Chapter 113: Anger
Julian sat back on the sofa and snapped his fingers.
"Finite Incantatem."
The stiffness in Malfoy's body vanished instantly; he stumbled, nearly falling.
He gasped for air, his face as pale as paper, his eyes filled with fear for Julian, his previous arrogance completely gone.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy."
Julian looked at him with a smile that, in Malfoy's eyes, was more terrifying than a demon's. "I think you're tired and need to go back to the dormitory for a good rest to reflect on what rules are, right?"
Malfoy bit his lip and nodded in humiliation, not even daring to utter another threat, as he slunk off into the boys' dormitory passage with Goyle and Crabbe.
The common room remained quiet, but this time, there was a sense of awe in the silence.
The way the first-years looked at Julian had changed; it was no longer simple fear, but a fanatical gaze as if they were looking at an idol.
For these children who craved power, nothing was more attractive than a strong, elegant leader who could break conventions.
"A brilliant speech."
The prefect Gemma Farley walked over, her expression a bit complex, but mostly one of recognition. She nodded slightly to Julian. "I think Slytherin will be very interesting this year."
"Just stating facts, Senior Farley."
Julian responded indifferently.
He leaned back in his chair, feeling the gazes converging on him from all around.
The game of thrones, first round, a complete victory.
"You were really charming just now."
Daphne leaned close to his ear, her breath like orchids, her voice carrying undisguised infatuation. "I can hardly stop myself from kissing you right here."
"Exercise some restraint, future head of the Greengrass Family."
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom currently looked more like a cheap, third-rate celebrity's dressing room.
The walls, which used to hang Vampire skeletons and diagrams of Dark Arts creatures, were now covered with photos of Gilderoy Lockhart.
The Lockharts in those photos were winking in blue Wizard robes, signing with quills, or tidying his golden curls in front of a mirror.
Dozens of Lockharts simultaneously showing that signature eight-toothed smile made the light in the entire classroom strange and piercing.
The air was filled with a strong scent of cologne, a mixture of lavender and musk, so thick it could practically choke a mosquito to death.
"Let me see..."
Lockhart stood on the podium, wearing Lilac robes and holding a thick stack of test papers.
"I've prepared a little questionnaire for you. Don't be nervous, it's just to see how well you've been reading, to see how many of my books you've actually read..."
As he spoke, he distributed the papers.
Julian sat in the second row, with Daphne beside him, covering her nose with a handkerchief, looking disgusted.
"This smell is even worse than Professor Snape's Potion Class," she whispered in complaint.
"Patience is a virtue, dear."
Julian took the test paper and scanned the questions.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
What does Gilderoy Lockhart feel is his greatest achievement to date?
...
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday? What would be his ideal birthday gift?
Three whole pages of parchment, fifty-four questions, all about himself.
Hermione in the front row had already started writing furiously.
She almost buried her face in the test paper, her quill scratching across the parchment with a fervor as if she were solving the ultimate mystery of the universe.
Julian looked at Hermione's trembling back and shook his head helplessly.
Although Hermione already knew Lockhart was a fraud, for a crazy top student, no test paper would be left unanswered.
He picked up his quill and dipped it in ink.
Julian didn't answer those stupid questions.
Under the first question, "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?", he wrote:
[Diagnosis: Pathological Narcissism.]
Under the second question, "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?", he wrote:
[Symptom Analysis: The subject exhibits extreme egocentrism, constructing a false self-image to defend against deep-seated inferiority and emptiness. This'secret ambition' is usually some unrealistic fantasy aimed at gaining constant external attention and praise.]
Under the third question, "What does Gilderoy Lockhartfeel is his greatest achievement to date?", he wrote:
[Behavioral Pattern: Maintaining a sense of omnipotence by stealing others' achievements and modifying their memories. The so-called 'achievement' is essentially an overcompensation mechanism for mediocrity.]
Julian wrote fluently, his handwriting elegant and ornate, carrying the authority of a medical prescription.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers.
He sat on the podium and began grading them quickly, a smile of expectation for praise on his face.
"Tut-tut... it seems almost no one remembers my favorite color is Lilac. I mentioned it in 'Year with the Yeti'..."
"Some students don't even know my ideal gift is harmony between all magic and non-magic people—though I wouldn't turn down a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"
He winked at the class, and several Gryffindor girls let out infatuated giggles.
"But—"
Lockhart suddenly pulled one paper from the stack and held it up, a look of surprise on his face.
"Miss Hermione Granger! Full marks! Goodness, full marks!"
Hermione's face looked a bit awkward; she nervously twisted her fingers, watching Lockhart's performance, even feeling a strange sense of physiological discomfort.
Had she known, she wouldn't have answered so well.
"She even remembers which book I mentioned I like to have a cup of hot milk before bed! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
Lockhart announced loudly, then continued flipping through.
Suddenly, his movements stopped.
His smile seemed glued to his face, frozen, but his eyes began to flicker violently.
He picked up Julian's test paper.
At first, he thought it was some complex answer, but as he read the words, his face turned from ruddy to pale, and then from pale to ashen.
"Pathological Narcissism"... "False Self"... "Stealing Achievements"...
Every word was like a knife, precisely slicing through his ornate skin to reveal the rotten sores within.
Especially that phrase "overcompensation mechanism for mediocrity" was practically trampling on his soul.
The atmosphere in the classroom became somewhat strange.
Everyone looked at Lockhart, finding that this always-smiling Professor was now staring intently at the parchment in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
He jerked his head up, his gaze locking onto Julian.
That look was no longer one of superficial smiles, but of humiliation and rage after being exposed.
Chapter 114: Night Duty with Lockhart
"Mr. Rosier."
Lockhart's voice was a bit dry. He cleared his throat, trying to regain that composed tone, but failed. "Your... your handwriting is very beautiful, very... full of personality."
"Thank you for the compliment, Professor."
Julian leaned back in his chair, twirling the quill in his hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I just feel that compared to those rote-memorized facts, an analysis that goes deep into the soul better reflects my understanding of your works."
Lockhart's eye twitched.
Deep into the soul? This was simply murder! Slander! Rumors!
He took a deep breath and quickly stuffed the test paper to the bottom, as if it were some cursed Dark Arts object.
"A very interesting point of view... very... unique," he said dryly. "I think we need to... discuss this matter further after class. Yes, detention, Mr. Rosier. Tonight."
A burst of whispering rose from the class.
Malfoy laughed gloatingly in the back row, while Hermione looked back at Julian with concern.
"Alright!"
Lockhart seemed eager to divert everyone's attention. He suddenly bent down and pulled out a large cage covered with a cloth from behind the podium, placing it on the desk.
"Now—we are entering the practical phase! Pay attention! My task is to teach you how to defend against the most wicked things in the wizarding world!"
He whipped off the cover.
"Cornish Pixies!"
Inside the cage, several iron-blue little monsters with pointed faces and wings were frantically hitting the bars, letting out ear-piercing screams and making faces at the students.
The whole class fell into an awkward silence.
Someone couldn't help but laugh. "That's it? They aren't even considered Dark Arts creatures, are they?"
"Don't underestimate them!"
Lockhart wagged his finger annoyedly. "They are as cunning as devils, these little havoc-wreckers! Let's see if you can handle them!"
Before anyone could react, he opened the cage door.
"Go!"
In that instant, the classroom exploded.
The pixies shot out like rockets, rampaging through the classroom.
They grabbed ink bottles and splashed them over the class, shredded books, and tore down the portraits on the walls. The frames of the Lockharts were smashed to pieces, and the Lockharts inside fled in panic.
Two pixies grabbed Neville's ears, lifted him into the air, and hung him from the chandelier.
"Ow! Get me down!" Neville cried out in pain.
"Quick! Catch them! Drive them back into the cage!"
Lockhart shouted, rolling up his sleeves to try and catch a pixie, only to have his wand snatched away by it. The pixie then proceeded to shove the wand into his nostril.
"Ah!"
Lockhart clutched his nose and screamed, scrambling miserably under the podium.
The classroom was in chaos. Students screamed and scattered, while books and feathers flew everywhere.
Hermione tried to use a Freezing Charm, but in the chaos, she couldn't aim at all.
Julian remained in his seat, his posture not even changing.
A pixie screamed and rushed toward him, holding an ink bottle, clearly wanting to give this cleanest-looking person some color.
