Chapter 103: The diary
Blanche led him into a partitioned area inside the shop, where even rarer goods were displayed.
"Look at this," she said, pointing to a cage covered with a black cloth and yanking it off.
Inside was a creature that looked like a monkey, but with a coat of silver fur and alarmingly large eyes.
"A Demiguise cub," Blanche declared proudly. "It can't fully turn invisible yet, but its fur is premium material for making invisibility cloaks. I intercepted this from a smuggler in Knockturn Alley."
Julian reached out to tease the little creature. It immediately shrank back in fear, its body turning semi-transparent.
"Quite valuable," Julian nodded. "Keep it. Don't sell it. I have a use for it."
"I knew you'd say that," Blanche pouted, covering the cage again with the black cloth. "By the way, I had someone get all those books on your list. Except for..."
She made a face of utter disdain. "...that full set of works by that narcissist Lockhart. Flourish and Blotts is a madhouse. They say he's doing a personal signing event."
"Lockhart?"
The smile on Julian's lips deepened. "Let's go. We'll join the fun. After all, he is to be our future Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."
...
A long queue had formed in front of Flourish and Blotts, stretching all the way to the end of Diagon Alley.
Most were middle-aged witches, chattering excitedly, waving Lockhart's books in their hands, their faces flushed with a girlish glow.
Julian and Blanche struggled to squeeze their way inside.
The bookstore was packed. The air was thick with the scent of heavy perfume and ink.
A huge banner hung from the second-floor railing: "Gilderoy Lockhart — BOOK SIGNING".
A man in robes of forget-me-not blue, with perfectly curled hair, sat behind a table. He flashed his trademark gleaming white teeth, waving constantly for the cameras.
"Smile, Harry! This is front-page news!"
A short, stout photographer was jostling Harry, trying to shove him next to Lockhart.
Harry looked utterly miserable. His glasses were askew, his hair was a mess, and he was clutching a stack of books. His face clearly screamed, 'Let me go.'
"This is an absolute disaster,"
Blanche said, standing beside Julian and rolling her eyes without restraint. "That man's smile is so fake it makes me sick. Has he overused a teeth-whitening charm or something?"
"But he understands marketing," Julian remarked. "In these times, fame can sometimes be more useful than actual skill."
Just then, a commotion rippled through the crowd.
"Enjoying all the attention, are we, Potter?"
A drawn-out, arrogant voice sounded.
Draco Malfoy emerged from behind a bookshelf, wearing his usual sneer. "The famous Harry Potter. Can't even enter a bookstore without making headlines."
"Don't talk rubbish! He didn't want that!" Ginny Weasley—the little red-haired girl—mustered her courage for the first time and stepped forward, her face turning as red as a tomato.
"Ooh, Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Dracoexclaimed theatrically.
"Draco, mind your manners."
A snake-headed cane rested lightly on Draco's shoulder.
Lucius had appeared. He was still impeccably groomed, his platinum hair perfectly slicked back, but his eyes held a shadow of gloom and agitation—clearly, the Ministry of Magic's surprise raids had been making his life difficult lately.
"Ah, Arthur,"
Lucius said, looking at Mr. Weasley who had just pushed his way over. His gaze lingered for a second on the other man's shabby robes, a contemptuous curl lifting the corner of his mouth.
"I hear the Ministry's been quite busy lately? So many raids. I do hope they're paying you decent overtime."
He reached into Ginny's cauldron and pulled out a battered copy of *A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration*. "Apparently not. Look at this book, tsk tsk. Hard to imagine how a disgrace to pure-bloods like you hasn't starved to death yet."
Arthur Weasley's face instantly flushed a deep, angry purple-red.
"We have a reputation everywhere, Malfoy. Unlike some people..."
"Reputation?" Lucius sneered, his eyes sweeping the surroundings. "Look at the company you keep, Weasley... If you sink any lower, I'd say your family isn't far off from Muggles."
*Thud!*
Ginny's cauldron was knocked to the floor.
Arthur could hold back no longer. He lunged at Lucius, slamming him into a bookshelf.
"Get him, Dad!" Fred and George cheered from the sidelines.
The crowd screamed and scattered as books rained down.
Hagrid tried to rush over and break up the fight, but the photographer tripped, his camera flash firing wildly.
Julian stood at the top of the staircase on the second floor, looking down on the farce below.
His gaze wasn't fixed on the two grown Wizards wrestling. Instead, it was locked intently on Lucius's hand.
Amidst the chaos, Lucius had picked up Ginny's old textbook.
The moment Arthur punched him in the eye, Lucius's other hand moved with lightning speed, slipping a thin, black notebook inside the old textbook.
The motion was hidden, fluid. Impossible to notice unless one was specifically watching for it.
"Got you."
Julian's pupils contracted slightly. A cold, hunter's smile touched his lips—the smile of one who sees his prey fall into the trap.
That was Tom Riddle's diary.
The source of all the coming disaster. And also, the greatest opportunity.
"Break it up! Gentlemen, break it up!"
Hagrid finally muscled his way through and separated the two men as easily as plucking chicks.
Lucius, holding a bruised eye, breathing heavily, his hair disheveled, shot Arthur a venomous glare. He tossed the old book, now carrying its hidden cargo, back to Ginny.
"Take your book, girl—the best your father can afford to give you."
With that, he beckoned to Draco and stormed out of the bookstore.
"What a splendid performance,"
Blanche applauded beside him. "Is this the so-called pure-blood nobility? Not much different from a drunkard brawling in a Muggle street when it comes to a fight."
"Losing control of one's emotions makes a person vulnerable."
Julian adjusted his cuff and slowly descended the stairs.
He didn't go to greet Harry. the chosen one was currently being dusted off by the Weasley family.
He walked straight towards the exit. As he passed Ginny, his gaze lingered for a second on her cauldron.
That black diary lay quietly beneath a pile of old books, emitting a faint magical resonance only a master of the Dark Arts could detect.
"Let's go, Blanche."
Julian pushed open the bookstore door, and sunlight washed over him once more.
"I believe my extracurricular reading for this term has just been settled."
Back at the pet shop, Blanche poured Julian a glass of iced pumpkin juice.
"The way you were looking at that little red-haired girl back there was a bit off,"
she said, leaning against the counter and scrutinizing him. "Don't tell me you're interested in a scrawny little thing who hasn't even developed yet."
"I'm not interested in her. But I am interested in what's in her cauldron,"
Julian replied, swirling his glass. "Blanche, keep an eye on the Weasley family's movements for me. Especially that little girl. If she shows any unusual behavior—like seeming absent-minded, or writing in a diary frequently... tell me immediately."
"Writing in a diary?"
Blanche raised an eyebrow. "All teenage girls love writing diaries. What's so strange about that?"
"Trust me."
Chapter 104: Hermione's Letter
In the study of Rosier Manor, the flames in the fireplace suddenly crackled.
Having just returned home, Julian couldn't wait to change out of his suit. The moment he left Blanche's pet shop, he had inexplicably stepped into a puddle of some unidentified yellow substance.
This forced him to complain about the state of Britain's environment, even within the magical world that possessed the Scourgify charm.
If he ever became the Minister of magic in the future, he would definitely establish a dedicated street-sweeping department!
Donning a velvet house robe, he sat at the mahogany desk, on which lay a letter that had just arrived.
The letter was written on very ordinary parchment, its corners slightly curled, densely covered in writing.
The handwriting was neat and compact, each letter seemingly measured with a ruler, but the slightly hurried strokes at the end betrayed the writer's excited state of mind.
This was a letter from Hermione.
