Chapter 124: The diary
February 14th, the air was thick with the nauseating scent of cheap perfume.
Lockhart apparently thought the best way to alleviate the Chamber of Secrets panic was to have a bunch of grumpy dwarves with golden wings and harps scurrying around the Castle, forcibly delivering love letters to students who were so embarrassed they wished they could disappear into the ground.
"This is practically a crime."
Julian stood in the shadows of the second-floor corridor, coldly watching a gloomy-faced dwarf grab a fleeing Gryffindor first-year and forcibly recite a musical poem about being "green as a pickled toad."
Daphne had called in sick today—or rather, she had wisely foreseen this disaster.
She chose to hide in her dormitory and enjoy the French truffle chocolates Julian had sent, rather than be harassed by dwarves here.
Just then, a hurried and frantic sound of footsteps broke the commotion.
A small, red-haired figure stumbled out from around the corner.
Ginny Weasley.
Ginny looked terrible, her face pale as paper, dark circles under her eyes, as if all life had been drained from her, with only a nervous terror in her gaze.
As she rounded the corner near Myrtle's bathroom, she suddenly stopped as if burned, pulled out a worn black book from her robes, threw it towards the puddle in the corner, and then fled without looking back.
"Splosh."
The book landed on the wet flagstones, splashing a few drops of dirty water.
Julian stepped out of the shadows, the hem of his black robes gently sweeping the ground.
He didn't rush to pick it up; instead, he first cast a Confundo on himself with his wand, ensuring that the idiots busy delivering cards wouldn't notice him.
He walked up to the book.
It was an ordinary diary bought on Vauxhall Road in London, its cover faded, with the year 1943 printed on it.
But Julian could feel a cold, viscous, and malicious magicsurging beneath its ordinary exterior.
It was the scent of a soul.
"Found you."
He pulled out a silk handkerchief, picked up the diarythrough it, placed it into an inner pocket enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, and turned to walk towards the Slytherin Dungeons.
...
Slytherin Boys' Dormitory.
Thick green velvet curtains blocked out the outside world, and silver serpentine candlesticks emitted a chilling glow.
Julian sat at his desk, the black diary lying quietly on the surface.
He first cast a precise Muffliato and a Magical Alarmaround himself with his wand, then unhurriedly opened the first page.
On the flyleaf, a name was written in faded ink: T.M. Riddle.
Other than that, the entire diary was blank.
Julian picked up a quill, filled it with ink, and instead of writing immediately, he let a drop of ink hover at the tip before gently dripping it onto the page.
The moment the ink touched the paper, it didn't spread; instead, it quickly seeped deep into the paper, like water absorbed by dry sand, disappearing without a trace.
In less than a second, the page returned to its pristine white, as if it had never been stained.
"Interesting."
Julian's lips curved into a playful smile.
He adjusted his posture, picked up the pen, and wrote a line in elegant, flowing script that exuded a noble arrogance:
"To the inhabitant of this hollow book: I wonder, how does it taste to devour half a year's life force from a pure-blood little girl?"
The ink disappeared again.
This time, the paper remained silent for a long while.
Clearly, whatever was inside hadn't anticipated such an opening.
It was accustomed to Ginny Weasley's panicked, incoherent outpourings, not this direct interrogation of the soul.
Finally, ink began to seep from the paper fibers, rearranging itself into a long, sharp, and equally elegant font:
"Who are you?"
Julian chuckled softly and continued to write:
"A name is just a designation, Tom. For people like you and me, identity is defined by ability, not by the surname given by a Muggle father."
This sentence clearly touched a nerve with Riddle, or rather, aroused his extreme vigilance.
"You seem to know many things you shouldn't. You are not that foolish girl from the Weasley family. Who are you? A Slytherin student?"
The words appeared faster, and the handwriting became sharper, betraying an urgent desire for control.
Julian replied unhurriedly:
"Who I am is not important. What is important is that I know what you are. A memory? A severed piece of soul? Or a... backup left by the young Lord Voldemort?"
The diary trembled violently.
An invisible mental wave instantly erupted, attempting to pierce Julian's brain. It was Legilimency, crude, direct, and carrying an air of condescending dominance.
Tom, having absorbed a large amount of Ginny's life force, was not to be underestimated.
If it were an ordinary young Wizard, they would likely have already been controlled by this power, their eyes vacant, reduced to a puppet.
But Tom's target was Julian; ever since encountering Ravenclaw's diadem in his first year, he had consciously trained his Occlumency.
The defensive layers in Julian's mind lit up, one after another, like an intricate maze, easily blocking the mental tendril and even subtly counter-invading a trace along the opponent's attack.
"Put away your Legilimency, Tom."
Julian wrote, his quill scratching softly on the paper, "It won't work on me."
The ink on the page paused for a moment.
Then, the aggressive handwriting disappeared, replaced by a softer, even slightly seductive tone:
"You are very special. In all my years at Hogwarts, I have never seen a student with such powerful Occlumency. What is your name? Perhaps... we can cooperate."
This was Tom Riddle's favorite trick—when violence couldn't conquer, use charm to corrupt.