"Immobulus. Total Freezing."
Julian immediately raised his hand, lightly tapping his index finger in the air.
An invisible ripple spread out with him as the center.
The rushing pixie seemed to hit a transparent wall, instantly stiffening in mid-air, maintaining its hideous posture of holding the ink bottle, and then falling straight to the ground like a stone.
Thud.
The ripple continued to spread, and several nearby pixies trying to approach were also caught, falling to the floor one after another with a pitter-patter.
Around his seat, an absolute vacuum zone with a diameter of two meters was formed.
Daphne watched this scene in surprise, then admiringly took hold of Julian's arm.
"So cool..." she murmured.
The chaos lasted for a few minutes until the bell rang.
The students rushed out of the classroom as if escaping a disaster, leaving behind a mess, Neville hanging from the chandelier, and Lockhart crawling out from under the podium with his clothes in disarray.
"Ahem..."
Lockhart straightened his crooked collar, looking at the empty classroom and Julian, who was still sitting there.
His eyes flickered with a mix of embarrassment and the irritation of being seen through.
"It seems... everyone had a great time."
He forced a smile. "This is exactly what I wanted! To let you learn to stay calm in chaos!"
He walked up to Julian, trying to put on a Professor's dignity, but with the red mark on his nose, it looked somewhat comical.
"Mr. Rosier, as I said just now."
Lockhart lowered his voice, a cold glint flashing in his blue eyes. "About your test paper. I think we need to have a good talk. Eight o'clock tonight, my office."
Julian stood up. Being half a head taller than Lockhart, he looked more like the one in control of the situation.
He leaned forward slightly, getting close to Lockhart, his voice low and elegant:
"I'm looking forward to it, Professor."
"After all, I'm also very curious to know what else you're good at besides signing autographs and smiling."
After saying that, he took Daphne and walked out of the classroom unhurriedly.
Only Lockhart was left standing in the ruins, watching Julian's back with an unreadable expression.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
The corridors of Hogwarts Castle were quiet, with only the occasional snoring from the portraits.
Julian stood before an oak door on the Third Floor, lightly adjusting his cuffs.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in—the door's unlocked!"
Lockhart's cheerful voice came from inside, sounding nothing like the pathetic clown in the classroom earlier that day.
Julian pushed the door open and entered.
In that instant, it was as if he had stepped into a bizarre kaleidoscope.
The four walls of the office were still covered with photos of Lockhart himself, of all sizes and expressions.
Some wore Quidditch robes, some wore evening gowns, and there was even one in swimming trunks showing off his muscles at the beach.
All the photos were moving.
The Lockhart on the left was handing hair gel to the Lockhart on the right, the one above was practicing winking in the mirror, and the one below was frantically signing autographs for fans.
Sitting behind the desk was the real Lockhart, wearing a flashy violet silk dressing gown, even with a hairnet on his head.
"Ah! Mr. Rosier! You're here!"
Lockhart put down his Peacock feather quill, his face filled with that signature fake smile. "Come in, come in! Don't be shy!"
He pointed to a small table opposite the desk piled with envelopes.
"As you can see, fame is a tiring friend. These poor people... they long for a word or two from me. I thought, as a punishment... or rather, as an honor, you could help me reply to these fans."
Lockhart picked up a letter and read it affectionately:
"'Dear Gilderoy, your smile is the only sunshine in my life...'—Oh, this is from Gladys Gudgeon, such an enthusiastic lady. Just write: 'With warmest regards, and please buy my complete works again next Friday.'"
Julian didn't move.
He just stood there quietly, watching Lockhart's performance like watching a clown in a circus.
"Professor."
Julian spoke, his voice low, interrupting Lockhart's incessant chatter. "We both know that I didn't come here tonight to write letters for Mrs. Gudgeon."
Lockhart's smile froze instantly.
Chapter 115: Obliviate
Lockhart slowly lowered the letter in his hand, his flamboyant enthusiasm receding like a tide, replaced by a chilling coldness.
"Yes... yes."
Lockhart stood up, walked around the desk, and slowly approached Julian.
He toyed absentmindedly with his cherry wood wand, the tip pointing toward the floor, whether by design or accident.
"Mr. Rosier, you are a clever boy, far too clever."
He stopped two paces in front of Julian, the overpowering scent of his perfume wafting over.
"I saw your talent in that test paper. Pathological narcissism? Stealing achievements? Tsk, tsk, tsk... such sharp words."
Lockhart sighed and shook his head, as if lamenting something.
"You know, in this world, there are some truths that shouldn't be spoken carelessly, especially when you are facing a Wizard who has been famous for a long time."
His voice suddenly turned icy, and a flash of ruthlessness flickered in his eyes.
"You are very gifted, child. But unfortunately, you know too much."
"Obliviate!"
Lockhart suddenly raised his wand, his movements startlingly fast.
This was perhaps the one spell he had practiced most skillfully and perfectly in his entire life.
A blinding white light shot straight toward Julian's face, carrying a terrifying magical power capable of erasing all memories.
However, the expected scene of Julian's eyes glazing over as he stood there in a daze did not occur.
That white light suddenly seemed to hit an invisible barrier an inch away from Julian's forehead.
Hum—
A circle of transparent ripples spread through the air.
It was the absolute defense constructed by Occlumency.
Lockhart froze.
He had never seen such a scene, not even with that old Armenian Wizard, nor the Witch who had banished the Bandon Banshee; they had all been helpless under his sneak attack.
"This... this is imposs—"
Before he could finish, Julian raised his head.
Those deep black eyes had now turned into an eerie, dark hue, like two bottomless whirlpools seeking to suck in one's soul.
"Legilimens."
Julian did not draw his wand, nor did he even move his lips.
The spell exploded directly in Lockhart's mind, like a thousand tons of explosives blasting through his fragile mental defenses.
"Ah—!!!"
Lockhart let out a wretched scream, his wand dropping to the floor as he clutched his head and collapsed to his knees in agony.
In an instant, Julian's consciousness entered as if into an uninhabited land, brutally tearing open the corridors of Lockhart's memory.
Countless images flashed before his eyes like slides.
...
Scene one: The jungles of Wagadougou.
A wrinkled old Wizard was excitedly demonstrating his spell for dealing with werewolves.
A young Lockhart stood by, a smile of admiration on his face, but the moment the old Wizard turned his back, he raised his wand.
"Obliviate!"
The old Wizard collapsed, and Lockhart took his notes.
...
Scene two: A dark cave.
An ugly-faced but determined-eyed Witch was sealing a Banshee.
Lockhart hid behind a rock, waiting until the Witch was exhausted before jumping out.
"Obliviate!"
...
Scene three: A book signing at Flourish and Blotts.
Lockhart looked at the crowds cheering for him, while inwardly mocking their stupidity wildly.
"It's all mine... all mine... as long as no one remembers, it's mine..."
...
The memory fragments reorganized in Julian's mind, constructing a complete and hideous Gilderoy Lockhart.
This was the so-called 'Order of Merlin, Third Class' recipient, the so-called 'Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League'.
A complete thief, a hollow shell built upon Memory Charms.
"Phew..."
Julian slowly withdrew from the Legilimency.
A deathly silence returned to the office.
Only the photos on the wall continued to blink tirelessly, but to Julian, those smiles now seemed incredibly ironic.
Lockhart knelt on the floor, drenched in cold sweat, gasping for breath.
His eyes were vacant, as if he had just undergone a slow execution of the soul.
A slender, pale hand reached out in front of him.
In the hand was the cherry wood wand Lockhart had dropped.
Lockhart looked up tremblingly at the twelve-year-old boy before him.
At this moment, in his eyes, Julian was even more terrifying than Lord Voldemort; this student before him was simply a monster in human skin.
"This wand is quite nice, only nine inches, a bit short, but more flexible."
Julian commented softly, then casually tossed the wand back into Lockhart's lap.
Lockhart scrambled to catch it but didn't dare raise it at all.
"Who... who are you exactly..." Lockhart's voice carried a sob, his teeth chattering.
Julian did not answer.
He walked to the desk and picked up an unfinished manuscript—it was the new book Lockhart was preparing to publish, 'Magical Me'.
"I saw your memories, Professor."
Julian flipped through the manuscript, his tone as casual as if discussing tomorrow's weather.