A brown barn owl stood on the windowsill, shaking its damp feathers, staring expectantly at a small plate of beef jerky beside Julian's hand.
"Give it some water, Quill."
Julian instructed without turning his head, his fingers gently tracing the ink marks on the letter.
"Dear Julian,"
"I hope you're having a pleasant summer holiday. My trip to France was fascinating, but I can hardly wait for the term to start! Have you seen the booklist? The complete set by Gilderoy Lockhart! I bought all his books. Goodness, he's practically a legend! That Wailing Widow he mentioned in *Break with a Banshee*, and that Werewolf he cured in Wagga Wagga... although some of the spells seem quite complex, I've tried practicing a few..."
Reading this, a playful curve formed at the corner of Julian's mouth.
He could imagine Hermione right now—leaning over her messy desk, flipping through a photo of Lockhart smiling like a blooming chrysanthemum.
Frowning while trying to understand those flashy words, attempting to forcibly reconcile the heroic deeds in the book with her own understanding of magical logic.
For a young Witch like Hermione, who held such reverence for authority and books, a name printed on textbooks like Lockhart's naturally carried an aura of unquestionable authority.
"It would be an insult to my educational efforts to let her continue admiring him like this."
Julian chuckled softly, casually pulling Lockhart's *Travels with Trolls* from the bookshelf.
He flipped to page 142, then picked up another book, *Year with the Yeti*, and turned to page 35.
"Let's do a little comparative analysis."
He picked up a quill, dipped it in dark green ink, and began writing on a piece of high-quality parchment.
The sound of the nib scratching across the paper was a soft whisper.
"Dear Hermione,"
"I was delighted to receive your letter. It seems the French sun hasn't tanned you, but has instead made your thirst for knowledge even stronger."
"Regarding your question, or rather your amazement—Mr. Lockhart is indeed an 'exceptional' writer. Please note my wording: a writer, not a dueling master."
"I know you're accustomed to trusting words printed on paper, but I suggest you employ your impressive logical thinking to do a bit of simple arithmetic."
"According to the records in *Year with the Yeti*, he was battling a Yeti in the Himalayas in the winter of 1987. However, if you open Chapter Three of *Wanderings with Werewolves*, you'll find that during the same period, he claims to have been curing an old Werewolf in a small Welsh village."
"Unless Mr. Lockhart has mastered some form of time-cloning magic even Dumbledore has never touched, these two events are physically mutually exclusive."
"Furthermore, I had the fortune of witnessing his book signing in Diagon Alley. When two adult Wizards, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley, came to blows, this hero who supposedly subdued the Wailing Widow's first reaction wasn't to use the powerful Full Body-Bind Curse he mentions in his books, but to hide behind the photographer and attempt to fix his perfect curls."
"Hermione, true power is often silent. Like the undercurrents deep beneath the sea, not the noisy foam on the surface."
"Don't let glossy covers deceive your eyes. To prevent your brain from being filled with spells that only whiten your teeth, I've enclosed with this letter a copy of a document I found in the family Library—a fragment of the *Druidic Syllabary*."
"It's an ancient, nearly extinct variant of Runic Script. I think you'll find deciphering it far more enjoyable than reading a middle-aged Wizard's narcissistic diary."
"Looking forward to seeing you on the Hogwarts Express."
"Your sincere friend, Julian"
With the last word written, Julian set down the quill.
He didn't outright call Lockhart a fraud; that would be Gryffindor-style recklessness.
He simply presented the facts, pointed out the contradictions, and then returned the right of judgment to Hermione.
For someone as proud and intelligent as Hermione, nothing would make her feel more ashamed and angry than discovering she'd been fooled by a book.
Once she began to doubt, Lockhart's gilded image would shatter instantly.
"Quill."
Julian snapped his fingers.
The House-elf immediately scurried over, holding an exquisite black wooden box.
Julian opened the box and took out a piece of yellowed parchment from inside.
It was inscribed with some twisted and peculiar symbols—the script ancient Druids used to commune with nature spirits. Obscure and difficult to comprehend, but for an academic like Hermione, it was the most potent intellectual opium.
He carefully slipped the copy of the fragment into the letter.
Then, he picked up a dark green wax stick, melted it over the candle flame, and dripped it onto the envelope's seal.
Before the wax could harden, he firmly pressed down with his ring, which was engraved with the Rosier family crest—a rose entwined with thorns.
"Deliver this to her."
Julian handed the letter to the now well-fed and watered owl.
The owl hooted softly, seemingly sensing the weight of this letter, and flapped its wings, flying out the window, soon disappearing into the vast curtain of rain.
Having done all this, Julian stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside, the rain grew heavier. The distant mountains were now just a blurred outline in the rain and mist.
"You seem rather concerned about that little Witch?"
Chapter 105: Daphne's Visit
A lazy voice came from the rug in front of the fireplace.
Blanche had slipped in unnoticed and was now in human form, holding a glass of red wine, sprawled ungracefully on the shaggy rug, flipping through the book
"This book is actually quite interesting, if you read it as a collection of jokes."
She swung her pale legs, her tone full of sarcasm, "You send this kind of thing to that little Mud... oh, sorry, the Muggle-born girl, are you trying to train her to be your private translator?"
"Hermione is a good blade, unsharpened."
Julian didn't turn around, looking at his reflection in the windowpane. "She has talent, ambition, and most importantly, an infinite thirst for knowledge. Given the right guidance, she will become a sharper weapon than any Pure-blood."
"And Lockhart..."
Julian turned around, leaning against the windowsill, his eyes deep. "He is a perfect negative example. His existence will teach Hermione a truth: fame and strength are not linked, and sometimes books can lie."
"This is a crucial lesson for breaking her ridiculous adherence to rules."
Blanche rolled over, looking up at the ceiling. "You strategists all have dark hearts. However..."
She sat up and threw Lockhart's book into the fireplace.
The flames instantly devoured Lockhart's brilliant smiling face on the cover, making a sizzling sound.
"That Weasley girl, I just received news. After she went home, she locked herself in her room and rarely came out except for meals. And it's said that she's recently been fond of holding a black diary and spacing out."
Julian's pupils contracted slightly.
"Very good."
He walked to the desk, picked up the Soul Ring, and gently caressed it.
"It seems that Hogwarts this semester will be even livelier than last semester."
He looked at Blanche. "Get ready, I need to go to Knockturn Alley before school starts. Since the diary is in place, I should go retrieve my passage."
"You mean that broken cabinet?"
Blanche pouted. "Borgin, that old man, isn't easy to deal with."
"Everyone has a price, Blanche."
Julian blew out the candle on the table, and the room plunged into darkness, with only the flickering firelight casting shadows on his face.
"And I, just happen to be able to afford it."
It was a rare clear day in the Welsh mountains in August; after the continuous rainy season, sunlight poured in.
The chirping of cicadas outside the window continuously sounded through the thick velvet curtains.
Julian was nestled in soft down pillows, in a pleasant state of semi-sleep.
Last night, he had expended a lot of energy to debug the gravity parameters of the subspace, and now was the best time to catch up on sleep.
Until a faint scent of roses and morning air abruptly intruded into his parchment-scented bedroom.
Immediately after, a cool strand of hair gently brushed his nose, carrying a slight tickle.
"Still sleeping? Is this how the heir of House of Rosiermanages his mornings?"
A familiar voice sounded in his ear, with a hint of teasing and a deliberately suppressed laugh.
Julian frowned, instinctively wanting to turn over to avoid the annoying hair, but felt something pressing on his quilt.
