glare, then turned and walked towards the Greengrass couple waiting for her not far away.
"What a playboy,"
Blanche rolled her eyes beside him. "I'm exhausted just watching you."
"This is socializing, Blanche," Julian shrugged.
"Mr. Rosier."
A cool, intellectual voice interrupted their conversation.
Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect, stood a few paces away.
She wore a deep blue cloak, her long hair smooth over her shoulders, and held a scroll of parchment in her hand.
"Senior," Julian nodded politely.
"This is the analysis of that Runic Script array from last week."
Penelope handed over the parchment. Her fingers lingered for a moment as they brushed against Julian's hand.
Her gaze was complex.
There was admiration, gratitude, and a deeply hidden... yearning.
As an upperclassman, she shouldn't have felt this way towards a first-year.
But during this year of Runic Script tutoring, she had been utterly captivated by this boy's erudition and depth.
He was like a bottomless pit. No matter how obscure the question she posed, he could provide a perfect answer, even guiding her to see a broader world.
This intellectual dominance and resonance was, for a Ravenclaw, the most potent aphrodisiac.
"Thank you for your guidance, Julian."
Penelope said softly, using his given name for the first time. "If you have time over the summer... my family has a rather nice library in London with quite a few out-of-print books."
It was an exceedingly obvious invitation.
Julian looked into her eyes and smiled slightly, neither refusing nor accepting.
"If the opportunity arises, I will. Have a pleasant holiday, Penelope."
"A pleasant holiday to you as well."
Penelope gave him one last deep look before turning to leave.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Blanche began clapping beside him. "Even the prefect. You've had quite the fruitful term, Lord Rosier."
"Merely academic exchange."
"Yeah, right."
...
The train slowly began to move.
Julian sat in the compartment, watching Hogwarts Castlerecede swiftly outside the window.
The ancient Castle looked particularly solemn and mysterious in the setting sun.
He had experienced far too much this year.
From an unknown first-year to the shadow master of Slytherin; from his first meeting with Hermione to Daphne's affection; from dealing with Quirrell to facing Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore.
Not only had he survived, but he had also secured the greatest trophy—the Philosopher's Stone.
Though the House Cup was lost, he had won the entire chess game.
"Next year..."
Julian touched the alchemical box in his pocket, a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "The Chamber of Secrets... the diary... and that Basilisk."
"It's going to be an even more interesting term."
Under the dome of King's Cross Station, steam and the cacophony of voices intertwined.
As the train slowly came to a stop and the doors opened, countless parents surged towards the platform like a tide, searching for their children.
Julian, carrying a dragon-hide trunk with a disdainful-looking Blanche perched on his shoulder, elegantly navigated the crowded throng.
He didn't need to search.
Because Isabella Rosier was an absolute visual centerpiece, no matter where she stood.
She stood by the archway between Platforms 9 and 10, wearing an exquisitely tailored dark green velvet robe, the collar adorned with black lace. A wide-brimmed hat sat on her head, its veil half-concealing those amber eyes identical to Julian's.
She wasn't shrieking like Mrs. Weasley or waving her handbag like Neville's grandmother.
She simply stood there quietly, hands clasped before her in black silk gloves, emanating an aura of "keep your distance"—aloof and noble.
The surrounding Muggles and even Wizards instinctively gave her a wide berth, as if an invisible barrier surrounded her.
"Mother."
Julian walked up to her, gave a slight bow, and performed a standard pure-blood aristocratic greeting.
Isabella lifted her chin slightly, examining her son through the veil.
A few seconds later, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly, revealing a reserved yet satisfied smile.
"You've grown taller, Julian. And it seems Albus Dumbledore's honeyed sweets haven't rotted your brain."
"The fare in Slytherin is quite acceptable," Julian replied with a smile. "Though it doesn't compare to the House-elves at home."
"Naturally."
Isabella reached out and gently stroked Julian's cheek, her touch soft.