"The old Wizard from Wagadougou is probably still drooling in his village, isn't he? And that Witch who sealed the Banshee, I heard she can't even remember her own name now."
"No... please... don't tell anyone..."
Lockhart crawled over, trying to grab Julian's pant leg, but Julian coldly stepped away.
"Why would I tell anyone?"
Julian closed the manuscript and looked down at the pathetic creature.
"What benefit is there for me to ruin you? So that Dumbledore can find another Professor as interesting as you?"
He crouched down, looking Lockhart straight in the eye.
"Listen, Gilderoy."
Julian used his first name for the first time. "I like your books very much. Truly. Especially those wonderful stories that belong to others."
"Keep writing. Keep playing your role as the glamorous hero."
"But, from today on, I want to be your first reader."
Julian leaned in close to Lockhart's ear, his voice barely audible, yet every word struck home.
"Every book of yours, every speech, even every decision you make in this school... I want them all to pass through my review."
"After all, if The Daily Prophet were to find out that their great hero is actually a failure who can't even use a Banishing Charm properly... I think the Dementors in Azkaban would very much enjoy your autograph."
Lockhart shuddered violently, nodding frantically, tears and snot streaming down his face.
"I... I'll listen to you! I'll do everything you say! Mr. Rosier!"
"Shh—"
Julian put a finger to his lips. "Just call me Julian. We are in a teacher-student relationship, aren't we? This is a sacred school, after all."
He stood up and brushed his hands together, as if cleaning off some dust.
"Well, I think today's detention has been very productive. I've also learned a lot about forgetting."
Julian turned toward the door.
As he reached the door, he paused and looked back at Lockhart, who was still kneeling on the floor.
"Oh, by the way, Professor."
"Next class, remember not to release Cornish Pixiesagain. That kind of low-brow amusement doesn't suit your status."
With that, he pulled the door open and stepped into the dark corridor.
Chapter 116: The Quidditch Pitch
The early morning air was biting cold.
Frost still clung to the blades of grass on the Quidditch Pitch, but the atmosphere was already thick with the smell of gunpowder.
"I don't care if you have authorization!"
Oliver Wood, the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditchteam, was currently roaring like an angry bulldog.
"This is our practice time! We got up earlier than the chickens just for this field!"
Standing opposite him was a group of hulking figures from Slytherin.
Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain with Troll-like teeth, wore an incredibly punchable, devious smirk on his face.
"Calm down, Wood," Flint said sluggishly. "I have a special permit from Professor Snape."
He brandished a piece of parchment like a flag of victory.
"I, Professor Severus Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to use the pitch this morning to train their new seeker and their returning ace Chaser."
Wood froze.
"New seeker? Returning?" His eyes widened. "Who?"
The Slytherin players parted down the middle, like Moses parting the sea.
Two people stepped forward.
One was Draco Malfoy, wearing brand-new dark green Quidditch robes, clutching a broom tightly in his hand with an expression that mixed nervousness and smugness.
Although Julian had taught him a lesson in the common room, it didn't stop him from showing off his new gear in front of Gryffindor.
The other person was Julian.
He didn't shoulder his broom like the others; instead, he carried it in one hand, his posture as casual as if he were holding an umbrella.
The broom was pitch black, its streamlined handle reflecting an obsidian-like luster in the morning light, and the twigs at the tail were neatly trimmed without a single stray strand.
"nimbus 2001."
Ron Weasley gasped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "That's the latest model! It was only released last month!"
It wasn't just the one in Julian's hand.
All seven members of the Slytherin team were holding nimbus 2001s.
As those seven brooms lined up, the sheer pressure of wealth made the Cleansweeps and Comets in the Gryffindor team's hands look like firewood in an instant.
"What's going on?" Harry couldn't help but ask, looking at Malfoy and then at Julian.
"I don't think it's hard to understand, Potter."
Malfoy couldn't resist speaking up, eager to reclaim some face. "My father bought the whole team the best brooms. Of course, that's only because I have talent, and Julian—"
He glanced at Julian beside him, his voice dropping slightly with a hint of awe, "Julian sponsored the protective gear and pitch maintenance fees."
"Actually, Draco."
Julian interrupted him gently; his voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"These brooms were also provided by the Rosier Family. I suggest your father keep his money to grease the palms of Mr. Arthur Weasley at the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. I hear they've been quite strict lately?"
Malfoy's face instantly flushed red as if he'd been slapped hard, but he didn't dare talk back and could only swallow his resentment.
Ron's face turned red the moment he heard his father's name mentioned—a red born of fury.
"Stop your sarcasm, Rosier!"
Ron pulled out his broken wand, which was held together with tape. "Do you think money can buy victory?"
"It can at least buy speed, Weasley."
Julian glanced at him indifferently, his eyes devoid of even mockery. "And in Quidditch, speed is half the victory. As for the other half..."
He mounted his broom.
"I don't mind showing you right now."
"Wait!"
Hermione ran down from the stands, clutching a thick book. "This isn't fair! The nimbus 2001 is twice as fast as the Nimbus 2000!"
Julian looked at the panting little Witch, a playful smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Life is never fair, Miss Granger."
He gave a light kick off the ground.
"Whoosh—"
No run-up, no warm-up.
The nimbus 2001 was like a bolt of black lightning, tearing through the air instantly.
The G-force from the acceleration made Julian narrow his eyes slightly.
He performed a perfect vertical climb in the air, then came to a sudden halt at an incredible height, followed by a dive without any deceleration.
The wind howled in his ears.
He pulled up sharply just inches from the ground, the resulting airflow even ruffling Hermione's bushy hair.
"This... this is impossible..." Wood's mouth hung open. As a veteran Quidditch fan, he knew how difficult that maneuver was. "Is that a variation of the Wronski Feint? No, it's even faster than that!"
Julian hovered in mid-air, looking down at the Gryffindorteam from above.
"Since you want to use the pitch so badly, why don't we have a friendly match?"
He spun the broom in his hand, his tone casual. "As long as you can take a single ball from me, the pitch is yours. What do you say, Captain Wood?"
It was a blatant provocation.
Wood's face turned bright red, but he was a man of spirit. "Fine! It's a deal! Harry, Fred, George, get up there!"
The rest of the Slytherins didn't even move; they just floated lazily in the air on their brooms, watching Julian's solo performance.
The Quaffle was tossed into the air.
Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor Chaser, had just reached out to catch it.
A dark shadow flashed by.
The ball was gone.
A second later, the ball had already passed through the Gryffindor goal hoop.
"10 to 0," Julian's voice came from behind the goal.
"Damn it! Block him!" Wood roared.
Fred and George swung their Bats, trying to hit the Bludgers toward Julian.
But it was like trying to hit a mosquito with a cannon.
Julian was as agile as a swift in the sky. He didn't even need large turns; with just a slight lean or by lowering his broom, the fierce Bludgers flew past the edge of his robes.
He even had the leisure to steal the ball from Katie Bellwhile dodging.
"20 to 0."
"30 to 0."
Chapter 117: The Basilisk Emerges
Half an hour later.
The Gryffindor players were suspended in the air, panting heavily, despair written across every face.
They hadn't even managed to touch the hem of Julian's robes.
Harry, riding his Nimbus 2000, tried desperately to catch up to Julian's speed, but he found to his despair that the nimbus 2001 was like an unbridgeable chasm.
Even more terrifying was Julian's technique.
His perception of air currents and his micro-manipulation of the broom made it seem as if the broom were an extension of his own body.
"This is the fairness you wanted, Miss Granger."
Julian stopped by the stands and looked at the slightly flushed Hermione; he remained calm and composed, his breathing not even slightly labored.
"In this world, the only fairness is—the strong set the rules."
Just then, Ron, who had been simmering with rage, finally exploded.
Seeing Malfoy's gloating expression nearby, Ron lost his head and raised his wand.
"Eat slugs, Malfoy!"
A flash of green light shot out from the tip of his broken wand.
However, it didn't hit Malfoy.
The light took a bizarre turn in mid-air and, like a boomerang, struck Ron hard in the stomach.
Bang!
Ron flew backward and slammed heavily onto the grass.
"Ron!" Harry and Hermione cried out in alarm and rushed over.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but what came out weren't words, but a giant, glistening, wriggling slug.