He suddenly opened his eyes.
Against the strong light from the gap in the curtains, he saw a face that was exquisitely flawless.
Daphne was sitting by his bed, her upper body slightly leaning forward, her eyes filled with the cunning of a successful prank.
Today she wore a pale gold, waist-cinching long dress with a dark green ribbon tied at the collar, and her golden hair fell smoothly over her shoulders.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
She stretched out a finger and poked Julian's cheek. "Aunt Isabella said I could come up and wake you, but I didn't expect you to look, well, much cuter when you sleep than your usual calculating self."
Julian caught her mischievous finger on his face, his voice hoarse and low from just waking up.
"Mother is always too trusting of me, especially when it comes to letting you into my bedroom."
He sat up, his silk pajamas sliding down, revealing his somewhat slender shoulders.
"What time is it?"
"Half past ten." Daphne naturally withdrew her hand and straightened her skirt, a faint blush flashing across her face. "For a business partner about to conduct a secret transaction, you've overslept."
"For those who master core technology, time is always relative."
Julian threw off the covers and got out of bed, walking barefoot on the thick carpet.
He snapped his fingers, and the wardrobe door automatically sprang open, a set of black everyday clothes flying out.
"Turn around, Miss Greengrass. Unless you want to exercise certain rights prematurely."
Daphne snorted lightly, turned her back to look out the window, but couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from curving upwards.
"Don't flatter yourself, Julian. I'm just here to deliver something."
She pointed to an unremarkable mahogany vanity box placed on the bedside table.
"Father has been driven crazy by the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office lately. Arthur Weasleyis like a mad dog, hounding Pure-blood families, and those nightmare-inducing teapots and people-sucking portraits at home must disappear immediately."
Julian finished dressing, walked to the bedside table, and picked up the vanity box.
It had clearly been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
He gently opened the clasp, and a chilling aura of Dark Arts instantly spilled out, causing the surrounding air temperature to drop by several degrees.
Inside were stacked various eerie items: a shriveled human hand, several Dark Arts books with covers still squirming, and a necklace inlaid with blood-red gems...
"A significant amount of trust."
Julian closed the lid, sealing away the uncomfortable aura.
"Let's go, I'll show you their new home."
...
...
The basement of Rosier Manor, after Julian's modifications, was filled with the geometric beauty of Alchemy.
The walls were carved with intricate Runic Script circuits, emitting a faint silver glow, maintaining the entire manor's defense system.
Julian led Daphne to the deepest part of the basement.
It was empty, with only a huge, mirror-smooth obsidian wall.
"This is the entrance?" Daphne looked at the wall with some confusion. "It looks like an ordinary mirror."
"What the eyes see is not necessarily real, Daphne."
Julian pulled out the necklace he always wore close to his body from his collar.
It was an ancient silver pendant, inlaid with a deep black gem, and at this moment, Julian's other hand lay open, revealing the Philosopher's Stone in his palm.
When the two drew near, the air seemed to solidify.
A low-frequency hum filled their eardrums, causing their hearts to resonate.
"Hold my hand."
Julian's voice became serious. "Don't let go; the moment of space folding will be a little dizzying."
Daphne immediately gripped his hand, her palms slightly sweating, both nervous and excited.
Julian gently pressed the Philosopher's Stone to the center of the obsidian wall, simultaneously incanting an ancient spell.
"Apertum Realitas." (Reality Opens)
In an instant, the obsidian wall rippled like water.
The formerly solid stone wall transformed into a swirling black vortex, with red light flickering like lightning at its edges.
A powerful suction force came.
Julian, pulling Daphne, stepped in without hesitation.
A dizzying sensation of weightlessness struck, as if the entire body was squeezed into a thin tube and then instantly thrown into the sky.
Chapter 106: My World
When her feet touched solid ground again, Daphnecouldn't help but stagger, and Julian steadied her.
"Welcome to... my world."
Daphne looked up, her pupils instantly dilating, her breath catching in her throat.
This was an independent world.
Above them was a chaotic, aurora-like purple sky, with no sun, yet the entire space was illuminated by a soft, unidentifiable light.
Beneath their feet was hard black rock, and in the distance lay a range of rolling small mountains, even a river flowing with silver liquid.
The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and ozone, dry and scorching.
"This... how is this possible?"
Daphne murmured, releasing Julian's hand and looking around in disbelief. "Is this the Undetectable Extension Charm? No, it's impossible. The Undetectable Extension Charm can't achieve this level of ecological simulation. This is simply a miracle..."
"You can call it a dimension."
Julian stood beside her, a hint of fervent pride in his eyes.
"I used the infinite magic power of the Philosopher's Stone as energy to forcibly capture an extremely tiny fragment of a world. This place doesn't belong to Britain, nor to Earth."
"Here, the Ministry of Magic cannot trace any magic fluctuations, and Dumbledore cannot spy on it."
No sooner had he spoken than a deafening roar echoed from the peak of the mountain.
"Roar—!!!"
Accompanied by a tremendous rush of air, a colossal black shadow obscured the sky.
It was Norbert. Although it had only been a little over a year, nourished by the Philosopher's Stone's energy, its growth rate defied all biological common sense.
It was now no smaller than a fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon.
It had scales as black as ink, massive spikes extending along its spine all the way to its tail, and its wingspan was thirty feet wide. Its eyes were fiery orange, and black smoke billowed from its nostrils.
Daphne instinctively screamed, her body rigid, clutching Julian's arm tightly.
"Nor... Norbert! Merlin's beard, how did he grow so fast?!"
Norbert seemed to sense its master's presence. It folded its wings and swooped down with a gust of wind.
Its massive body crashed heavily onto the open ground in front of them, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The enormous dragon head slowly drew closer, its hot dragon's breath washing over them, carrying the smell of sulfur and the unique fishy smell of a carnivore.
Daphne's face was pale, her legs weak, almost collapsing to the ground.
Facing such a top predator, the fear stemming from biological instinct was insurmountable.
But Julian did not flinch.
He released Daphne, took a step forward, and directly stretched out his hand, placing it on Norbert's scaly snout.
"Quiet, Norbert, don't scare your mistress."
The fierce giant beast actually narrowed its eyes docilely under Julian's hand, emitting a low purring sound similar to a cat, though the sound was like thunder.
Julian turned around and extended his hand to the stunned Daphne.
"Come, touch it."
"Are you crazy?" Daphne's voice trembled. "It'll bite off my hand!"
Although Daphne had encountered Norbert at Hogwartsbefore, Norbert was not so enormous back then.
"It won't."
Julian's gaze was firm and gentle. "Because I am its king. And you are my queen."
She looked at the confident young man before her, her heart pounding violently. Taking a deep breath, she tremblingly extended her hand.
When her fingertips touched the hot, hard dragon scales, Norbert merely snorted, showing no aggression.
"It... it's hot."
Tears welled in Daphne's eyes, a release after extreme tension. "Oh my goodness, Julian, you're absolutely insane."
"In this crazy world, only the crazy can live better."
Julian smiled, taking the mahogany box from Daphne's hand.
"Give me the thing."
With a flick of his wrist, the box flew towards a distant cave—evidently a vault specially used to store items.
"The Greengrass secret is now safe. In this world, no one but me can open this space. Even if Lord Voldemortrevives, even if Dumbledore comes in person, they won't find this place."
Julian turned around, took Daphne's hand again, and pulled her closer.
The two gazed at each other before the enormous dragon head, surrounded by the desolate yet magnificent landscape of the otherworld.
"Daphne, this is not a simple warehouse."