"Your father is in Geneva for a conference. Some boring topic about 'International Cauldron Thickness Standardization.' So, only I came to fetch you."
She glanced at the cat on Julian's shoulder. "This is that... special pet you mentioned in your letters?"
"Meow." Blanche let out a lazy meow, her eyes clearly stating, "Don't mess with me."
She was, after all, the greatest, *ahem*, pet shop owner in Knockturn Alley.
"Quite spirited," Isabella remarked, then turned. "Let's go. The car is outside. You know I dislike places reeking of Muggle motor oil."
Chapter 100: Rosier Manor
Rosier Manor was nestled deep within the mountains, perpetually shrouded in an unending mist.
There was no connection to the Floo Network here, nor did it appear on any map.
As the black iron gate, carved with the pattern of thorny roses, slowly swung open, an ancient and oppressive magical force washed over him.
It was a quintessential Gothic structure, with spires that pierced the clouds. The black stone walls were covered in dark red vines—Bloodsucking Vines, a rather unfriendly plant that would instantly drain the blood of any stranger who ventured too close.
"Welcome home, Young Master!"
The moment he stepped into the entrance hall, two House-elves dressed in neat tea towels appeared with a sharp *pop*, bowing so deeply their noses nearly touched the floor.
"Take the luggage to my room, Quill."
Julian casually handed his trunk to one of them, then removed his cloak and passed it to the other. "Also, prepare dinner. I'm in the mood for escargots à la bourguignonne."
"At once, Master!"
The House-elves accepted the items with trembling reverence before vanishing with another loud crack.
The interior decorations of the manor were the epitome of extravagance.
A massive crystal chandelier cast a cold, white light. Portraits of past Rosier ancestors lined the walls, most wearing stern expressions and haughty gazes. Upon seeing Julian's return, they merely gave slight, acknowledging nods.
Dinner was served at the long table.
The crisp clink of silverware filled the air. Isabella sat at the opposite end of the table, elegantly cutting into the veal on her plate.
"I hear the Potter boy has become the chosen one?"
She asked nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather.
"Mere luck," Julian replied, taking a sip of red wine. Underage drinking was tacitly permitted in this household. "Dumbledore needed a hero, and Harry just happened to be there."
"Hmph, Dumbledore."
Isabella sneered. "That old madman always enjoys playing these nurturing games. However..."
She lifted her eyes, her gaze sharp as it fixed on Julian. "I've heard you've been getting rather close to that Potter? And that... Muggle-born girl?"
"An investment, Mother."
Julian set down his knife and fork, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "While the glory of pure blood is dazzling, sometimes we also need some fresh blood to serve as pawns.
Harry Potter is the bellwether of the wizarding world, and that Hermione Granger is the brightest Witch of her year.
As long as they can be of use to the Rosiers, blood status isn't the sole criterion, is it?"
Isabella studied him for a long moment, the sharpness in her eyes gradually melting into approval.
"You're right, Julian. You have more foresight than your father ever did. He clung stubbornly to those outdated pure-blood decrees, forgetting that the reason the Rosier Family has endured to this day is by adapting to the times."
She raised her wine glass. "To the future of the Rosiers."
"To the future."
...
Late at night.
The manor had fallen into slumber, with only the dim light from the corridor sconces illuminating the darkness.
Julian was not asleep.
Dressed in a black silk dressing gown and carrying a magical lantern, he descended the spiral staircase to the manor's basement.
This was the forbidden ground of the Rosier Family, accessible only to direct blood relatives.
The heavy stone door slid open under the guidance of his wand, releasing a wave of musty, moldy air mixed with the distinct sulfurous scent of the Dark Arts.
The basement was crammed with all manner of objects.
There were cursed suits of armor, mirrors sealed with malevolent spirits, and rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with rare, unobtainable Dark Arts tomes.
"What a treasure trove."
Julian remarked with admiration.
He walked over to a long table covered in dust and casually picked up a skull resting on a velvet cushion.