Ugh—
The field fell into a dead silence, followed by an explosion of wild laughter from the Slytherin team.
Flint laughed so hard he nearly fell off his broom, and Malfoy was doubled over, pointing at Ron and shouting, "Look! A new recipe for the Weasley family!"
Julian landed on the grass, watching the farce unfold.
He didn't laugh.
To him, such a low-level accident was both boring and disgusting.
He walked over to Hermione's side, looking at the red-haired boy who was continuously vomiting slugs, a flicker of distaste in his eyes.
Julian's voice rang out coldly, "If you can't even control your own wand, don't dream of cursing others. What value does such a person have, other than bringing trouble and disgust to those around them?"
Hermione looked up, her eyes slightly red.
She wanted to argue, to say Ron was trying to defend his friends, but looking at Ron's pathetic state and then at Julian, the words got stuck in her throat.
"Sigh, take him to Hagrid's," Julian sighed helplessly, looking at the aggrieved Hermione. After giving the instruction, he didn't spare them another glance. "I imagine that half-giant should have some slug repellent."
"Your pitch?" Wood asked through gritted teeth.
"Of course."
Julian mounted his broom and led the Slytherin team into the air.
"After all, I won. Didn't I?"
October 31st, Halloween Eve.
Hogwarts Castle felt as if it had been soaked in a vat of cold ink.
Outside the windows, the wind howled and raindrops hammered against the glass like bullets, making a pitter-patter sound.
In the dungeons, the air was bone-chillingly cold.
Compared to the warm pumpkin lanterns and the smell of roast chicken in the Great Hall upstairs, the atmosphere here was like a tomb—in fact, it could be considered an extension of a tomb.
"Truly... an unforgettable experience."
Julian stood among a crowd of translucent ghosts, holding a cup of musty-smelling wine he hadn't touched.
This was Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth Deathday Party.
The long tables were covered with moldy cheese, maggot-infested steaks, and a grey cake shaped like a tombstone.
Hundreds of pearly-white ghosts glided across the dance floor, while music that sounded like a chainsaw cutting through Wood made one's eardrums ache.
"Oh! My dear Mr. Rosier!"
Nick floated over, his head wobbling precariously on a thin bit of skin on his neck.
"I'm so touched that you could come! Most living people can't stand the atmosphere here."
"The honor is mine, Sir Nicholas."
Julian bowed slightly, not even flinching at the nauseating smell of rot around him. "History is always worth respecting, and you all are living history."
This flattery was clearly well-received.
Several nearby ghosts who had been indifferent—including the perpetually grim Bloody Baron—cast approving glances toward him.
This was Julian's goal.
In this Castle, portraits might lie and statues might sleep, but ghosts were everywhere.
Establishing a ghost intelligence network was more effective than any magical eavesdropping.
"I must excuse myself, Sir Nicholas."
Julian checked his pocket watch, feeling a chill crawl up his spine—not because of the ghosts, but because something older and more evil was awakening.
"The air upstairs might be better for digesting this... well... food for thought."
He made a polite exit and turned to leave the dungeon classroom.
He walked through the dark corridors and onto the stone steps leading to the second floor.
As Julian moved away from the noisy party, the surroundings became deathly silent.
Suddenly.
"...Rip... tear... kill..."
A voice suddenly appeared.
It wasn't a sound wave traveling through the air, but a vibration moving inside the walls, within the cracks of the stone.
Julian stopped in his tracks, his fingers lightly stroking the cold stone wall.
In his perception, a massive creature was winding its way rapidly upward through the Castle's intricate plumbing system.
The Basilisk, the ultimate weapon left behind by Salazar Slytherin.
"Hungry... so hungry..."
The voice continued to whisper.
Julian felt no fear; instead, a playful arc curved at the corner of his mouth.
He continued walking upward.
As he turned the corner of the second floor, a wave of damp moisture hit him.
A layer of water had accumulated on the floor, reflecting the flickering torches on the walls.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing at the end of the corridor, looking ahead blankly as if hit by a Body-Bind Curse.
Julian lightened his steps, silently blending into the shadows.
Between two windows, on that rough stone wall, some words had been scrawled.
The words were large, glowing red in the dim torchlight.
[THE Chamber of Secrets HAS BEEN OPENED.]
[ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.]
And hanging upside down from the torch bracket below those words was a stiff bundle of something.
It was Filch's cat, Madam Norris.
Its body was as stiff as a board, its eyes wide open, frozen in a look of extreme terror.
Buzz—
A cacophony of footsteps broke the deathly silence.
The Halloween feast was over.
Hundreds of students flooded into the corridor like a tide. The crowd, originally full of laughter, went silent instantly as if their throats had been seized the moment they saw the scene.
Following that were screams and the sound of sharp intakes of breath.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware!"
Malfoy pushed his way to the front.
He looked at the words on the wall, a sickly excitement flickering in his pale eyes, his cheeks flushed with agitation. "It's back, it's back! The great Slytherin's heir is back!"
As he spoke, Malfoy's eyes couldn't help but sweep toward Hermione. "You'll be next, mudbloods!"
The crowd began to stir, fear spreading like a plague.
"Out of the way! Out of the way!"
Filch pushed through the crowd and rushed out. When he saw his cat hanging on the wall, he let out a shrill scream, "My cat! My cat! Who did this? I'll kill them!"
Chapter 118: The pendant
"It's you! You killed my cat!"
Filch's bulging eyes glared deathly at Harry.
The scene spiraled out of control for a moment.
It was only when Dumbledore arrived with the Professors that the chaos was barely suppressed.
Julian had been standing at the edge of the crowd, like a detached observer.
But he keenly captured several details:
Ginny's face was as pale as paper, her whole body trembling; Harry looked at the writing on the wall with eyes full of confusion and fear, clearly having heard that voice as well; and Professor Snape was staring at Harrywith a scrutinizing gaze.
"Julian..."
A cold hand grabbed Julian's sleeve.
Daphne stood beside him, her normally rosy lips now somewhat pale.
As the eldest daughter of a pure-blood family, she knew what the Chamber of Secrets meant—it was the legend left by Salazar Slytherin, the beginning of the purging of outsiders.
"That cat... is it dead?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"It's just been Petrified."
Julian took her hand in his, the warmth of his palm transferring through her glove. "Don't be afraid."
Lowering his head slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Whatever that monster is, it won't hurt you. You are a noble Slytherin, with sacred blood flowing through your veins."
Daphne looked up into Julian's eyes, which were as calm as a deep pool, and the panic in her heart miraculously subsided.
"Mm." She nodded vigorously, unconsciously leaning closer to him.
By then, Dumbledore had already left with Harry and the others, along with the stiff cat.
The crowd began to disperse, people whispering in small groups, unease written on everyone's faces.
Hermione walked at the very back.
She looked somewhat distracted; Malfoy's words from earlier had clearly stung her deeply.
Coupled with the subtle changes in her relationship with Julian since the Quidditch Pitch incident, Hermione was completely out of sorts.
"Hermione."
A familiar voice sounded behind her.
Hermione whipped around to see Julian standing in the shadows, hands in his robe pockets, looking at her with a neutral expression.
"Ju... Julian."
Hermione pursed her lips, her tone a bit stiff. "Are you here to mock me? Just like you mocked Ron that day?"
"Am I such a boring person in your eyes?"
Julian walked over, not angered by her attitude.
He stopped in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her slightly messy hair and tense shoulders.
"Logic tells me that as a Muggle-born Wizard, you are the primary target for that heir. And as the smartest Witch in the entire grade, if even you were to meet with an accident, it would be a massive intellectual loss for Hogwarts."
Hermione froze for a moment, not expecting him to say that.
"So?" Hermione looked at him somewhat warily.
Julian pulled something out of his pocket.
It was an exquisite silver locket, shaped like a snake biting its own tail, with a tiny, almost invisible obsidianset in the center.
This was a little trinket he had refined on a whim in the subspace, inscribed with a passively triggered Shield Charm and a Warning Rune.
"Take it," he said, handing it over.
"What is this?" Hermione didn't take it.
"An amulet."
Julian grabbed her hand directly and pressed the pendantinto her palm, his movements brook no refusal, carrying a domineering force.
"I've invested in your potential, Hermione. I don't want my investment to turn into a stone statue because of some reptile's gaze."