It was fortunate that Tom hadn't communicated with his other Horcruxes, otherwise, having suffered a loss once, he definitely wouldn't make the same mistake again.
"Cooperate?"
Julian wrote, "With a ghost trapped in a book? What can you give me? Salazar Slytherin's secrets? Or control over that pet crawling in the pipes?"
"I can give you power."
Riddle's words were full of temptation, "Power beyond your imagination. I know many forgotten magic, I know how to make those who look down on us kneel at our feet. Just take me out of here, let me absorb a little... life force."
"Like you did to that Weasley girl?"
Julian shook his head, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes.
"No, Tom. You've got one thing wrong. I don't need your power. As for the great snake, I know it fears the crow of a rooster, and I know its gaze can kill. Your trump card is transparent to me."
Chapter 125: Choosing Electives
The diary fell back into a dead silence.
This silence lasted for a long time.
Riddle was evaluating; he was facing an uncertain factor completely beyond his understanding. This You-Know-Who knew everything about him, yet seemed to harbor no hostility or fear toward him, only indifference.
"What exactly do you want?" Riddle finally asked.
Julian capped his quill, looked at the line of text, and whispered, "I want the plot to continue."
He didn't write it down.
He reached out and closed the diary.
He had confirmed Riddle's current state—impatient, desperate for resurrection, and extremely dangerous.
What needed to be gained, Julian had already obtained from rowena ravenclaws diadem, even more than what the teenage Lord Voldemort possessed.
If he continued to keep the diary in his hands, there would be no benefit other than chatting with a psychopath every day; instead, his mind might be influenced by the Horcruxdue to prolonged contact.
More importantly, Harry Potter needed this prop.
the chosen one needed to find the Chamber of Secrets, kill the Basilisk, and destroy this Horcrux. This was the core of the script and an indispensable part of Julian's plan.
"Goodbye, Tom."
Julian picked up the diary and stood up.
At this moment, in the corridor outside, the commotion caused by the Dwarves had quieted down a bit.
Julian put on his invisibility cloak and silently left the Slytherin Dungeons.
He arrived at the second-floor corridor, a place Harryfrequently passed through and the only way to Myrtle's bathroom.
There was a puddle of water there, created by Myrtleduring one of her tantrums.
Julian gently placed the diary in the middle of the puddle, arranging it to look naturally abandoned.
Having done all this, he stepped back a few paces and watched the black book soak in the water.
A few minutes later, footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
Harry and Ron were walking this way, complaining about Lockhart.
"Look, what's that?" Harry stopped and pointed at the diary on the floor.
...
Perhaps because he had been warned by Julian, Tom fell back into a long period of silence.
After Valentine's Day, there were no further movements.
Julian also enjoyed a rare moment of leisure. His usual activities consisted of eating, sleeping, and teasing the young Witch.
The Easter holidays were not easy for the second-year students.
They not only had to face a heavy workload of homework but also had to make a decision concerning their future—Elective Courses.
In the Gryffindor common room, the atmosphere was anxious.
Harry and Ron were fretting over their course selection sheets. Their strategy was very simple and crude: whichever course had less homework and was easier to slack off in, they would choose it.
"Divination Class sounds good." Ron scratched his head with his quill, pointing at a picture of a crystal ball in the brochure. "Fred and George said this class is very easy to pass, as long as you know how to make up lies."
"Then this one it is." Harry circled it on the sheet without hesitation. "And Care of Magical Creatures Class; Hagridwill definitely let us pass."
On another table, Hermione was in a state of near-neurotic excitement.
Over a dozen introductory brochures for different subjects were spread out before her. Her brow was furrowed, and her quill wavered between several courses.
"This is simply impossible..." she muttered to herself. "Ancient Runes and Divination Class are at the same time... Arithmancy and Muggle Studies conflict as well..."
"Still struggling?"
A voice rang out in her ear.
Hermione jerked violently, instinctively wanting to hide her course selection sheet, but then realized who it was. Her body instinctively relaxed, even carrying a trace of imperceptible submissiveness.
Julian had stood behind her at some unknown point.
He was wearing well-tailored casual clothes, carrying the damp chill of the rain outside and that familiar, comforting cold scent of cedar.
The surrounding Gryffindor students didn't seem to notice this Slytherin intruder—or rather, the effect of the Ignore Charm Julian had cast was too good.
"Julian..." Hermione lowered her voice, her cheeks flushing slightly. "How did you get in?"
"That's not important."
Julian pulled out the chair next to her and sat down gracefully, his slender fingers lightly tapping the course selection sheet on the table.
"What's important is that I'm looking at your choices. Divination? Muggle Studies?"
He gave a light laugh, his tone carrying unconcealed contempt. "Hermione, you're a Muggle-born Witch, and you're going to take Muggle Studies? Do you want to teach those pure-bloods how to use a telephone?"
Hermione bit her lip. "But... I want to understand from a Wizard's perspective..."
"A waste of time."
Julian interrupted her, his finger sliding to the other side of the sheet, tapping heavily on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.
"These two are the choices for the elite. Runes are the foundation of ancient magic, and Arithmancy is the mathematical model for deconstructing the future. Only by mastering these can you touch the essence of magic."