Julian's voice was low, carrying an undeniable promise.
"This is our retreat. No matter what happens in the future, no matter what kind of purge the Pure-blood familyfaces, as long as I am alive, there will always be a place for you and your family here."
Daphne looked at him, the love in her eyes almost overflowing.
She didn't need any verbal answer.
She stood on tiptoe and, under the gaze of Norbert's enormous golden vertical pupils, kissed Julian's lips.
In this isolated space, two young souls achieved a true symbiosis.
After a long while, their lips parted.
Daphne leaned against Julian's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, her face flushed as never before.
"So..." she asked softly, her finger tracing circles on Julian's chest, "besides these Dark Arts items, can I put other things here too?"
"Such as?"
"Like some diaries I don't want my sister to find, or myself."
Daphne looked up, her eyes full of affection.
"If one day I don't want to go home and listen to my mom nag, can I hide here?"
Julian raised an eyebrow, glancing at Norbert, who was curiously staring at them.
"As long as you don't mind having a growing, fire-breathing teenage dragon as a roommate."
"With you here, I don't mind."
Daphne hugged him tightly.
Chapter 107: Borgin and Burkes
After seeing Daphne off, Rosier Manor returned to its ancient and solemn silence.
The air still carried the distinct scent of roses unique to the young woman, mingled with a faint hint of sulfur.
Julian did not linger in the recent moment of tenderness for too long.
For a hunter, enjoying the prey is a matter for the night, while the daytime belongs to the hunt.
He walked to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder shimmering with an eerie green light.
"Knockturn Alley."
With a clear whisper, green flames engulfed his figure.
The air in Knockturn Alley always carried a nauseating musty smell, like rotten wood mixed with aged Potiondregs.
Sunlight here seemed perpetually unable to penetrate the thick, grayish mist. Most shops along the street had their doors and windows tightly shut, their displays featuring shrunken heads, giant black spider specimens, and various Dark Arts items that reeked of malice at a glance.
When Julian stepped out of the fireplace, he didn't even need to brush off the dust—he had already cast the highest-level Shield Charm and a Dust-repelling charmon himself before the Floo travel.
He wore a well-tailored black trench coat, the collar turned up to cover half his chin, holding a snake-headed wand that looked like a decorative piece but was lethally functional.
Several ragged, haggard-looking Witches were crouched in a corner, a plate of what looked like human fingernails placed before them.
Seeing Julian pass by, they greedily looked up, revealing yellowed teeth, but when their eyes met his icy, abyssal black gaze, they immediately recoiled as if scalded.
In this alley, only two kinds of people could walk with their heads held high: the most vicious thugs, or the most powerful nobles.
Clearly, Rosier belonged to the latter.
He walked straight towards the shop with the peeling sign—Borgin and Burkes.
Pushing the door open, the bell on it emitted a dull, desolate chime, like a prelude to some funeral knell.
The shop was dim, only a few murky oil lamps barely providing any light.
The shelves were piled with all sorts of dangerous items: a string of opal necklace shimmering with ominous light, a pair of executioner's gloves stained with blood, and bones of various unknown creatures.
"Welcome, welcome..."
A greasy voice came from behind the counter.
Mr. Borgin emerged, hunched over like a startled vulture.
His sparse hair clung to his scalp, and his murky eyes lit up the moment they saw Julian—that was the gleam of a merchant spotting a fat sheep.
"Ah, a Rosier."
Borgin rubbed his hands together, his voice turning obsequious and sticky, "A rare guest indeed, a rare guest. How is your father? I heard he's over in France..."
"He is well, Mr. Borgin."
Julian interrupted his pleasantries, his voice cold and distant, carrying an innate arrogance, "I'm not here today to reminisce, nor to hear you inquire about the private affairs of the House of Rosier."
He casually tapped his cane on the floor, producing a crisp sound.
"I need some... special furniture."
"Furniture?"
Borgin was momentarily stunned, then revealed a knowing, lewd smile, "Of course, of course. Many Pure-blood families need to handle things that shouldn't see the light of day. Would you like to see this?"
He hurried over to a glass case padded with velvet, pointing at a withered, shrunken human hand inside.
"The Hand of Glory!" he whispered, as if sharing an earth-shattering secret.
"Just insert a candle, and only the holder can see the light! It's the best friend of thieves and robbers! Of course, for a distinguished young master like you, it's also the perfect tool for nighttime wanderings at Hogwarts..."
"I don't need such low-level tricks."
Julian didn't even glance at the hand, his gaze passing over Borgin to land on the large, black cabinet in the corner of the shop.
The cabinet was tall, made of black wood, carved with intricate and twisted patterns. It stood quietly in the shadows, like an upright coffin.
"That cabinet."
Julian raised his cane, pointing in that direction, "I want that."
Borgin's expression changed slightly, then he covered it up with a laugh.
"Ah, that's a vanishing cabinet, Master Rosier. It is indeed a fine item, but it... has a slight defect, and it's usually sold as a pair. The other one's whereabouts are currently unknown..."
"I know where it is."
Julian walked up to the cabinet. He didn't rush to open it, but instead reached out and gently stroked the cold wood grain on the door.
The moment his fingers touched the cabinet door, he sensed an extremely faint, living presence that didn't belong to this dead silent shop.
It was the sound of rapid breathing, and a fear being desperately suppressed.
It seemed our the chosen one was currently curled up inside, trembling through the crack in the door.
The smile at the corner of Julian's mouth deepened slightly, but his eyes grew even colder.
"Moreover, I don't care if it's broken."
He turned, looking down at Borgin, "Name your price, Borgin. I want it, now."
"But..." Borgin appeared somewhat troubled, "This thing is hard to repair, and..."
"Five hundred Galleons."
Julian directly stated a figure, a price high enough to buy half the junk in the shop—excluding the Dark Arts items in Borgin's warehouse, of course.
Borgin's Adam's apple bobbed; greed instantly overcame hesitation.
"Deal! Deal! You are most generous!" He was so excited he nearly jumped, "I'll write you the receipt right away. Shall I have it delivered to the Manor?"
"Yes." Julian gave a slight nod, his eyes suddenly sharpening, "And don't try any tricks."
"Of course, of course, it's yours, even the dust inside belongs to you!" Borgin nodded hurriedly, turning to find a quill and parchment behind the counter.
Taking advantage of Borgin's turned back, Julian turned to face the large black cabinet.
He leaned in slightly, close to the crack in the door, and whispered in a voice only two people could hear:
"While I don't mind freebies, I don't recall buying a lion."
A suppressed gasp and a thud came from inside the cabinet.
Julian yanked the cabinet door open.
"Crash—"
A dark, lumpy mass tumbled out, accompanied by a large amount of soot and dust.
The scrawny figure fell awkwardly onto the floor, his round glasses cracked, emerald green eyes filled with terror, staring fixedly at Julian.
It was Harry Potter.
He looked utterly miserable, covered in soot, his robes torn, still clutching his broken glasses tightly.
"Potter?"
Julian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise as he looked at the the chosen one on the floor.
"If I recall correctly, this is Knockturn Alley, not the Gryffindor common room. What are you doing here? Experiencing life? Or does the famous the chosen onehave an undisclosed interest in the Dark Arts?"
"I... I got lost!"
Harry stammered, scrambling to his feet, looking warily around, then at Julian, "The Floo powder... I said the wrong place name... and then I fell here..."
He looked like he was about to cry. In this eerie, terrifying place, encountering a Slytherin was a nightmare within a nightmare for him.
"Said the wrong place name? Such a typical Gryffindormistake."