The skull's eye sockets glimmered with a faint green light, as if whispering.
"Silence."
With a light flick of his finger, the skull immediately fell quiet.
He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out the specially crafted alchemical box.
He opened it.
The brilliant crimson glow of the Philosopher's Stoneinstantly flooded the basement, casting an eerie, ghostly light upon the sinister Dark Arts objects.
The surrounding darkness seemed to recoil from this immense vitality, scattering away.
"Now then, let's see what we can do."
Julian placed the Philosopher's Stone at the center of the table, then pulled a large sheet of parchment from a shelf—the architectural blueprint of Rosier Manor, densely inscribed with various defensive enchantments.
The current defensive system, designed two centuries ago, was sturdy but overly passive.
It could only repel external enemies; it couldn't attack proactively.
"If Lord Voldemort truly returns, a defense of this level would be as flimsy as paper."
Julian took a Quill, dipped it in ink, and began modifying the blueprint.
He intended to link the manor's defensive core to the Philosopher's Stone.
By utilizing the Stone's near-limitless magical supply, he could transform those 'Killing Curses,' which originally could only be sustained for minutes, into permanent fixtures.
"Here... add a spatial folding trap..."
"Here... increase the Bloodsucking Vines' activity tenfold..."
"And here... boost the Anti-Apparition Jinx to its highest level. Unless it's a Wizard on Dumbledore's level, no one will be able to enter directly."
As his Quill moved, the lines on the blueprint began to glow, and the flow of magic within the basement grew turbulent.
The Philosopher's Stone trembled slightly, as if responding to his summons.
Suddenly, a noise came from a corner.
Julian spun around instantly, his wand sliding into his hand.
"Who's there?"
"Meow~"
A black-and-white cat emerged from behind a pile of old armor and transformed into a human shape.
Blanche stretched languidly, wearing a lace nightgown she had apparently scavenged from somewhere, and holding a necklace that looked distinctly cursed.
"This place is quite something."
She shook the necklace in her hand. "Put this on, and it makes you want to strangle yourself. A fascinating design, really."
"That was a gift from my great-grandfather to a disobedient mistress."
Julian put away his wand and returned to modifying the blueprint. "Put it down, Blanche, unless you want to experience the thrill of asphyxiation."
"Tch, boring."
Blanche tossed the necklace back onto the table and sidled up to Julian, peering at the glowing blueprint. "What are you doing? Turning this place into a war fortress?"
"Preparing for a rainy day."
Julian didn't look up. "The world is about to descend into chaos soon. I need to secure a safe rear base for myself."
"Using the Philosopher's Stone as an energy core?" Blanche let out a low whistle. "How extravagant. If Nicolas Flamel knew you were using his life's work to power a house, he'd probably jump out of his coffin in fury."
"He's not dead yet."
Julian finished the last stroke and looked at the blueprint with satisfaction. "Besides, making the best use of things—that's the true essence of Alchemy."
He reached out and placed his hand on the Philosopher's Stone.
"Activate."
*Hum—!*
A red ripple emanated from the Philosopher's Stone, instantly spreading outwards. It pierced through the basement ceiling and rapidly coursed along the manor's magical conduits.
Chapter 101: The Greengrass Invitation
In that moment, the entire Rosier Manor seemed to come alive.
Vines on the walls began to grow wildly, their thorns growing sharper, their color shifting from a dark red to an almost blackish deep purple.
The rose patterns on the main gate seemed to breathe, each petal brimming with lethal magical power.
Even the mist in the air grew thicker, carrying a disorienting effect.
"Truly worthy of the Philosopher's Stone."
Julian withdrew his hand, a faint look of pleasant surprise on his face. Although he couldn't possibly renovate the entire manor in one go,
the Rosier Manor, now imbued with abundant magical power, was as different from its former self as night and day.
"Right."
Julian turned and rummaged through a pile of miscellaneous items, pulling out a black cabinet covered in dust.