"I know..." Hermione scratched her hair in distress. "I want to choose them too, but the schedules conflict. I've calculated it; unless I can split myself in half, I simply can't attend them all."
"Then choose them all."
Julian's voice became low and full of temptation. He leaned close to Hermione's ear, his warm breath fanning across her sensitive earlobe—the place where cat ears had once grown.
"What?" Hermione's eyes widened.
"I said, choose them all."
Julian took hold of her hand holding the quill, guiding the tip firmly yet gently to tick the boxes for all the subjects.
"Only mediocre people make choices, Hermione. You have the smartest brain in this year; why limit yourself?"
"But that's physically impossible!" Hermione looked at the filled-out form, both terrified and excited.
"Physical rules can be broken, as long as you have enough value."
Julian looked at her meaningfully. "Trust me, Hogwartsalways has special treatment for true geniuses. As long as you submit this application, Professor McGonagall will solve the time issue for you."
Hermione looked into his deep eyes, her heart racing.
She didn't know what Julian was referring to, but she had a blind trust in him. Since he said it was possible, it must be.
"Okay." She took a deep breath and looked at the crowded form, her eyes becoming determined. "I'll choose them all."
Julian released her hand with satisfaction, his fingertips brushing across the back of her hand as if by chance.
"Good girl. You'll thank me for this decision."
Chapter 126: Aragog
Half an hour later, the Principal's office.
The massive stone gargoyle leaped aside upon hearing the password "Fizzing Whizzbee," revealing a spiral staircase.
Julian adjusted his robes and calmly walked up.
Dumbledore was sitting behind that massive desk, holding a copy of "Transfiguration Today," while Fawkesdozed on his perch.
Seeing Julian enter, the old man's blue eyes flickered with a sharp light through his half-moon spectacles.
"Ah, Mr. Rosier." Dumbledore said, closing the magazine with a smile. "Visiting on such a rainy day, I assume there is something important?"
"Regarding the academic arrangements for next semester, Principal."
Julian didn't beat around the bush; he took a carefully written application from his robes and handed it over with both hands.
"I am applying for special academic research privileges in my third year, including unrestricted access to the Restricted Section, and... certain high-level research permits involving'space-time theory'."
Dumbledore took the parchment, glanced at it, and his eyebrows rose slightly.
"Space-time theory? Isn't that a bit too profound for a second-year student?"
"For ordinary students, yes."
Julian sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore, his posture upright and confident.
"But while recently studying variants of Ancient Runes, I discovered some interesting equations regarding time reversal. I heard that the Ministry of Magic provides a special magical item for certain outstanding students with heavy course loads..."
He paused, observing Dumbledore's expression.
"I figure, since a Muggle-born Wizard like Miss Granger is eligible to apply for such assistance, then as a competitor for the top of the year, it shouldn't be too much for me to request equivalent academic research rights, should it?"
Dumbledore's movements froze.
He looked up, his gaze piercing as he stared at Julian.
This boy was too clever—unnervingly so.
He hadn't just guessed that Hermione might obtain a time-turner; he had even used that fact as a bargaining chip.
"You are well-informed, Julian." Dumbledore's tone grew a bit more serious. "time magic is extremely dangerous. Countless Wizards have lost themselves trying to change the past."
"I have no intention of changing the past, Principal."
Julian met his gaze calmly, his eyes irreproachably clear. "I am only interested in magic. Moreover, if you are concerned I might abuse it, you could personally oversee my research project. Or, let Professor McGonagallsupervise it."
This was a move of retreating to advance.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his fingers lightly tapping the desk.
Refuse Julian? The boy would surely find other ways to investigate, such as the Rosier Family's collection of Dark Arts books, which would be even more dangerous.
Granting a certain amount of freedom within this controllable range might be the better choice.
"I can give you the permission slip for the Restricted Section."
Dumbledore finally spoke, picking up a quill and signing his name on a piece of parchment. "However, research regarding time magic is limited to theory only. If you overstep in any way..."
"I understand."
Julian took the slip, a polite smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I will be a law-abiding student, just as I have always been."
Walking out of the Principal's office, Julian glanced at the slip in his hand, and his lips couldn't help but curl upward slightly.
Before Julian could enjoy the moment further, a noisy commotion echoed from the corridor...
Ginny had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets; the blood-red writing on the wall was like a wound tearing through all the false peace.
Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the empty corridors, announcing that the school was to be closed.
Everyone was running around like headless chickens; Professors were arguing in the staff room, and prefects were maintaining order in the common rooms.
It was the perfect cover.
While Harry and Ron were dragging the useless Lockharttoward Myrtle's bathroom, Julian moved against the crowd, silently crossing the grounds toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The moon was obscured by thick clouds, and the Forbidden Forest was like a gaping black maw, quietly waiting for its prey.
Julian tightened his black cloak, gripping the snake-headed wand in his hand.
He didn't light his wand; seeing in the dark wasn't difficult for him—he just had to slightly adjust the way magicflowed to his retinas.
The air was filled with the scent of decaying leaves, damp earth, and something more metallic and sweet.