Julian sighed, took out a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to Harry with disdain.
"Wipe your face, Potter. You look like a House-elf that just crawled out of a chimney."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then took the handkerchief.
"Thank you... Rosier."
At that moment, Borgin came over with the receipt, startled to see Harry suddenly appear.
"Merlin's beard! Where did this kid come from? He was in my cabinet?!"
Chapter 108: Saving Harry
Borgin's face instantly turned gloomy, his murky eyes fixed on Harry as if he were looking at a petty thief. "Boy, did you steal something from me?"
He stretched out his bony hand, trying to grab Harry's collar.
"Clang!"
Julian's cane precisely blocked Borgin's wrist.
"He's my classmate, Borgin."
Julian's voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable chill. "Although he's a Gryffindor and not very bright, he's not a thief. Furthermore..."
He glanced at Harry, a meaningful curve playing on his lips.
"If the Ministry of Magic finds out that the famous Harry Potter was threatened in your shop, I imagine Arthur Weasley would be very happy to bring Aurors to tear your dilapidated shop to pieces."
Upon hearing the name "Harry Potter," Borgin recoiled as if he had been electrocuted.
"Potter? *That* Potter?"
He looked in horror at the small boy with a face full of soot, the scar on his forehead faintly visible beneath the grime.
"A misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding!" Borginimmediately changed his demeanor, becoming even more respectful (or perhaps fearful) than he was with Julian. "I didn't know it was Mr. Potter... This cabinet... This cabinet is truly honored..."
"Alright, shut up."
Julian impatiently cut him off. "Deal with the cabinet properly. You should know the consequences of offending the Rosier Family."
With that, he turned to Harry and pointed his cane at his glasses.
"Oculus Reparo."
A faint glow flashed, and the broken, tape-mended glasses on Harry's nose instantly returned to their original state.
"Scourgify."
Another flash of light, and most of the soot on Harrydisappeared. Although he still looked a bit disheveled, he at least looked presentable.
"Let's go, Potter."
Julian put away his wand, turned, and walked towards the door. "Before some old witch catches you and turns you into soup, I'll take you out of this dreadful place."
Harry stared blankly at Julian's tall back.
He had expected Rosier to mock him like Malfoy, or even kick him while he was down.
But he didn't.
Although his tone was still sharp and his gaze still arrogant, he had protected him from that terrifying shop owner, fixed his glasses, and was now taking him out.
A complex emotion spread through Harry's heart.
"Wait for me!"
Harry clutched his glasses, quickly following, like a chick that had found its parent.
Stepping out of the shop, the air outside remained cold and damp.
"Stay close, don't look around."
Julian walked ahead, eyes straight, his cane tapping rhythmically on the ground. "If you get lost again, I'll package you up and sell you to that old woman who sells fingernails."
"I know..." Harry mumbled softly, sticking close behind Julian.
Just as they were about to leave Knockturn Alley, a huge figure blocked their way.
"Harry! Harry! Where are you?"
Hagrid's booming voice rang out.
The half-Giant was anxiously pushing through the crowd, a huge cage in his hand.
"Hagrid!"
Harry cried out as if he had seen his savior.
Hagrid turned and saw Harry, and Julian standing in front of Harry.
His expression changed; he clearly didn't have much affection for Slytherin students, especially those from Pure-blood families like the Rosiers.
"Harry! Are you alright? How did you end up in a place like this?"
Hagrid rushed over, pulled Harry behind him, and looked at Julian warily. "Rosier? What did you do to him?"
Julian stopped, elegantly adjusted his cuff, a flawless fake smile on his face.
"Good afternoon, Hagrid. I suggest you keep a better eye on your little friend next time. Floo powder isn't a toy."
He casually glanced at Harry. "Since his guardian has arrived, my obligation is over. Goodbye, Potter. I hope the next time we meet, you'll be in the school's Great Hall, not in some Dark Wizard's cabinet."
With that, he ignored Hagrid's suspicious gaze and walked straight through the crowd towards the sunny Diagon Alley.
Harry peered out from behind Hagrid, watching the black figure disappear around the corner.
"He... he saved me, Hagrid."
Harry whispered.
"Saved you?" Hagrid frowned and mumbled, "Slytherins never do anything for free, Harry. Stay away from him. The Rosier Family... they're all dangerous."
Harry didn't speak, he just touched the perfectly mended glasses on his nose.
Perhaps.
London in September always felt damp.
Under the arched roof of King's Cross Station, white smoke spewed from the steam locomotive, swirling above the crowd like a Giant, lazy white snake.
The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning coal, owl droppings, and that unique, anxious scent of farewells and reunions mixed together.
The red hogwarts express lay quietly on the tracks, its body reflecting the faint sunlight filtering through the smoke, appearing somewhat mottled.
"This semester will be very interesting, Julian."
Isabella stood at the edge of the crowded platform, wearing a deep green velvet robe, a silver brooch with the Rosier Family crest pinned to her collar.
She reached out and gently straightened Julian's collar, which wasn't actually crooked.
"That Lockhart, I've seen him at a few social gatherings." Isabella's lips curved into a sneer, her eyes holding the cold indifference of someone who saw through everything.
"A charlatan who is useless except for his teeth and smile. However, charlatans can sometimes make excellent tools."
"I understand, Mother."
Julian nodded slightly, his expression calm. "The louder the clown on stage, the safer the puppet master behind the scenes."
Isabella nodded with satisfaction, a flicker of pride in her black eyes, identical to Julian's.
"Go. Don't forget, Rosiers never bow their heads, unless it's to see the corpses at their feet."
...
The train let out a long whistle, and its wheels slowly began to turn, emitting heavy metallic grinding sounds.
Julian sat in a compartment near the rear, where it was relatively quiet, away from the noisy first-years and the scatterbrained students scrambling for their toads.
He took off his black overcoat and hung it on a brass hook, wearing only a well-tailored white shirt and dark gray trousers.
He leaned back against the dark green padded seat, holding a thick book titled "The Evolution of Medieval Defense Against the Dark Arts."
This semester's Defense Against the Dark Arts Classwould be extremely boring; he had to prepare in advance.
Raindrops began to tap against the window, drawing distorted streaks of water on the glass, fragmenting the world outside into countless broken images.
Just then, the compartment door was yanked open.
There was no knock. This somewhat rude but lively way of opening the door told Julian who it was without him having to turn around.
"I knew I'd find you here!"
Chapter 109: Shura Field 2.0
Hermione stood at the door, panting, dragging a massive suitcase behind her while clutching a stack of parchment tightly to her chest.
Her hair seemed even bushier than last term, looking like a thicket of brown shrubs, but her brown eyes were startlingly bright, flickering with a near-fanatical light.
"Good afternoon, Hermione."
Julian closed his book and didn't get up to help; he simply flicked his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa." (Levitation Charm)
Hermione's heavy trunk floated up weightlessly and settled steadily onto the luggage rack.
"Thank you." Hermione walked in, blushing slightly, and plopped down in the seat opposite Julian. Without even taking the time to straighten her skirt, she spread the stack of parchment across the small table.
"Your letter! Julian, your letter was a total lifesaver!"
She spoke incredibly fast, like a machine gun. "I checked the dates just as you said! Oh my goodness, I can hardly believe it!"
"Lockhart says in *Voyages with Vampires* that he was in Romania during the summer of 1988, but then in *Gadding with Ghouls*, he says he was with a tribe in Africa at the same time! It's completely impossible! Unless he can be in two places at once!"
She poked the parchment covered in notes indignantly, as if Lockhart's face were printed right there.