Hermione felt the coldness of the pendant in her palm, along with the lingering warmth from Julian's fingertips.
She wanted to pull her hand back, to throw the thing back and shout, "I don't need your charity," but looking into Julian's eyes, she found she simply couldn't do it.
Was that concern?
Or was it, as he said, merely out of consideration for his interests?
"I... I'm still angry with you," Hermione lowered her head, her voice as small as a mosquito's buzz, yet she tightly gripped the pendant in her hand.
"That is your right."
Julian smiled, a smile that was no longer that perfect fake one, but carried a hint of genuine playfulness. "Anger helps keep the mind sharp. Goodnight, Granger. Watch where you're walking, don't step in any water."
With that, he turned and walked toward the Slytheringroup, where Daphne was waiting for him.
Hermione stood there, watching his back disappear around the corner.
She opened her palm and looked at the silver snake-shaped pendant; in the dim firelight, the obsidian seemed like an eye, quietly watching her.
"Nuisance."
She muttered, but carefully put the pendant around her neck, tucking it deep inside her sweater, close to her heart.
The cold metal was soon warmed by her body heat.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the corridor.
Julian returned to the Slytherin group.
"Where did you go?" Daphne asked.
"To deal with a little trouble."
Julian put his arm around her shoulder, his gaze fixed on the wall with the blood-written words.
The Chamber of Secrets had been opened.
The game had officially begun.
...
In the Library, Hermione's expression appeared exceptionally anxious.
She stood outside the rope barrier of the Restricted Section, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her robes, her gaze piercing through the bars to stare at the dangerous spines inside.
From time to time, she glanced at Madam Pince nearby, her eyes nervous.
Madam Pince, like an incensed vulture, was patrolling a few shelves away with a feather duster, wary of any student attempting to cross the line.
"If you keep staring at that rope, it might think you want to hang yourself, Miss Granger." Julian walked up behind Hermione and suddenly spoke.
Hermione was startled and whipped around, her bushy brown hair swinging in an arc.
"Julian..."
Hermione instinctively pressed her hand to her chest; beneath her sweater, the silver snake-shaped pendantwas pressed against her skin, emitting a slight chill.
Since that Halloween night, her attitude toward Julianhad become extremely complex.
Reason told her that Julian was a dangerous Slytherin, a pure-blood Wizard; but emotionally, the sense of security brought by that pendant made her uncontrollably want to be near him.
"I... I'm just looking for information." Hermione shifted her gaze guiltily, trying to hide her true intentions.
"About 'powerful potions'?"
Julian uttered the book title nonchalantly, as naturally as if he were saying tonight's dinner was roast beef.
Hermione's pupils contracted instantly.
Chapter 119: Polyjuice Potion
"How did you kn—" She lowered her voice, glancing around nervously, terrified of being overheard by Madam Pince.
Julian closed the book in his hand and walked slowly toward her.
He was already a head taller than her; this height difference brought a natural sense of pressure, yet the aura he carried was not unpleasant.
"Hermione, don't treat everyone like a fool." Julian leaned down slightly, his gaze locking onto her eyes.
"I know you suspect Malfoy is the Heir—though that's foolish, it fits your pattern of thinking. You want to interrogate him, but you're a Gryffindor and he's a Slytherin. Therefore, you need to become someone else."
"Polyjuice Potion." Julian's finger tapped lightly on the nearby bookshelf. "It's the only solution, and the recipe for it is only in that book."
Hermione bit her lip, her cheeks flushing slightly from having her thoughts exposed, but more than that, she felt a shock at being understood.
"Yes," she admitted, a flash of stubbornness in her eyes. "I need that book, but I don't have a Professor's signature."
"Professor Lockhart is more than happy to help a studious student."
Julian pulled a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his robes, holding it between his slender fingers as he offered it to Hermione.
It was a library permission slip.
On it was Lockhart's absurdly flashy signature, even featuring three little loops.
"'I, Gilderoy Lockhart, hereby authorize Miss Hermione Granger to borrow
Hermione read the words aloud, looking up in disbelief. "You... you forged his signature?"
"No, that's the real thing."
A hint of irony curled the corner of Julian's mouth. "As I said, Professor Lockhart is very... reasonable."
Hermione looked at the slip, her hand trembling slightly.
It was a massive temptation for her. She reached out and took the paper.
"Thank you," Hermione said softly, but sincerely.
"Don't be so quick to thank me."
Julian did not withdraw his hand; instead, he took the opportunity to grasp her wrist and pull her a little closer.
The distance between them instantly narrowed to an ambiguous range.
Hermione could even see the faint candlelight reflected in his dark eyes.
"Polyjuice Potion is an advanced Potion."
Julian's voice grew low, carrying a seductive magnetism. "Lacewing flies and leeches are easy to find. Fluxweedpicked at the full moon can also be managed. But..."
He paused, observing Hermione's expression.
"shredded skin of a Boomslang and the horn of a Bicorn—those things are only found in Professor Snape's private stores."
Hermione's face paled slightly.
This was exactly the part she was most worried about.
"What do you plan to do? Steal from Snape?"
Julian gave a light chuckle, his laughter carrying a disdain for such reckless behavior. "That's a suicide mission, Granger. Snape has placed at least three alarm charmson his cupboard, plus a jinx that would leave your hands covered in tentacles."
Of course, if Snape were to intentionally look the other way, that would be a different story.
"Then... then what should I do?" Hermione panicked slightly.
Without those ingredients, the book would be useless even if she had it.
"I have them."
Julian released her wrist and took a step back, returning to a normal standing posture. "The Rosier Family's Potionstores happen to have some aged Boomslang skin and powdered Bicorn horn. Though the purity is lower than Professor Snape's..."
"...it's enough for your use."
Hermione's eyes lit up, but then caution returned to her gaze.
"What do you want?" she asked. "You never do a deal that loses you money, Julian."
You are very smart. "That's what I appreciate about you, Hermione."
Julian nodded approvingly, as if praising an intelligent kitten.
"I want a portion of the finished product."
He held up one finger. "When you successfully brew it, I want a small vial of Polyjuice Potion. Not much, just enough for one person for one hour."
"What do you want it for?" Hermione pressed.
"That's none of your business."
Julian's gaze hardened slightly. "Just as I don't ask why you're wasting time investigating Malfoy. This is a trade. I am the investor, and you are the executor. If you agree, the materials will appear in your bag tomorrow morning."
Hermione fell silent, weighing her options in her mind.
On one hand, this would allow her to avoid stealing from Snape, greatly reducing the risk; on the other hand, providing Julian with Polyjuice Potion—heaven only knew what he would do with it.
But if she didn't agree, her plan would be completely ruined.
And...
She looked at Julian, and a strange voice deep inside told her: even if he was dangerous, he wouldn't hurt her.
"Fine."
Hermione took a deep breath and looked up, her eyes resolute. "Deal. But I'm warning you, if you use it to harm Harry or Ron..."
"I have no interest in such childish behavior."
Julian interrupted her and turned to leave.
After a few steps, he stopped again and turned his head, his gaze falling on Hermione's chest.
"Also, don't take that pendant off."
His voice echoed in the silent Library, carrying a hint of imperceptible dominance.
"The pipes in the Castle aren't very clean lately. I don't want to see you turned into a statue that needs to be watered with Mandrake juice."
With that, he strode out from the shadows of the bookshelves, leaving only the sight of his billowing robes behind him.
Hermione stood where she was, the permission slip with Lockhart's signature clutched tightly in her hand.
Her heart was beating abnormally fast.
She looked down and felt the pendant through her sweater.
"Arrogant jerk."
She cursed under her breath, but the corners of her mouth uncontrollably turned up in an extremely subtle arc.
Then, she took a deep breath, composed her expression, and strode toward Madam Pince's counter.
In December, the Great Hall was enchanted; the long tables had disappeared, replaced by a gilded stage that glittered under the light of hundreds of floating candles.
The velvet-like ceiling was a deep violet color, foreshadowing a restless night.
Almost the entire school was crowded here, the excited whispers buzzing like bees.
"Gather 'round, gather 'round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Excellent!"
Lockhart stood in the center of the stage, wearing robes of deep plum, as radiant as a peacock spreading its tail.
He waved his hands, that signature perfect smile showing a mouthful of white teeth plastered on his face.