It was the scent of a predator.
"If I were Harry, I'd probably be fretting over that empty doghouse left by the half-giant right now."
Julian chuckled softly, his sole snapping a dry twig with a crisp crack.
Rustling sounds immediately came from the surrounding bushes.
Countless pairs of eyes lit up in the darkness; low-level magical creatures were peeking out.
But when they felt the cold, pure magical pressure radiating from Julian—the kind belonging to the top of the food chain—they scattered in terror.
He went deeper along an almost invisible path, which was covered in the tracks left by crawling spiders.
As he went deeper, the trees became increasingly twisted, their massive roots bulging from the ground like ancient veins.
The surrounding sounds vanished, leaving only a scalp-tingling "click, click" noise.
It was the sound of pincers clicking.
Julian stopped, standing at the edge of a massive hollow.
There were no trees here, only a massive grayish-white web covering the entire ground, shimmering with a deathly luster under the faint starlight.
"A lost little Wizard..."
A low, raspy voice, sounding as if it came from the grave, echoed from the center of the hollow.
A spider as large as an elephant slowly crawled out of the shadows.
Its eyes were milky white, clearly blind, and the bristles on its body stood up like steel needles, each one exuding the ravages of time and the danger of lethal venom.
Aragog.
With its appearance, hundreds of Acromantulas swarmed from the treetops and burrows all around.
They spread like a black tide, surrounding Julian, countless pairs of compound eyes staring greedily at the fresh meat that had delivered itself.
"If you are a friend of Hagrid's... you may leave..." Aragog's pincers clicked. "But if not..."
"Hagrid is currently enjoying a room with a sea view in Azkaban."
Julian's voice was unnervingly calm; standing at the edge of the giant web, he even reached out to flick away a bit of spider silk stuck to his cloak.
"And I'm not here to reminisce, Aragog. I'm here to talk business."
"Business?"
Aragog let out a piercing hiss, like a mock. "We do not do business with humans... we only eat humans..."
The surrounding spider swarm began to grow restless, and the circle closed in.
"That is why you can only hide in this dark pit, waiting for that Basilisk to pick you off one by one."
Chapter 127: Chamber of Secrets
Julian's words struck like a thunderbolt, instantly silencing the agitated swarm of spiders. Fear, a terror deeply rooted in their very genes, spread through the air.
"You know of that thing..." Aragog's voice trembled. Though blind, he could sense the unsettling aura emanating from the human before him. "Who are you?"
"I am the only one who can stop that thing."
Julian raised his wand, but did not utter an incantation. Instead, he let a stream of black fire flow from its tip.
Though it was only a tightly controlled wisp, the heat that promised utter destruction and its malevolent aura were enough to make the souls of these fire-fearing creatures tremble.
"That monster roaming the Castle is a Basilisk. If I wish, I can summon it here right now and release it into your nest."
Julian's tone was gentle, yet deadlier than venom.
"Imagine it, Aragog. How long would your children, your entire colony, last under those eyes and fangs? Ten minutes? Or perhaps five?"
Aragog took a step back, his massive body trembling.
He had lived a long time. He knew the cruelty of Wizards and the horror of the Basilisk.
"What do you want?" he conceded.
"Clever."
Julian extinguished the Fiendfyre, but the menace in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest. He pulled from his robes a crystal vial, enlarged by the Undetectable Extension Charm, and tossed it onto the web before Aragog.
"Fill it. I want the highest purity venom. Start with a direct extraction from your own venom sacs."
That was Acromantula venom, liquid gold worth a hundred Galleons per pint on the black market. And Julian's vial could hold at least twenty pints.
"And also..."
Julian's gaze swept over the surrounding, smaller spiders, finally settling on one hiding behind Aragog. It was only the size of a washbasin, but its carapace shimmered with a peculiar dark purple luster.
"That little one. It looks like it has potential for mutation."
"It is my offspring..." Aragog attempted to protest.
"It will become my pet, or the Basilisk's dinner," Julianinterrupted him. "Choose one."
Ten minutes later.
Julian walked out of the hollow.
His pocket held the heavy crystal vial, inside which a dark green, viscous liquid sloshed.
And perched on his shoulder was a purple spiderling, held under the dual control of a powerful Imperius Curse and binding magic.
The little creature was now as docile as a brooch, its eight legs clinging tightly to his robe, not daring to move a muscle.
"Now this is a proper pet for a Slytherin."
Julian reached out and stroked the cold carapace on the spiderling's back, a satisfied curve lifting the corner of his mouth.
At that moment, a violent surge of magical disturbance came from the direction of the distant Castle, accompanied by the faint cry of a Phoenix.
It seemed the chosen one's performance had begun.
"Perfect timing."
Julian straightened his collar and turned to walk towards the Castle.
After all, a Basilisk's corpse was a treasure trove from head to tail.
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was filled with the nauseating stench of sewer, but to the darkness that had just crawled from deeper places, it was nothing but fresh air.
Julian stood before the enormous copper pipe, gazing into the black hole that led to the Chamber of Secrets.
Without the slightest hesitation, he leaped in.