"I actually... I actually bought his entire set of books! I even practiced a Smiling Charm just because of that stupid grin of his on the cover! I'm such a fool!"
Hermione covered her face in frustration, her voice thick with self-loathing. For a top student who viewed books as absolute truth, discovering that a book lied was nothing short of a crisis of faith.
"Admitting one's mistakes is the beginning of wisdom, Hermione."
Julian leaned forward slightly, his long fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.
"Most people would rather live in a beautiful lie than face the ugly truth. The fact that you noticed this shows you've already surpassed the vast majority of adult Wizards."
Hearing Julian's praise, Hermione peeked through her fingers, the flush on her face deepening.
"And..."
Julian pointed to the scrap of parchment at the very bottom of Hermione's pile.
"I take it you're more interested in that?"
Hermione immediately dropped her hands, her gaze instantly becoming obsessive.
"Oh! Yes! That Runic Script fragment!" She picked up the paper carefully, as if she were holding a holy relic.
"It's fascinating... This isn't standard Runic Script at all; or rather, it's a much more ancient variant! I searched through every reference book in Flourish and Blotts and only found a single clue in an out-of-print copy of *A Secret History of Druids*. These symbols don't represent pronunciations, but... the flow of natural elements?"
She looked up at Julian expectantly, like a star pupil waiting for a teacher to grade her work.
"To be precise, it's the Resonance of the Spirit."
Julian corrected her with a smile, his eyes deep. "Ancient Druids didn't use wands; they communicated with nature through these symbols. That symbol you see that looks like a lightning bolt is actually the vibration frequency of a Thunderbird's feather..."
The air between them seemed to ignite.
This was a pure, intellectual clash and resonance.
Within this small compartment, they had constructed a barrier reserved only for the brilliant, shutting out the mundane world. Looking at Julian as he spoke eloquently, the admiration in Hermione's eyes was nearly overflowing.
Just as this academic atmosphere was about to warm into a certain shade of romantic pink—
*Clatter.*
The compartment door was pulled open again.
This time, the movement was gentle and elegant, carrying a deep-seated composure.
A crisp scent of roses instantly cut through the scholarly air of the carriage.
Daphne stood at the door.
She was wearing her Slytherin uniform, but it had clearly been meticulously tailored; the waist was perfectly cinched, and the skirt length flawlessly showcased her slender calves.
Her long golden hair was draped smoothly over her shoulders, the ends slightly curled.
Her gaze first swept over Hermione's messy pile of parchment, then landed on Hermione's face, which was flushed with excitement, and finally fixed onto Julian.
A faint, imperceptible cold light flashed in those ice-blue eyes before transforming into an aristocratic smile.
"It seems I've arrived at an inopportune time?"
Daphne's voice was cool yet sweet, like honey water with ice cubes.
"Is our Miss Know-It-All giving some grand academic lecture? I could hear the discussion about Thunderbirdfeathers all the way down the corridor."
She stepped into the compartment and closed the door naturally, shutting out the view from outside.
Then, instead of taking an empty seat, she walked straight to Julian and sat down right next to him.
It was an incredibly overt gesture, one meant to stake a claim.
Hermione's body stiffened; she sensitively picked up on the hostility—or rather, the sense of superiority—emanating from Daphne.
"Hello, Greengrass." Hermione tidied the parchment on the table somewhat awkwardly, trying to regain her previous momentum. "We were discussing an ancient text Julian sent me. And the logical fallacies in Professor Lockhart's books."
"Oh, Lockhart."
Daphne gave a disdainful laugh and leaned back slightly against the seat, her shoulder brushing Julian's arm as if by accident.
"That man who writes autobiographies like third-rate romance novels? My father says his only talent is making middle-aged witches scream for him. I really didn't expect Miss Granger to be interested in someone like that."
"I... I'm criticizing him now!" Hermione retorted, her face turning bright red. "And Julian also thinks..."
"Now, now, ladies."
Julian spoke up at the right moment. He didn't pull his arm away from where Daphne was leaning; instead, he naturally adjusted his posture to make her more comfortable.
At the same time, his gaze remained warm as he looked at Hermione across from him, showing no sign of neglect.
"Academic discussions are for pursuing truth, not for creating tension."
Julian pulled an exquisite silver case from his pocket and opened it; inside were not cigarettes, but candied lemon slices.
"Would you like one? It's a new recipe from my House-elf; it's very helpful for relieving motion sickness and calming the nerves."
He offered it to Hermione first.
Hermione hesitated for a moment before taking a slice. The cool, sweet-and-sour taste dissolved on her tongue, indeed relaxing her tense nerves.
Then, Julian turned to Daphne at his side.
He didn't just hold it out; he picked up a slice and brought it directly to Daphne's lips.
Daphne was taken aback for a second, then her eyes shimmered as she slightly parted her red lips to take the lemon, her tongue brushing Julian's fingertip ever so slightly.
It was an extremely intimate gesture.
Hermione watched, dumbfounded, her face instantly turning red to the roots of her hair. She quickly lowered her head, pretending to read her book.
Chapter 110: The Car Flying in the Sky
"Tastes good," Daphne said indistinctly, casting a provocative glance at Hermione opposite her, as if to say: Look, this is the difference between us.
Julian pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers, his expression composed.
This was his balancing act.
Give Hermione spiritual respect and guidance, satisfying her thirst for knowledge and vanity; give Daphne physical intimacy and privilege, satisfying her possessiveness and sense of security.
One was a resonance of the soul, the other an accomplice in reality.
"By the way, Daphne."
Julian spoke casually, as if remembering something, "Regarding the placement of those things, I've already handled it. I'll take you to see its new functions next time."
Daphne's eyes instantly lit up; she knew Julian was referring to the subspace.
"Really? Then I'll look forward to it." She smiled sweetly, leaning her head on Julian's shoulder. This time, she didn't target Hermione again.
Because she had won—at least in her view. She possessed Julian's core secret, while Hermione was merely a clever bookworm.
Although Hermione didn't understand the riddle they were playing at, the feeling of being excluded made her feel a bit uneasy.
However, when she looked back at the complex fragment of Runic Script in her hand, her mood settled again.
At least, he only trusts me academically. Hermionecomforted herself in her heart. How could a young lady like Greengrass, who only knows how to dress up, understand such profound knowledge?
The two girls each found their point of balance in their hearts, and the atmosphere in the carriage finally became eerily harmonious.
The train sped across the fields of Scotland, the rain outside getting heavier as the sky gradually darkened.
"Look!"
Hermione suddenly cried out, pointing out the window.
Through the rain-streaked glass, in the pitch-black night sky, a pale blue Ford car was wobbling below the clouds, looking like a drunken Giant beetle.
"Is that... the Weasley family car?"
Daphne frowned with a look of disdain. "Are they crazy? Driving a Muggle car to chase a train? This is a blatant violation of the Statute of Secrecy."
Julian looked at the rickety car swaying in the wind and rain, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Perhaps this is what Gryffindor calls courage."
He spoke softly, his eyes flashing with light.
"However, I think Professor Snape will be very happy to see this scene on tomorrow's front page of The Daily Prophet."
He didn't take out his wand to record it because there was no need.
Some fools don't need a push; they jump off the cliff themselves. All he had to do was stand at the edge and elegantly enjoy the moment of the fall.
"Get ready to change into your robes."
Julian stood up and straightened his shirt. "Hogwarts is here."
Under the night sky, Hogwarts Castle stood majestically, countless windows emitting warm candlelight like shimmering jewels on a Giant.