"In light of the recent terrible events, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this Dueling Club, to train you all..."
Chapter 120: 'The Accident'
Julian stood at the forefront of the crowd below the stage, arms crossed, a faint trace of mockery playing on his lips.
Standing beside him was Snape.
The Potion Class Professor was dressed in his usual black robes, his face so dark it could drip water, and he looked at Lockhart as if he were watching a tap-dancing slug.
'For this demonstration, I have asked Professor Snape to assist me,' Lockhart continued to babble. 'But don't worry, I'll return your Potion teacher to you in one piece. No need to be afraid!'
The next few minutes were a one-sided slaughter.
Snape didn't even utter a complete incantation. With merely a flash of brilliant red light, Lockhart was sent flying off the stage as if struck by a battering ram, crashing into the wall and sliding down.
Hermione stood on her tiptoes in the crowd, fingers tightly clutching the pendant on her chest. Though she admired the image of Lockhart from his books, the reality before her forced her to admit—Snape was indeed stronger.
'Alright! That concludes the demonstration!'
Lockhart scrambled to his feet, pretending it was all part of his plan, and eagerly tried to change the subject. 'Now, we need two volunteers! Potter! Where is Harry Potter?'
Harry was pushed onto the stage, looking somewhat uneasy.
'Weasley, you hold your wand as if it were a broken conductor's baton,' Snape coldly interrupted Ron, who was about to step up. 'I suggest a different candidate.'
Snape's empty black eyes swept over the Slytherincrowd, finally settling on Julian.
'Rosier.'
Snape's voice was not loud, yet it instantly silenced the surroundings. 'Given the organizational talent you displayed even in your first year, I believe you are the most suitable candidate.'
Julian gave a slight, impeccable bow.
He undid the collar button of his robe, took it off, and casually handed it to Daphne beside him.
Daphne took the robe, her eyes gazing adoringly as he walked onto the stage.
'A pleasure, Potter.'
Julian stood opposite Harry, holding his wand in one hand, his posture relaxed as if this were merely an afternoon tea in his own garden.
Harry swallowed nervously, his palm sweaty where he gripped his wand.
Back in the first-year Dueling Exchange, Harry had witnessed Julian's strength firsthand.
Facing Julian, he always felt a sense of powerlessness, as if confronting a mountain. Given a choice, he really didn't want to go up against Julian.
'Three, two, one—begin!' Lockhart shouted.
'Expelliarmus—' Harry yelled.
Too slow.
'Protego.'
With a light flick of his wand, Julian conjured an invisible barrier that blocked Harry's red light.
Immediately after, with a flick of his wrist—not using an offensive spell, but—
'Rictusempra!'
A silver light struck Harry.
the chosen one instantly felt as if an invisible hand were tickling his stomach fiercely. He uncontrollably doubled over, emitting pained yet ridiculous laughter, nearly dropping his wand.
'Too weak, Harry.'
Julian strolled toward him, beginning to deliberately instruct Harry. 'Your wand technique is utterly chaotic. Think back to what I said during the exchange.'
Harry struggled to straighten up, his expression slightly hardening as he fell into thought.
'Tarantallegra!' Harry waved his wand again.
Julian sidestepped, and the spell hit the innocent Nevillebehind him.
'Raise your wrist a bit higher, Harry...'
Julian stopped walking, raised his wand again, and pointed its tip at the floor near Harry's feet.
'Serpensortia!'
A loud crack.
A long, pitch-black snake shot from the tip of Julian's wand.
It landed heavily on the floor, raising its triangular head. Its yellow, vertical pupils gleamed with malice under the candlelight. It flicked its tongue, emitting a chilling hiss.
The crowd screamed and backed away, clearing a large open space.
Harry froze. He looked at the snake, a strange sense of familiarity washing over him, so much so that he didn't react even as the snake drew closer.
'Careful, Potter,' Lockhart called out. 'I'll get rid of it!'
He waved his wand, succeeding only in angering the snake.
Enraged, the black snake abruptly turned its head, no longer fixated on Harry, and slithered toward Justin Finch-Fletchley at the edge of the crowd.
It reared up high, baring its fangs, poised to strike.
'Leave him alone!'
Harry shouted.
But he didn't realize the sound coming from his mouth wasn't English.
It was a cold, slimy, chilling sound—
'Sss...ha...ssse...sss...'
The entire hall fell deathly silent.
The black snake actually stopped. As if understanding the command, it slowly lowered its body, coiled meekly on the ground, and looked at Harry.
Harry looked up, a hint of a triumphant smile on his face—he had saved Justin.
But what he saw wasn't gratitude.
Justin's face was deathly pale, looking at him in horror as if he were a monster.
'What do you think you're playing at?' Justin shouted, trembling, before turning and fleeing into the crowd.
Harry stood stunned, not understanding what had happened.
He looked at Ron and Hermione, finding their faces equally pale.
'Parseltongue.'
Julian's voice broke the silence.
He still stood in place, wand pointed at the snake, his face showing no surprise.
'Potter is a Parselmouth!'
Before Julian could say anything else, Malfoy stood below the stage and shouted excitedly.
Those words were like a bomb, igniting whispers throughout the crowd.
'Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth...'
'He's the Heir...'
'Merlin, it really is him...'
Snape stepped forward and waved his wand.
'Diffindo.'
The black snake dissolved into a wisp of black smoke and vanished.
Snape looked at Harry, his expression complex.
'I believe tonight's event is over.'
Julian put away his wand and straightened his slightly disheveled cuffs.
He walked over to Harry and whispered in a voice only Harry could hear:
'In this school, Potter, sometimes a gift isn't a blessing, but a curse. Especially... when that gift belongs to Slytherin.'
With that, he turned and walked off the stage.
Julian didn't join the other students in putting Harrydown, but his words alone were enough to plant a thorn in his side.
The Slytherin students automatically parted to make way for him, as if welcoming a triumphant king.
Harry stood alone in the center of the stage.
All around were fearful gazes and pointed whispers.
He looked at Hermione, who was clutching the pendant on her chest tightly, her eyes full of worry, yet she didn't immediately step forward either.
At that moment, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, became Hogwarts' most dangerous suspect.
And Julian, who had orchestrated it all, took the robe Daphne handed him, casually draped it over his shoulders, concealing the slight smile at the corner of his mouth.
Chapter 121: The Basilisk Reappears
Outside the window, the blizzard raged against Hogwarts' sturdy stone walls, howling a mournful dirge.
In the deepest corner of the Library, the atmosphere was serene.
Powerful Warming and Silencing Charms had been cast here. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, ink, and a faint hint of verbena—the fragrance from Daphne's hair.
"The intonation here needs to be gentler, Daphne."
Julian sat in a high-backed chair, holding a heavy copy of *A Guide to Medieval Sorcery*, but his gaze was fixed on the wrist of the girl beside him.
Daphne was frowning, attempting to practice a complex Transfiguration gesture.
"Like this?" She gave her wand a light flick, her wrist tracing an elegant arc.
"Much better."
Julian reached out, his fingertips lightly supporting her elbow, adjusting the angle slightly. "Remember, magic isn't a flood. It's quicksilver. You guide it, not push it."
His touch brought a faint blush to Daphne's ears. She leaned into Julian's shoulder, savoring this rare moment of peace.
"Everyone outside is saying Potter is the Heir," Daphnewhispered, her tone carrying a hint of the superiority of a pure-blood witch, yet tinged with unease. "That snake yesterday was truly terrifying."
"Fear is fodder for fools, but a tool for the wise."
Julian turned a page of his book, speaking casually. "Potter is just a poor wretch pushed onto the stage. A true hunter never bares his fangs in front of a crowd."
At that moment, the Library doors were flung open.
A gust of icy wind, carrying panicked screams, rushed in, shattering the tranquility.
Madam Pince's furious roar was drowned out before it could fully form by even more clamor.
"Something's happened! Something's happened again!"
A Hufflepuff girl stumbled in, her face as pale as parchment. "Justin... and a ghost... they're both dead!"
Julian closed his book with a dull thud.
He and Daphne exchanged a glance.
"It seems our teatime is over," Julian said, standing up and straightening his robes. A glint flashed in his deep, dark eyes. "Come, let's go see this farce."
When they stepped out of the Library and reached the corridor where the incident occurred, it was already packed with a crowd.