Wind whistled past his ears as he plummeted at high speed down the slimy, winding pipe, like a bullet shot straight into hell.
When his feet finally landed on the pile of small animal bones accumulated over who knows how many centuries, the crisp sound of snapping echoed through the vast underground cavern.
He adjusted his tie, which hadn't been disturbed in the slightest during the slide, waved his wand to clean the muck from his robes, and then walked through the circular stone door carved with entwined serpents.
...
The Chamber of Secrets.
The colossal stone statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed at the far end, its aged, monkey-like face appearing especially sinister under the eerie green light.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of blood, ink, and the acrid stench of ancient magic collapsing.
Harry Potter lay collapsed in the pooled water at the statue's feet, his Gryffindor red-and-gold school robes soaked through with filthy water and blood.
His face was as pale as a corpse's. The wound on his arm, pierced by the Basilisk's fang, oozed black blood as the potent venom rapidly eroded his life.
Not far away, the Basilisk now lay like a giant belt stripped of its sinews, limp upon the ground.
The Sword of Gryffindor was deeply embedded in its upper jaw, having pierced its brain and ended the life of the millennium-old monster.
Tom Riddle—or rather, the memory that had stepped out from the diary—stood beside Harry.
His outline was clearer than before, almost on the verge of becoming solid.
But his expression was no longer one of arrogant control. Instead, it was a twisted mix of shock, fury, and fear.
Because he had seen Julian walk in.
"You..."
Riddle's voice was sharp and trembling. He recognized this pen pal who had once humiliated him through words in the diary.
"How did you get in? Wait... are you here to help me? If we join forces, Potter is finished! We can rule together..."
Julian did not even glance his way.
He walked straight towards the dying Basilisk.
Though its brain was pierced, the powerful life force of this magical creature allowed its body to continue its final, unconscious twitches.
Those once-lethal yellow eyes had grown cloudy, losing their focus.
Julian crouched down, extending a slender, pale hand to gently stroke the Basilisk's still-warm, mucus-covered green scales.
The sensation was fascinating—the texture of a top-tier magical material.
"Ssha-hss..."
A hoarse, low hiss of Parseltongue flowed from between Julian's lips.
Unlike the urgent, commanding tone often used, Julian's voice carried an ancient rhythm, like a kind of requiem.
"Rest now, king slumbering beneath the earth... Your venom shall become an eternal blade, your blood shall nourish new power..."
As he whispered, the Basilisk's massive body, which had been twitching in agony, miraculously grew still.
It seemed to sense the appease from a kindred bloodline. Its last vestiges of life force ceased their struggle and gathered in compliance.
Julian swiftly drew a small silver knife and a rune-covered crystal vial from his robes.
His movements were fluid and graceful, like he was performing a sacred surgery.
The knife tip pierced precisely into the area of the Basilisk's heart. A gush of scalding, dark-red heart's blood surged forth, guided by magic, and was funneled drop by drop into the crystal vial.
Next, he pulled out the broken fang embedded in Harry's arm and pried another intact fang from the Basilisk's mouth.
Only after completing all this did he leisurely stand up, stow his trophies away, and turn to look at Riddle, who had been stunned into silence by the spectacle.
Chapter 128: The Great Sword
Julian let out a light laugh, the sound particularly jarring in the empty Chamber of Secrets.
"Tom, you're still so lacking in imagination. Boring things like ruling the world are better left to a noseless madmanlike you. I'm only interested in things of value."
"You..." Riddle trembled with rage, his outline beginning to waver, flickering between light and dark, "Who exactly are you?!"
"None of your damn business."
Julian walked over to Harry's side.
the chosen one was already slipping in and out of consciousness, his vision blurred by sweat and tears. He struggled to open his eyes, looking at the hazy figure before him.
"Ju... Julian?" Harry murmured weakly, "Run... the Basilisk..."
"Shh, sleep now, Potter." Julian looked down at the disheveled hero, "You played your part well, even if the finale was a bit messy."
He picked up the diary that had fallen into the water.
The black book now radiated waves of panic; it had sensed its impending fate.
"No! Give it to me!" Riddle screamed, lunging forward in an attempt to seize his own physical anchor.
But as a mere memory, he couldn't touch a solid object. His hand passed right through Julian's body, stirring up a chilling gust of wind.
Julian tossed the diary onto Harry's chest.
Then, he grasped Harry's hand—the one clutching the Basilisk fang—and adjusted its angle slightly, aiming it at the diary's core.
"This is the true ending, Tom."
Julian said softly, then released his grip.
Though barely conscious, Harry's instinct for survival and his hatred for Lord Voldemort made him instinctively tighten his grasp on the fang. Summoning the last of his strength, he drove it down with all his might.
"Ahhh—!!!"
A piercing, agonized scream echoed through the Chamber.
Black ink, like blood, gushed from the diary. Riddle's form twisted and burned violently in the air.
His face was covered in cracks, light bursting from the fissures. Finally, with a despairing wail, he exploded into countless specks of light, dissipating completely into the air.
The Chamber of Secrets returned to a deathly silence.
Only the steady drip of ink remained.
Harry fell completely unconscious.