The carriage jolted forward on the muddy path, the skeletal bodies of the Thestrals appearing faintly in the darkness.
Julian sat in the carriage, not participating in the foolish discussion among the surrounding students about "what exactly is pulling the carriage."
He just quietly watched the approaching Castle outside the window, his fingers unconsciously stroking the handle of his snake-headed wand.
A new semester, new events—he hoped our great Mr. Voldemort wouldn't disappoint him too much.
The moment Julian stepped into the Great Hall, a wave of clamor hit him.
Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the golden plates and goblets on the four long tables.
The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the dark, stormy night sky outside; occasional flashes of lightning made the entire Great Hall flicker between light and dark, adding a touch of dramatic tension.
Julian walked straight toward the Slytherin table.
He didn't deliberately look for a seat, because the moment he approached, several third-year students originally sitting at the center of the long table immediately moved aside of their own accord, yielding the seat with the best view and the most status.
This was the taste of power, more intoxicating than any perfume.
Daphne naturally sat to his right, while Theodore Nottsilently sat to his left, like a quiet guardian.
Malfoy sat a bit further away, boasting to Pansy Parkinson about how many Dark Arts items he had seen over the summer, but his eyes drifted toward Julian from time to time with an inexplicable agitation.
Looking at the treatment Julian received now, Malfoy was very unhappy; these things should have belonged to him.
"It seems our 'chosen one' is late after all."
Theodore said in a low voice, his eyes, always tinged with gloom, scanning the empty seats at the Gryffindor table. "I heard someone saw a flying car crash into the Whomping Willow."
"Recklessness always demands a price."
Julian casually straightened his napkin. "However, this just happens to give certain people an opportunity to perform."
His gaze crossed the crowd and landed on the staff table.
There sat a new face.
Gilderoy Lockhart.
Even in this magical world full of eccentric clothing, he appeared excessively... dazzling.
He wore forget-me-not blue robes, a color so bright it made one's eyes ache, paired with a gold-trimmed Wizard's hat tilted playfully to one side.
His blonde hair had clearly been meticulously groomed, its curls so perfect it looked like he had just stepped out of a barbershop; one might mistake him for a top host from some club.
At this moment, he was flashing a set of teeth so white they reflected light, waving to the students below as if this weren't the school Great Hall but the site of his new book signing.
Sitting next to him, Professor Snape's face was as dark as a pot of burnt Potion.
Snape was staring at Lockhart with a look reserved for slugs; if looks could kill, Lockhart would have already been sliced into a thousand pieces of Potion ingredients.
Our Half-Blood Prince had spent the entire summer unable to understand why Dumbledore would find such trash to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
If there were truly no candidates, letting him substitute would have been ten thousand times better than Lockhart.
"Is that our new Defense Against the Dark ArtsProfessor?" Daphne wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He looks like an over-preening peacock."
"That's a very precise description, Daphne."
Julian chuckled. "However, while peacock feathers are flashy and useless, they can sometimes be used as decent decorations."
Just then, Professor McGonagall led a group of wet, shaken first-year students into the Great Hall.
The Sorting Ceremony began.
The Sorting Hat's ragged song echoed through the hall; this year's lyrics seemed even gloomier than in previous years, faintly hinting at some dangerous omen.
Julian didn't pay much attention to the sorting process until that little red-haired girl stepped forward.
Ginny Weasley.
Chapter 111: Going Head-to-Head with Lockhart
Ginny looked incredibly nervous, her face pale, and her red hair seemed exceptionally jarring under the candlelight. She even nearly tripped over her own robes.
Less than a second after the Sorting Hat touched the top of her head, it shouted loudly:
"Gryffindor!"
As expected.
A burst of cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, and the Weasley brothers were excitedly pounding on the table.
Ginny ran toward the long table with a flushed face, but as she passed the Slytherin table, her pace slowed slightly.
Her gaze seemed to inadvertently sweep over Julian.
In that instant, Julian keenly captured a certain abnormality in her eyes—it was a mixture of fear, confusion, and a coldness that did not belong to someone her age.
Clearly, Ginny was already being influenced by the diary.
That black seed had already taken root and sprouted in her heart.
Julian curled his lips slightly, raised the goblet in his hand, and offered a distant salute in Ginny's direction.
Ginny lowered her head quickly as if she had been burned and hurried to sit down beside Percy Weasley.
"What are you looking at?" Daphne asked keenly, her tone carrying a hint of wariness.
"Looking at a chess piece that's about to explode." Julianwithdrew his gaze and took a sip of pumpkin juice.
The feast began.
Food appeared out of thin air on the golden plates, its aroma filling the air.
While everyone was feasting, Lockhart at the staff table didn't seem content to just be a quiet decorative vase.
He stood up, walked over to Professor McGonagall's side, and spoke loudly, his voice clearly amplified by a Sonoruscharm:
"What a wonderful evening! Seeing so many little faces full of thirst for knowledge truly moves me! I think, as your new Professor, it is necessary for me to give everyone a small introductory gift at this special moment!"
He waved his wand, and countless signed photos of himself fluttered down from the ceiling like snowflakes.
The Great Hall instantly erupted into chaos.
The girls let out screams, scrambling to grab those photos, while most of the boys wore expressions as if they had swallowed a fly.
A photo happened to float right in front of Julian.
In the photo, Lockhart was winking at the camera, revealing a mouthful of sparkling teeth.
Julian extended two fingers, elegantly pinching the photo as if he were holding a dead rat.
"How... generous."
He commented faintly.
Just then, Lockhart seemed to notice the movement here, or rather, he noticed the only student in the whole hall who showed obvious indifference to his behavior and possessed an outstanding temperament.
He actually walked down from the staff table and came straight to the Slytherin table.
"Ah! If I'm not mistaken, this is a Rosier!"
Lockhart cried out exaggeratedly, his voice loud enough for half the Great Hall to hear,
"I've seen reports about your father in The Daily Prophet, and of course, you! The genius boy who showed extraordinary talent in his first year!"
He leaned in close to Julian, the strong scent of cologne on him being almost suffocating.
"Tell me, child, did getting my signed photo make you so excited you're speechless? It's alright, I see this reaction quite often. After all, I was once a young man eager for fame just like you..."
The surrounding Slytherin students all stopped their knives and forks, looking at Lockhart with the kind of gaze used for an idiot.
Everyone knew that in Slytherin, no one would openly speak of a shallow desire like craving fame, and certainly no one would treat such clownish behavior as an honor.
Julian slowly set down the goblet in his hand, looked up, and stared directly into Lockhart's bright blue eyes.
His gaze was as calm as water, yet bottomless.
"Professor Lockhart."
Julian's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced through the surrounding noise with a unique rhythm that made people involuntarily want to listen.
"Your generosity is indeed impressive. However, rather than this... exquisite photo, I am actually more interested in the reverse Petrification spell you mentioned in Chapter 12 of 'Travels with Trolls'."
He paused, his lips curling into an extremely polite yet sarcastically charged smile.
"As far as I know, if the gesture for that spell followed your book's description—rotating thirty degrees to the left instead of the right—the resulting effect would no longer be petrifying a Troll, but causing the caster's own tongue to tie in knots."
The Great Hall instantly fell silent.
Even Hermione at the Gryffindor table looked up in surprise; she hadn't expected Julian to directly challenge him on such an occasion.
Lockhart's smile froze on his face.
The corner of his eye twitched; he clearly hadn't expected to have his professionalism questioned publicly by a second-year student.
"Ah... haha! What keen observation!"