Professor McGonagall had just led a deathly pale Harryaway, and the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office was slowly closing.
But on the scene, panic was fermenting.
Justin Finch-Fletchley lay rigid on the floor, an expression of utter terror frozen on his face.
And the most chilling sight was Nearly Headless Nick—the ghost had transformed into a black, smoky sculpture, hovering in mid-air, as if his very soul had been frozen by some incomprehensible force.
"He did it! It must have been Potter!"
Ernie Macmillan, that always excitable Hufflepuff, stood in the center of the crowd, shouting loudly at a group of terrified first-years.
His face was flushed, spittle flying. "You all saw it yesterday! Potter used Parseltongue to command that snake to attack Justin! And now Justin is dead! How can that be a coincidence?"
"But... Potter looked really scared just now..." a Ravenclaw student whispered in rebuttal.
"That's an act!" Ernie shrieked. "He's a Dark Wizard! Lord Voldemort was a Parselmouth too! Potter wants to kill all of us Muggle-borns!"
The crowd began to stir. Anger and fear spread like a plague.
A few Gryffindor students tried to defend Harry, but their voices were quickly drowned out.
"What brilliant deduction, Mr. Macmillan."
A cold voice, sharp as an ice blade cutting through butter, instantly severed the cacophony of debate.
The crowd automatically parted.
Julian, with Daphne on his arm, walked forward with elegant steps. His expression was aloof, and his gaze, when it swept over Ernie, was like that of someone looking at a yapping Chihuahua by the roadside.
"R... Rosier," Ernie's bravado instantly deflated by half, but he still jutted out his chin. "You saw the duel yesterday too! You're in Slytherin, you should know best—"
"What I know is that your brain is clearly stuffed with Flobberworms."
Julian walked over to Justin's rigid body, glanced down at it from his height, then turned to face Ernie.
"Think with that pathetic logic of yours, Macmillan."
Julian's voice wasn't loud, but every word clearly reached the ears of everyone present. "If Potter truly were the Heir, if he truly wanted to kill, why would he do it in broad daylight, in a place only steps away from the Library?"
He spread his hands, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"And why would he leave the body? A true Dark Wizardwould make the victim vanish without a trace, not leave them here for you all to gawk at like some sideshow."
"But... but he's a Parselmouth!" Ernie stammered in rebuttal. "Only the Heir can speak to snakes!"
"Does speaking French make you French? Does having a beard make him your father?"
Julian retorted, his tone dripping with contempt for such low-level logic. "Potter is a reckless Gryffindor. His head is only full of Quidditch and playing the hero. Orchestrating a series of attacks? Controlling a monster capable of petrifying a ghost?"
He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "Forgive my bluntness, but that's beyond Harry's intellectual capacity."
A few suppressed laughs came from the surroundings. The tense atmosphere dissolved considerably.
Daphne stood beside Julian, her chin slightly raised, watching him command the scene with a proud look in her eyes.
"But... if it's not him, then who is it?" Ernie was left speechless, his bravado completely gone.
"That's a problem for the Professors to worry about."
Julian's smile faded, his eyes turning sharp. "As for you, Macmillan, instead of spreading panic here, you'd be better off reading a few more books. Accusing a Wizardwithout concrete evidence is a foolish and discourteous act."
Just then, Filch's footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. He arrived with a mop, grumbling and cursing as he began to disperse the crowd.
"Move along! Move along! Nothing to see here!"
The students began to scatter, but their looks towards Julian had changed.
It was no longer just awe, but more a sense of conviction in a strong leader.
In this moment of unknown panic, the calm and reason Julian had displayed made him a sort of spiritual anchor.
"Why did you speak up for Harry?"
On the way back, Daphne, still holding Julian's arm, asked in confusion. "Wouldn't letting him take the blame be more advantageous for Slytherin?"
"I wasn't helping him, Daphne."
Chapter 122: Cat Girl - Hermione Edition
Julian stopped in his tracks and watched the blizzard outside the window, his voice low. "I'm just maintaining order; a school dominated by panic is of no benefit to me. And..."
He lowered his head, looking into Daphne's clear blue eyes, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek.
"If everyone is staring at Potter, the true heir will hide even deeper. And I don't like groping in the dark."
More importantly, there were even bigger figures backing Harry up.
No one would gain anything by offending Harry.
As the chosen one, he had to live; he had to face that monster at the critical moment.
If he were locked in Azkaban now, who would go to test the thousand-year-old Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?
Julian couldn't exactly be expected to go himself.
"You're so wicked," Daphne said, though the admiration in her eyes only grew stronger.
"I am a Slytherin."
Julian replied with a smile, taking her hand and walking toward the warm common room.
In the shadows behind them, a spider only the size of a finger crawled across the corner in a panic, fleeing toward the Forbidden Forest.
...
Hogwarts at Christmas was covered in thick snow. The Castle was empty, save for the occasional ghost whispers and the faint sound of laughter from the distant Great Hall.
The second-floor girls' bathroom, a place always flooded, dark, and occupied by Myrtle's crying, was unusually quiet now.
Julian stood at the door and gave his wand a light tap.
"Muffliato."
An invisible barrier shrouded the entire bathroom, completely isolating it from the outside world.
He glanced at the pocket watch hanging on his chest; the hand pointed exactly to the appointed time.
Harry and Ron—or rather, the two fake Goyle and Crabbe—had already run off in a panic.
Their transformation time wasn't long, so they had to hurry.
Now, only he and that "Slytherin girl" who hadn't come out yet remained.
"Hermione?"
Julian pushed open the door, his leather shoes making a crisp tapping sound on the flooded floor tiles.
The air was filled with a pungent Potion smell, like overcooked cabbage. A cauldron was still emitting black smoke in the corner, containing the remnants of a mud-like Polyjuice Potion.
There was no response.
Only the innermost cubicle door was tightly shut, with the faint sound of suppressed sobbing coming from within.
"Don't hide, I know you're in there."
Julian walked to the cubicle and knocked lightly on the wooden door. "Our deal isn't finished yet, Miss Granger. Where is my portion of the Potion?"
"Go away!"
Hermione's sharp but tearful voice came from inside. "Please... Julian, go away! Don't look at me!"
"That won't do."
Julian's tone was calm, even carrying a hint of unquestionable firmness.
"I am a man of my word. Since I provided the materials, I must receive my payment. Unless you want me to call Snape here right now to see what's become of his African Tree Snake skin."
"No! Don't call him!"
The crying inside the cubicle grew louder, accompanied by a flurry of panicked thuds.
"Then open the door."
Julian took a step back, exerting a full sense of pressure.
After a few seconds of dead silence, the lock made a soft click.
The door slowly opened a crack.
Julian didn't rush to push the door open, but waited patiently.
Finally, the door was pushed fully open.
Even though he was prepared, Julian's eyebrows still twitched slightly when he saw the scene before him.
Hermione was currently huddled on the toilet lid, her robes stretched out of shape.
Her face was covered in a layer of short black fur, her eyes had turned into yellow vertical pupils, and a pair of pointed, furry cat ears had grown on top of her head.
Worse still, a long, black tail protruded from behind her robes, thumping uneasily on the floor.
"Ugh..."
The moment she saw Julian, Hermione covered her face, tears streaming through her fingers and wetting the cat fur on her face. "Don't look... I'm ugly... I'm a monster..."
She curled up in despair, wishing she could flush herself down the drain.
She had mistakenly used hair from Millicent Bulstrode's cat instead of Millicent's own hair.
Polyjuice Potion cannot be used for animal transformations; the consequence was this—a half-human, half-cat deformity.
Julian looked at her, the playfulness in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a deep calm.
He didn't mock her, nor did he cry out in surprise.
He simply stepped into the cubicle and closed the door behind him, turning the small space into a private realm belonging only to the two of them.
"It is indeed a basic mistake,"
He commented flatly, then pulled a clean white handkerchief from his robe pocket.
Hearing this comment, Hermione's body trembled even more.
But in the next second, a warm palm landed gently on her head—to be precise, between those furry cat ears.
Hermione froze.
"But it's not ugly."
Julian's voice was low and soft, like a soothing incantation. He squatted down to eye level with her and gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief.
"In fact, in certain Dark Arts rituals, this form is seen as a symbol of spirituality."