Just then, a beautiful Phoenix cry came from above.
The Phoenix named Fawkes descended in a spiral, landing beside Harry and letting its large, pearly tears fall onto Harry's blackened wound.
"Sizzle..."
As white smoke rose, the Basilisk venom was miraculously neutralized, and the wound healed at a visible pace.
Julian paid no heed to this touching scene.
His gaze fell upon the sword embedded in the Basilisk's upper jaw.
The Sword of Gryffindor.
A goblin-made silver blade, capable of absorbing anything that strengthens it.
Having just pierced the Basilisk, it meant the sword was now saturated with the creature's deadly venom, becoming one of the world's most lethal melee weapons.
"A fine thing."
Julian walked over, gripped the hilt, and pulled with force.
"Shiiing—"
The sword was drawn free. Its silver blade gleamed coldly under the greenish glow, the edge still wet with dark green Basilisk blood.
He raised the sword, admiring the intricate patterns and the destructive power it now held against the light.
If he could take this sword back to study for a night, to unravel the secrets of Goblin forging and venom fusion...
"It is indeed a peerless blade, Mr. Rosier."
A gentle, aged voice suddenly spoke from the entrance.
Julian's movements paused for a fraction of a second, but he showed no alarm. He simply lowered the sword tip naturally and turned around.
Albus Dumbledore stood there.
He wore his signature purple robes, his blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles glinting with complex emotions. Fawkes flew to his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek affectionately.
The mightiest White Wizard, who should have been waiting for news in the Principal's office, had come down personally.
"Good evening, Professor."
Julian gave a slight bow, executing a flawless aristocratic courtesy, the sword still firmly in his grip, "I merely... came down to see if I could be of any assistance. It seems Mr. Potter has resolved most of the issues."
"As you can see."
Dumbledore stepped over the Basilisk's corpse, glanced at the unconscious Harry to confirm he was out of mortal danger, then turned his gaze back to Julian—and the sword in his hand.
"Thank you for your assistance, Julian, though I am curious... how did you learn Parseltongue?"
Dumbledore's tone was light, but the intangible pressure he exuded was as heavy as a mountain.
"Luck," Julian replied without changing his expression, "Perhaps a family talent. Professor, this sword... I believe it requires some professional maintenance. You know, Basilisk blood is highly corrosive. If not handled properly..."
He looked up, meeting Dumbledore's eyes directly, "I would like to borrow it for one night, Professor, purely for academic research. Tomorrow morning, I will return it to your office in perfect condition."
Dumbledore smiled.
It was the kind of smile that saw through a mischievous child's ploy—forgiving yet firm.
"Such a touching thirst for knowledge."
Dumbledore shook his head gently and extended his withered yet powerful hand.
"But I'm afraid not, my boy. This sword belongs to Gryffindor. It only reveals its power to those who truly need it. And..."
His gaze sharpened for an instant, "I believe you've already taken quite enough'souvenirs' from this poor creature, haven't you?"
Julian's eyes narrowed slightly.
He knew Dumbledore had sensed the scent of blood on him and the magical resonance belonging to the Basilisk's heart.
This was a warning, and also an offered way out.
If he insisted on the sword, it would be seen as greed, potentially provoking the old man's direct intervention.
"You are right, Professor."
Julian shrugged, promptly reversing the sword and offering it hilt-first, "This sword is indeed too heavy, not quite suited for a Slytherin."
Dumbledore took the sword, gave it a light flick, and the bloodstains vanished instantly from the blade.
"Regardless, you saved Harry tonight," Dumbledore said meaningfully, "Best be off now, Julian, before Filchcatches you out of bed. And by the way, the strawberry-flavored Fizzing Whizzbees have been quite delightful lately."
Julian took one last look at Harry on the ground and the remains of the diary.
"Good night, Professor."
He turned and walked towards the exit, his black cloak billowing behind him like a shadow about to melt into the darkness.
Though he hadn't gotten the sword, the vial of still-warm heart's blood and the pair of fangs in his pocket would keep him busy enough for the entire summer.
As for Harry Potter?
He was Dumbledore's protagonist. For now, let him sleep soundly.
Chapter 129: The End of Second Year
Sunlight bathed the deep crimson lacquer of the hogwarts express.
On the platform, Hagrid's enormous figure was waving goodbye; the melancholy of parting and the post-exams revelry intertwined in the air, creating a slightly cacophonous frequency.
However, all the clamor was shut out the moment Julianstepped into the private compartment at the rear of the train, marked with a plaque reading 'Reserved for the Greengrass Family'.
The compartment was carpeted with a soft, long-pile rug. The air held the faint scent of chilled pumpkin juice and an expensive sandalwood fragrance.
Daphne was leaning elegantly against the velvet cushions by the window. Her moonlight-brilliant blonde hair was tied back with a hairband studded with tiny sapphires, a few stray strands falling against her porcelain-white neck, trembling slightly with the train's gentle vibrations.
"You're later than I expected, Julian," Daphne said, slightly lifting her eyelids, her sapphire-blue eyes reflecting Julian's figure.