That was one half of the vanishing cabinet.
"Blanche, we need to find time to go to Knockturn Alley."
He patted the cabinet. "I remember Borgin and Burkeshas the other half. Only after fully repairing it can I transport more things."
"You really are a workaholic."
Blanche yawned, transforming back into a cat. "I'm going to sleep. A bed reeking of curses must be quite the experience."
Julian watched her departing back and smiled.
He carefully put away the Philosopher's Stone again, then his gaze fell on a box at the very back of the bookshelf.
That box was engraved with a complex family crest and exuded an unsettling aura.
He walked over and opened the box.
Inside lay a ring, resting quietly.
It wasn't the one belonging to the Gaunt family, but rather a silver ring set with a black gemstone, within which smoke seemed to swirl.
This was the Rosier Family's heirloom token—the Soul Ring.
It was said it could store a portion of one's soul power. While it couldn't grant immortality like a Horcrux, it could block a single fatal attack at a critical moment.
"Interesting."
Julian picked up the ring and slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand.
Cold, but a perfect fit.
"It seems this summer will be quite fulfilling."
In the following days, aside from meals, Julian was practically living in the basement.
But such behavior quickly drew dissatisfaction from a certain someone.
A faint tingling from the Philosopher's Stone's energy still lingered on his fingertips. Just as Julian was attempting to fuse Space Magic with the manor's main load-bearing wall,
*Tap.*
A soft sound. The House-elf, Quill, appeared at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, holding a letter with its wax seal intact.
"Young Master, the Mistress requests your presence in the sunroom. The Greengrass Family has sent an invitation."
Julian frowned, his eyes not leaving the complex alchemical circuit diagram on the table. "Tell Mother I am at a critical stage. Social engagements can be postponed until August."
"I don't think that would be a wise decision, my son."
Isabella's voice came from the corridor, and she entered slowly.
She had changed into a light purple silk house robe today, a folding ivory fan in her hand. Her gaze swept over Julian's cluttered workbench before finally settling on the Philosopher's Stone emitting a faint red glow.
Her pupils contracted slightly but quickly returned to normal.
"You cannot lightly refuse an invitation from the Greengrass Family."
Isabella walked to Julian's side and gently tapped his shoulder with her fan. "Daphne's father's voice within the Board of Governors has been growing louder lately, and her mother, that Chloe, is an out-and-out socialite. If you wish to thoroughly suppress the House of Malfoy in your second year, the Greengrasses are a card you must hold in your hand."
Julian straightened up, rubbing his slightly aching temples. "What is Malfoy up to now?"
"Lucius is frantically selling off some sensitive items. It seems he senses the Ministry of Magic is about to make a major move." Isabella snorted coldly.
"The actions of a coward, but we cannot act like him. Julian, you are the Rosier heir. You cannot always burrow in the basement like some subterranean creature. Go see Daphne, give yourself a proper break."
Julian looked into his mother's gentle eyes and finally smiled helplessly.
"Alright, since you put it that way. However, I'll need suitable attire."
"Already prepared, in your dressing room."
Isabella revealed a satisfied smile and, before turning to leave, tossed out one more line.
"Remember to bring that cat of yours. The Greengrasses' younger daughter, Astoria, has been wanting to keep an Animagus... oh, I mean, a spiritually attuned cat."
As she said this, Isabella exaggeratedly covered her mouth, as if to indicate she knew nothing.
...
...
Greengrass Manor was located by a river valley in Scotland. Unlike Rosier Manor, this place was filled with lush roses and neatly trimmed hedge mazes.
When Julian arrived at the manor gates with Blanche in a magical carriage, Daphne was already waiting there.
Daphne wore a white lace gown, her golden hair styled into an exquisite princess bun adorned with several tiny pearls.
The moment she saw Julian, the light in her eyes almost outshone the midday sun.
"I thought you were planning to grow mold at home, Julian."