Hermione was stunned. She slowly lowered her hands, revealing her furry face, her yellow eyes filled with disbelief.
"You... don't you find it disgusting?" she asked between sobs.
"Disgusting?"
Julian chuckled, his fingers sliding gently down from her cat ears to stroke the soft fur on her cheeks. "Hermione, you're like a frightened kitten right now."
The cool touch of his fingers made Hermione feel a shiver she had never experienced before.
"Where's the Potion?" Julian asked.
Hermione sniffled and pointed to the shelf nearby. A small glass bottle sat there, containing a murky, mud-like liquid.
Julian took the bottle and stuffed it into his pocket without even looking at it.
"Deal done."
He said, but he had no intention of leaving.
His gaze fell on Hermione's restless tail, his eyes turning somewhat dark.
"Now, we need to solve your problem."
"Madam Pomfrey..." Hermione whispered, "I need to go to the Hospital Wing."
"Then the whole school will know Hermione Grangerturned into a cat."
Julian interrupted her. "And you'll miss the first week of classes next term."
This sentence hit Hermione right where it hurt.
"Then... what should I do?" She panicked.
"I have a way."
Julian stood up and reached out his hand to her. "I have a Reversal Potion for this kind of partial animal transformation—don't ask why I have it; Slytherins always have some unknown collections."
Hermione looked at the hand, then extended her own hand—now with paw pads—and placed it in his palm.
"Put your hood on. I'll take you to the Room of Requirement first."
Julian pulled up the hood of her robes to cover those cat ears. "Follow me closely, and don't let anyone see your tail."
He led her out of the dark bathroom.
The corridor was empty, with only the snowy light from outside reflecting their shadows.
Hermione gripped Julian's hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his palm. The pendant on her chest felt hot; it was as if, at this moment, she had truly become his possession.
A tamed little kitten with a secret.
And Julian, leading this little kitten, had a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
Chapter 123: Catgirl 2.0
Arriving at the Room of Requirement.
Julian conjured a warm and private lounge.
The crackling fire in the fireplace dispelled the chill of the winter night.
In one corner of the room, there was a velvet-cushioned chaise longue, next to a Potion workstation laden with various crystal vials and silver tools.
The air was filled with the scent of lavender and calming valerian, and the dim light made the place feel like a secluded cocoon.
"Sit down."
Julian closed the door and untied Hermione's hood, his movements gentle yet undeniable.
Hermione sat awkwardly on the edge of the chaise longue, her hands tightly gripping the hem of her robes.
Even in the warm room, she was still trembling slightly.
Her black cat ears were pressed back against her scalp due to tension, and her yellow slit pupils darted around uneasily, not daring to meet Julian's eyes.
"Does it hurt much?"
Julian walked to the workstation, rolled up his sleeves, revealing his well-defined forearms.
He began to take several herbs from the Potion shelf he had previously stored in the Room of Requirement—Moonstone Powder, Bicorn Horn Fluid, and some dried Mandrake roots.
"A little... itchy," Hermione said softly, her voice heavily nasal, "and... it feels strange. My hearing... and my tail..."
She moved the tail behind her in embarrassment; the long black tail seemed to have a mind of its own, uncontrollably coiling around her ankle.
"That's animal instinct eroding your personality."
Julian skillfully processed the materials, the silver knife making rhythmic clicks on the cutting board.
"If you go to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey will force a whole barrel of nasty Restorative Potion down your throat and make you lie in bed for a month until your fur naturally falls off. During that time, you'll become the laughingstock of the entire school."
Hermione shrank her neck, her eyes reddening again.
"But I won't need that long."
Julian poured a light blue liquid into the cauldron, and blue steam rose, carrying a fresh minty scent. "Come here, Hermione."
Hermione hesitated, then obediently stood up and walked to his side.
"Look up."
Julian commanded.
Hermione submissively lifted her face, covered in black fur.
Julian reached out, his fingertip dabbed with a special ointment, and gently applied it to her furry cheek.
"This transformation makes the skin extremely sensitive," his fingers were warm, his movements as gentle as if he were handling fragile porcelain,
"If you don't desensitize it first, the reversal process will be excruciating."
His fingers traced her eye corner, slid down her nose bridge, and finally rested on her pointed cat ears.
"Mrow..."
When Julian's thumb gently kneaded the tips of her ears, Hermione couldn't help but let out an extremely faint purring sound, like a cat.
She instantly covered her mouth, mortified.
"Don't hold it in."
Julian chuckled softly, his eyes devoid of any mockery, instead filled with an intoxicating indulgence.
"It's a normal physiological reaction. You're a cat now, Hermione. Cats like to be petted, there's no shame in that."
He picked up a silver fine-toothed comb and began to slowly comb the messy fur on her cheeks and forehead.
Once, twice.
The sensation of the comb teeth scraping her skin brought a strange tingling.
Hermione's previously tense body gradually relaxed, she closed her eyes, and in that rhythmic combing, she felt an unprecedented tranquility.
"Where did Harry and Ron go?" Julian asked casually, his tone as relaxed as if discussing the weather.
"They went to the Slytherin Dungeons," Hermioneanswered unguardedly, half-asleep. "They want to ask Malfoy if he's the Heir..."
"Idiots."
Julian commented, his hands not stopping, "They left you here alone, facing this dangerous transformation, while they ran off to play detective."
"No... I told them to go..." Hermione tried to explain, but her voice was very weak.
"If it were me, I would never leave you alone."
Julian put down the comb, cupped her face in his hands, and forced her to open her eyes and look at him.
His deep black eyes seemed to draw her soul away.
"Remember this feeling, Hermione. When you're struggling in the dark, who is by your side? Who is tending to your wounds? Who is helping you keep this secret that could ruin your reputation?"
Hermione looked at him, her yellow slit pupils trembling slightly.
The answer was on the tip of her tongue, like a brand, deeply etched into her heart.
"It's you... Julian."
"Good girl."
Julian smiled contentedly. He turned and poured the brewed Potion from the cauldron into a crystal cup.
The Potion was a dreamy silver color, still gently bubbling.
"Drink it."
He brought the cup to her lips.
Hermione didn't hesitate. Cupping Julian's wrist with both hands, she drank the Potion in small sips from his hand.
As the liquid went down her throat, a chilling sensation instantly spread throughout her body.
This was followed by an intense burning sensation.
"Ah—!"
Hermione cried out in pain, the cup falling onto the carpet. She bent over in agony, feeling her bones restructuring and her hair follicles contracting wildly under her skin.
"Look at me, Hermione."
Julian wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tightly in his embrace, preventing her from falling. "Endure it, it will be over soon."
He whispered in her ear, his voice steady and strong, becoming her only anchor in the intense pain.
The black fur began to shed, turning into ash and disappearing into the air.
Her pointed ears slowly retracted, returning to rounded human ears, and the long tail also receded into her body with a spasm.
A few minutes later, the pain receded like a tide.
Hermione collapsed in Julian's arms, drenched in cold sweat, her robes clinging to her body, outlining her still-developing but already visible maidenly curves.
She looked up, her yellow slit pupils having returned to warm brown.
The black fur on her face was gone, revealing her original fair but somewhat pale skin.
"I... I'm back to normal?"
She touched her face, her voice a little hoarse, with a hint of weakness from surviving a great ordeal.
"Perfectly."
Julian handed her a hand mirror, then used his wand to clean the sweat and grime from her body.
Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, and tears welled up again. This time, they were tears of joy.
"Thank you... Thank you, Julian."
She turned around, and in this enclosed space, with only the two of them, impulse overcame reason.
She threw herself into Julian's arms, hugging his waist tightly, burying her face in his chest.
"If it weren't for you, I really don't know what I would have done..."
Julian did not push her away.
He lowered his gaze, looking at the know-it-all girl in his arms, who at this moment was clinging to him like a fledgling seeking shelter.
He reached out and gently stroked her just-returned-to-normal brown curly hair, his movements tender.
"This is our secret, Hermione."
"From now on, no matter what happens, no matter where you are... as long as you need me, I will solve your troubles."
He paused, his fingers picking up a strand of her curly hair and wrapping it around his fingertip.
"You must remember, I will always stand by your side."
Hermione's body trembled slightly.
She didn't refute or struggle, but merely tightened her arms around him and nodded softly in his embrace.
"I know..."