Lockhart gave a couple of dry laughs, trying to cover his embarrassment with his signature laughter, "That's exactly... that's exactly a little test I left in the book! To test if the readers were truly thinking carefully! It seems you've passed the test, Mr. Rosier! Five points to Slytherin!"
He hurriedly tried to end the topic and turned to leave.
"Five points?"
Julian had no intention of letting him off, continuing nonchalantly, "It seems the value of knowledge in your eyes is as cheap as this photo."
He loosened his fingers.
The photo with Lockhart's signature drifted down into the leftovers on the table, getting stained with greasy gravy; Lockhart's originally sparkling face instantly became filthy.
"I hope your classes will be more nourishing than this photo, Professor."
Julian picked up a napkin and wiped his hands, as if he had just touched something dirty.
Lockhart's face instantly turned ashen, but being an old hand at this, he forced out a smile that looked worse than crying.
"Of course... of course! You'll have your eyes opened!"
He almost fled back to the staff table.
Snape sat there, watching Lockhart's pathetic retreating figure, then glanced at Julian who was dining elegantly.
His thin lips, quite rarely, curled upward into a tiny, almost invisible arc.
That was the appreciation of the Slytherin Dean.
"Nicely done."
Theodore said in a low voice, looking at the photo soaking in gravy, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes, "I think we'll have a lot of fun in our Defense Against the Dark Arts Class this semester."
"Fun?"
Julian cut a piece of steak, and bright red juice seeped out.
"No, Theodore. This isn't fun."
He put the steak into his mouth, chewing slowly, his gaze cold.
"The real show is yet to come."
Chapter 112: Establishing Authority
Leaving the Great Hall, they returned to the dungeons.
Along the winding stone steps leading downward, torches burned with eerie green flames, casting long, distorted shadows as if countless eyes were lurking within the walls, watching them.
The entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was hidden behind a damp stone wall.
"Pure-blood."
prefect Gemma Farley called out the password. The stone wall slowly slid aside, revealing the luxurious yet gloomy space behind it.
The common room was located at the bottom of the Black Lake. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lay the dark, deep waters, where the occasional giant squid tentacle glided slowly past, bringing a suffocating sense of pressure.
A blazing fire burned in the black marble fireplace, which was carved with exquisite serpent patterns. However, the flames seemed to offer little warmth, instead making the green tapestries and silver light fixtures appear even colder and harder.
The first-year students huddled in the center of the common room like a flock of frightened little quails, looking around uneasily.
Most of them came from Pure-blood families and had grown up hearing legends of Slytherin; they were now filled with both excitement and fear.
Draco had already claimed the most comfortable leather sofa in front of the fireplace.
He sat with his legs crossed, his pale face wearing an arrogance deliberately modeled after Lucius, flanked by Goyle and Crabbe, his two bodyguards who looked like mountains of flesh.
"Listen up," Malfoy drawled, pointing at several of the new students.
"In Slytherin, bloodline is everything. If you're a half-blood, you'd better keep your head down and stay out of my way in the common room. As for those mudbloods... Hmph, fortunately, our house doesn't have such filthy things."
Several half-blood freshmen turned pale, bowing their heads and not daring to speak.
prefect Gemma Farley frowned and was about to say something, but the sound of footsteps from the entrance instantly silenced the entire common room.
Julian walked in.
He didn't hold his head high like Malfoy, nor did he put on any deliberate airs.
He simply walked calmly, one hand in his trouser pocket, yet the aura Julian projected made the surrounding air feel as if it had frozen solid.
The students who had been flattering Malfoy instinctively shut their mouths and stepped aside, clearing a path to the fireplace.
Daphne leaned on Julian's arm like a queen inspecting her domain, her icy blue eyes coldly scanning the room.
Theodore followed behind, a thick book in hand, his gaze somber and silent.
Julian reached the fireplace and stopped.
He stood right in front of Malfoy, looking down at the blond boy occupying the sofa.
Malfoy's smile froze on his face.
He instinctively wanted to stand up, but felt it would be too humiliating, so he forced himself to remain seated, trying to challenge Julian with his eyes.
"Good evening, Malfoy."
Julian's voice was excessively gentle. "It seems you have quite a bit of experience in educating the new students?"
"I'm just teaching them the rules, Rosier," Malfoy said, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity despite his bluster. "Letting them know who the master is around here."
"Master?"
Julian gave a soft chuckle that held no warmth. He raised his cane, its tip resting lightly on the armrest of the sofa where Malfoy sat.
"In Slytherin, there has never been a self-proclaimed master, Draco."
As his words fell, a wave of invisible magical power erupted instantly.
There was no flash of a spell, but the sofa beneath Malfoy suddenly seemed to come alive, jerking backward.
"Bang!"
Caught off guard, Malfoy tumbled clumsily from the sofa and landed hard on his backside on the carpet.
A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the room.
Malfoy's face instantly turned the color of a pig's liver. He leaped up, reaching for his wand. "How dare you—"
"Petrificus Totalus."
Julian didn't even draw his wand; he simply gave a light flick of his finger.
A Non-verbal Spell struck Malfoy instantly.
Malfoy remained frozen in the posture of drawing his wand, paralyzed on the spot. Only his grey eyes, filled with terror and rage, darted around frantically.
The room fell into a deathly silence.
Wandless Magic? A Non-verbal Spell?
To the first-year students who had just started school, this was nothing short of a miracle.
prefect Gemma Farley watched Julian's display and remained silent as well.
Julian didn't spare Malfoy another glance, as if he were merely a stone in the path.
He turned and sat elegantly on the vacated sofa, legs crossed and hands folded over his knee.
Daphne naturally sat on the armrest, while Theodorestood behind the sofa.
At that moment, the composition was as perfect as a classical oil painting—The King and His Courtiers.
"Since Mr. Malfoy is feeling unwell, I shall finish what he had to say."
Julian's gaze slowly swept across everyone present, finally resting on the group of trembling freshmen.
"Welcome to Slytherin."
His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a strange piercing quality that echoed through the cavernous basement.
"I know you've heard many rumors about this place. A cradle for Dark Wizards, a fortress for Pure-bloods, a den of cunning and treacherous snakes..."
He paused, a mocking curve touching the corner of his mouth.
"Forget those foolish words."
"The core of Slytherin has never been those decaying theories of bloodline, nor has it been unprincipled conspiracies and schemes."
Standing up, he walked over to a half-blood freshman who looked the most terrified. The boy was nearly in tears, but Julian merely reached out and smoothed out a wrinkle in his clothes.
"What Slytherin craves is—ambition."
"It is the thirst for power, the pursuit of excellence, and the determination to achieve one's goals by any means necessary."
Julian turned around, his back to the fire. His shadow stretched out long, covering half the common room.
"Here, it doesn't matter who your father is, nor does it matter how many impurities are in your blood. Slytherinonly cares about one thing—whether you have value."
"If you are a lion, even if you are Muggle-born, I welcome you to join the hunt. But if you are a sheep, even if the blood of Salazar Slytherin flows through your veins, you are only fit to be food."
He pointed at Mr. Malfoy, who was still frozen in place.
"Like this Mr. Malfoy here, who thought he could throw his weight around based on his father's name. Yet, in the face of true power, he didn't even have the chance to draw his wand."
"This is reality."
"In this house, weakness is the original sin, and stupidity is a death sentence."
Julian's gaze became as sharp as a blade. "I want you to remember that from this day forward, Slytherin is no longer a social club where people hide in their fathers' shadows and flatter one another."
"What we must do is become the predators of Hogwarts."
"Whether it be in grades, Quidditch, or... other fields."