Daphne quickly walked up and naturally linked her arm with his, her tone carrying a hint of reproach.
After all, since the holidays began, she had written to Julian quite a few times, only to receive replies that amounted to little more than 'Oh,' 'Alright,' 'Drink more warm water,' and 'I think so too.'
"Mother's orders are paramount, Daphne."
Julian teased, subtly savoring the gentle warmth of her arm against his. "And besides, I did miss the black tea you brew."
"Just the tea?"
Daphne shot him a coquettish glare, her gaze landing on Blanche. "Oh, you brought her! Astoria will be over the moon."
"Meow!" Blanche let out a protesting yowl, trying to burrow deeper into Julian's arms.
Entering the manor's terrace, they found the Lady of Greengrass—Chloe—sitting elegantly in a wicker chair, sipping tea.
She bore a strong resemblance to Daphne, though her brow held a maturity born of time and a socialite's polish.
"Young gentleman of the House of Rosier, welcome."
Chloe set down her teacup, her eyes lingering on Julianfor a long moment, carrying the scrutiny and satisfaction of one appraising a prospective son-in-law.
"Isabella always sings your praises, calling you the most outstanding genius the House of Rosier has seen in a century. Now I see she was even being modest."
"You flatter me, Madam." Julian bowed politely, his manners impeccable.
"Sister! This cat is so adorable!"
A clear voice rang out as a little girl, about eight or nine years old, emerged from behind a rose bush.
She was Astoria, Daphne's younger sister, with large, round eyes that made her seem even more lively than Daphne.
Chapter 102: Visiting
Astoria rushed right up to Julian, staring at Blanche, her eyes sparkling.
"Can I touch her? She looks so beautiful, like she's intelligent!"
Blanche's whiskers twitched, her eyes revealing a 'touch me and I'll bite you to death' kind of threat.
Julian cleared his throat lightly, subtly evading Astoria's small hand. "She's got a bit of a temper, Astoria. Perhaps we should have some tea first."
"Alright..." The little girl was somewhat disappointed but was soon captivated by the soul ring with its eerie glow on Julian's collar.
"Wow, this ring is so cool! Is there smoke swirling inside?"
Daphne pulled her sister back, offering Julian an apologetic smile. "Don't mind her. She's obsessed with anything that glows lately."
"It's quite alright. Curiosity is a Wizard's gift."
Julian sat down and looked at Chloe. "Madam, I heard from my mother that you have some thoughts on the Ministry's recent movements?"
Chloe's gaze instantly turned sharp.
She dismissed the surrounding House-elves and lowered her voice.
"Fudge is pushing for an amendment to the Muggle Protection Act lately, and that fool from the Weasley family is putting in a lot of effort. They plan to conduct a safety inspection on all Pure-blood families before the summer ends."
"Searching for contraband?" Julian raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." Chloe gave a cold laugh. "Lucius has almost emptied his cellar. He's driven down prices at Borgin and Burkes, but the Greengrass Family doesn't want to appear so desperate. Some of our collections aren't suitable for Auror eyes."
Julian lightly tapped his fingers on the table, quickly sketching out a plan in his mind.
"What if, and I'm just saying if, there was a place that could perfectly evade any detection charm, one even Dumbledore couldn't sense?"
Chloe stopped what she was doing, looking thoughtfully at Julian. "You mean Rosier Manor?"
"No. Rosier Manor is my home, not a warehouse."
Julian revealed a mysterious smile. "I'm talking about a place more private and secure."
With his current magical attainment, plus the Philosopher's Stone, creating a high-level magical space wasn't actually difficult.
He had begun conceptualizing this idea on the very first day he started renovating Rosier Manor for Julian Rosier, and by now, it was pretty much fully formed.
"I can provide the Greengrass Family with some storage space. In exchange..."
He looked at Daphne, then at Chloe.
"...I need the Greengrass vote on the Board of Governorsto support a proposal of mine next year."