Across from her, Hermione seemed somewhat ill at ease. She wore a simple light blue summer dress, and her thick, bushy brown hair, no longer as wild as it had been at the start of term, now had a smooth, well-groomed look.
She still held a heavy copy of 'A Beginner's Guide to Ancient Runes' in her arms, but the moment she saw Julian enter, her fingers involuntarily tightened, pressing a faint red mark into the book's corner against her palm.
"Attended to some minor matters," Julian said calmly, taking a seat between the two girls. This position allowed him to sense both Daphne's cool perfume and Hermione's warm scent, a mix of ink and old books.
The train let out a long whistle and began to move.
The scenery outside the window started to recede faster, the Castle's spires gradually shrinking into a blurred black dot.
"I heard that after Harry Potter woke up in the hospital wing, he kept muttering your name," Daphne said, elegantly crossing her legs. The silk-like fabric of her school robe slid down, revealing a glimpse of her smooth, firm knee.
She cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, her tone carrying a hint of that distinct Slytherin arrogance. "He seems to think that in that dark Chamber of Secrets, he saw more than just the Phoenix. There was someone else too."
Hermione looked up, a complex light flickering in her eyes.
As someone who had been there, she knew the truth of that night better than anyone.
Although Julian had never admitted it, the pendantwarming slightly against her neck was a constant reminder.
"Heroes are roles for people like Potter to play," Juliansaid, pulling an exquisite wooden box from his robe pocket.
He opened it unhurriedly, revealing the Basilisk fang inside, shimmering with a cold, eerie green light.
The air pressure in the compartment dropped instantly.
Hermione let out a short gasp, instinctively shrinking back, while Daphne's eyes widened, her breathing becoming rapid.
As a descendant of a Pure-blood family, she knew all too well what such a top-tier magical material signified.
"This is..." Daphne reached out a trembling hand but dared not touch it.
"One of Salazar Slytherin's legacies," Julian said, gently running his fingertip along the fang's sharp edge.
He turned his head to look at Hermione, a playful curve at the corner of his mouth. "Hermione, your coursework next term will be very heavy. If you want to stay sharp amidst all those complex equations and ancient characters, you might need a little extra... motivation."
Hermione's cheeks flushed instantly as she remembered the training Julian had put her through in the Room of Requirement.
Those memories became particularly vivid with the train's vibrations, leaving her mouth feeling dry.
"I... I will work hard, Julian," Hermione whispered, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum yet carrying an unshakeable firmness. "I've already memorized half of the materials you gave me."
"Memorizing isn't enough," Julian said, leaning slightly to bring the fang closer to Hermione's cheek.
The icy touch made Hermione shiver, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head up slightly, almost masochistically, to meet that dangerous intimacy.
"I don't want to hear any news of you slacking off this summer. Otherwise, when term starts in September, I'll check your progress—in a way you absolutely won't want to experience."
Watching this scene, a flicker of jealousy passed through Daphne's eyes, but it was outweighed by a kind of conspiratorial excitement.
She shifted, resting her head on Julian's shoulder. One hand slid down his arm, her fingers eventually intertwining with his.
"Julian, Father says we'll be going to France this summer to escape the heat," Daphne's voice turned sweet and suggestive. "The House of Rosier has an estate in the South of France too, doesn't it? Perhaps... we could have some 'academic exchange' that crosses borders?"
Julian felt Daphne's attachment on his left and Hermione's intense, restrained gaze on his right. The rhythm of the train seemed to become the beat of his own heart.
"Of course, Daphne," Julian chuckled softly, clasping her delicate hand in return. "This summer will be very long. And interesting."
He picked up the bottle of chilled pumpkin juice from the table and poured a glass for each girl.
The golden liquid swirled in the crystal glasses, refracting fragmented light that played across their two very different faces, both equally etched with submission and desire.
The train plunged into a long tunnel, plunging the compartment into absolute darkness.
In that moment, sight was stolen, and hearing and touch became acutely sensitive.
Julian heard Hermione's rapid breathing and felt the warmth of Daphne pressed against him.
In the darkness, an indescribable tension spread wantonly among the three of them, like the flickering tongue of a Basilisk, brushing against each person's heart.
"Julian..." In the dark, a dreamlike whisper came from an indistinguishable source.
Julian didn't answer, only precisely tracking every movement in the darkness.
When the train burst back out of the tunnel into the brilliant sunlight, all three in the compartment had adjusted their postures.
Daphne was still elegant, Hermione still reserved. Only the lingering, ineffable hint of ambiguity in the air signaled that the end of this term was not a conclusion, but the opening of a grander, darker script.
Chapter 130: The Badge
July in London, the air was filled with heatwaves baked by asphalt and car exhaust.
But as you passed through the Leaky Cauldron's dilapidated brick wall and stepped into Diagon Alley, the world instantly switched channels.
magic kept the scorching heat out, replaced by a dry, cool air scented with herbs and parchment.
Julian walked through Diagon Alley, dressed in a well-tailored dark ink-green robe, with the subtle patterns of the House of Rosier embroidered on the collar and cuffs.
The surrounding crowd automatically parted a path for him. Shopkeepers who recognized the meaning behind his attire doffed their hats in greeting, while those who didn't understand were nonetheless awed.