"What proposal?" Daphne asked curiously.
"Regarding the optimization of certain courses."
Julian's voice was low and magnetic, particularly enticing on the quiet terrace.
Chloe fell silent.
She looked at the boy before her, only twelve years old, as if looking at a long-established politician.
This exchange wasn't merely about moving goods; it was a deep intertwining of interests between two families.
If Julian could truly provide such a space, then the House of Rosier would become the invisible vault among Pure-blood families, its position becoming unshakable.
"I need to see this space first," Chloe said cautiously.
"Of course. Daphne can act as your representative and visit Rosier Manor for an inspection anytime."
Julian picked up his teacup, gesturing towards Daphne.
Daphne's face flushed slightly. She knew Julian was creating an opportunity for them to be alone while also pushing her into the core of her family's decision-making.
"I will go," she said softly, her gaze firm.
The tea party lasted a long time. The conversation shifted from politics to school trivialities. Astoria kept chasing Blanche around, angering Blanche so much she finally jumped onto the roof, turning her backside to those below.
As the sun set in the west and Julian prepared to take his leave, Daphne saw him to the manor gates.
"Julian."
In the shadows, Daphne suddenly grabbed his hand, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you sure about that space you mentioned?"
"I never do things I'm not sure about."
Julian reached out, gently stroking Daphne's cheek, his movements tender yet domineering.
"Daphne. As long as you stand by my side, that space belongs to you too."
He lowered his head, leaving a cold kiss on her forehead.
"For the rest of the summer, I await your visit."
Back home, Julian resumed his lifestyle of eating, sleeping, and studying magic.
And Isabella, like most mothers, missed you terribly when you were away. On the first day of holiday, you were her darling little treasure, but after staying too long, she gradually started finding you a nuisance.
The sunlight in Diagon Alley was much harsher than in the deep mountains of Wales.
Unable to withstand Isabella's nagging, Julian could only find an excuse to go out.
He wore a well-tailored, dark grey casual suit, not robes like other Wizards.
This semi-Muggle style of dress was seen as a rebellious kind of fashion in Pure-blood circles, but to ordinary Wizards, he just looked like a well-mannered young master.
He didn't have that black-and-white cat on his shoulder because Blanche was currently standing at the entrance of the shop named
The shop was no longer the cramped, narrow little storefront it once was.
Watered by the Rosier Family's Galleons, it had swallowed up the neighboring shop that used to sell second-hand cauldrons, doubling its storefront size.
The display window no longer held boring toads and owls. Instead, it showcased a Color-changing Snailspitting rainbow bubbles and several Bowtruckles, which looked like twigs, in specially made cages.
"Gently! That's a Diricawl I went through a lot of trouble to get! If you scare it into vanishing, I'll turn you into a hamster and sell you to that snot-nosed kid!"
Blanche, wearing a dark red, form-fitting gown with her hair casually pinned up and holding a peacock feather fan, was yelling at a clumsy clerk.
Seeing Julian approach, her perpetually sarcastic face immediately switched to an obsequious smile.
"Well, if it isn't my dear Master?"
Blanche walked up, lightly tapping Julian's shoulder with her fan. "What, finally decided to crawl out of that gloomy basement of yours?"
"Came to check the return on my investment."
Julian smiled, looking around the shop crowded with curious young Wizards and parents reluctantly opening their wallets. "Seems you're doing well. You even managed to get Bowtruckles?"
"That big oaf Hagrid is practically a treasure trove."
Blanche leaned close to his ear, lowering her voice. "A few bottles of cheap brandy, plus some flattery about how only he understands these adorable creatures, and he practically wants to give me the whole Forbidden Forest. Of course, I also helped him handle some... less-than-compliant little troubles."
She winked, a cunning glint flashing in her deep blue eyes. "Mutually beneficial, isn't it?"
"Just don't attract the attention of the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Julian reminded her.
"Don't worry, I know my limits."