Julian did not linger in front of the bustling shops but walked directly towards the depths of the alley.
Pushing open the door, the doorbell emitted a lazy cat's meow instead of a crisp chime.
The light inside the shop was much dimmer than outside, and the air was filled with the fur of various magical creatures and a peculiar incense scent.
On the shelves, colorful Puffskeins were squeezed together like a pile of furballs, several owls dozed in cages, and a tank of color-changing snails was bubbling.
Behind the counter, Blanche was sprawled, holding the latest copy of The Daily Prophet, her deep blue eyes staring blankly at the moving photo on the front page.
In the photo, a gaunt man with tangled, messy hair was roaring madly. It was none other than Sirius Black, the first person to escape Azkaban.
"If you keep staring, his drool will splash on your face."
Julian walked to the counter and lightly tapped the surface with his wand.
Blanche, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, shot upright, nearly knocking over the newspaper.
"Merlin's beard! Do you walk without making a sound?"
She glared at Julian, but there was no real anger in her eyes; instead, a hint of cunning flashed through them.
Today, she was wearing a tight purple Wizard robe with a somewhat low neckline, revealing a expanse of pale collarbone.
Her hair was still in a casual low bun, with a few wisps falling by her ears, swaying with her movements.
"For my big patron, of course, I must always be vigilant."
Blanche tossed the newspaper aside, leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter and her chin on the back of her hand, a half-smile playing on her lips.
"How's it going? I heard you got a lot of good stuff at school? Even Acromantula venom?"
"Your information is quite timely."
Julian pulled out a small cloth bag from his robes and tossed it onto the counter. It made a dull metallic clinking sound, indicating a substantial weight.
"This is this quarter's dividend, and... your special allowance."
Blanche grabbed the cloth bag, weighed it in her hand, and her smile instantly became much more genuine.
"I knew following you would be profitable."
She tucked the money bag into her seemingly bottomless pocket, then mysteriously leaned closer to Julian, lowering her voice.
"However, I didn't just call you here for money today. There's something you might be interested in."
She pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment from under the counter, on which was drawn a complex map, its lines resembling some ancient Runic circuit.
"Knockturn Alley, the deepest part, the abandoned basement behind Borgin and Burkes."
Blanche's finger tapped on a red dot on the map.
"There have been some strange magical fluctuations there recently. I sent my little mouse to scout it out, and it brought this back."
She opened her palm, revealing a black metal badge lying in it.
The badge was somewhat blurred by the erosion of time, but the pattern on it was still clearly discernible—a triangle with a circle inside, and a vertical line in the middle.
The Deathly Hallows.
Grindelwald's symbol.
Julian's pupils contracted slightly.
He picked up the badge, the cold metallic touch spreading through his body from his fingertips.
This was not just a symbol; it still retained an extremely faint but incredibly pure aura of Dark Arts.
He had felt that aura in the Rosier Family's library; it was the unique magical imprint of the first Dark Lord.
"Interesting."
Julian held the badge in his palm, a playful smile on his lips.
"It seems our summer activities have a destination."
...
Knockturn Alley.
It was always shrouded in a cold, grey mist; even the midday sun could not penetrate the perennial miasma here.
The dilapidated shops on both sides were like rows of rotting teeth, their windows displaying shrunken human hands, blood-stained playing cards, and various Dark Arts items that clearly looked cursed.
Pedestrians on the road, wrapped in thick cloaks, hurried past with their heads down; no one would stop here for a chat.
Julian and Blanche walked side by side on the slippery flagstone path.
Blanche had changed into a black, tight-fitting leather armor, with a hooded cloak draped over it, making her look like a well-trained bounty hunter.
Julian, however, maintained his elegant noble attire, though the snake-headed wand in his hand now emitted a faint glow, dispelling the shadowy creatures attempting to approach.
"It's here."
Blanche stopped in front of a wooden door that was almost rotten.
A rusty padlock hung on the door, and black vines covered the surrounding walls. The vines seemed alive, slowly wriggling as they approached.
"My little mouse said there's a hidden entrance here."
Blanche crouched down and pressed the third brick from the bottom right corner of the doorframe.
"Click."
With a soft click, the brick recessed, followed by a dull rumbling sound from the ground.
The flagstone in front of the wooden door slowly moved aside, revealing a stone staircase leading underground.
A decaying, damp scent, mixed with the smell of some ancient Potion, wafted towards them.
"Ladies first?"
Julian made a gentleman's gesture.
"Cut it out." Blanche rolled her eyes at him but still went down first, her wand lighting up with a cold white glow.
The stone steps were long and spiraled downwards, as if leading to the center of the earth.
Glowing moss was embedded in the walls at regular intervals, emitting a faint greenish light that illuminated the strange symbols carved into the stone.
These symbols were not Runic Script, nor Old English, but a more primitive, wilder script.
"This is... a variant of Runic Script?"
Blanche stopped, reaching out to touch the carvings on the wall.
"No, this is Old Germanic."
Julian's voice echoed in the empty stairwell, "For the Greater Good... Grindelwald's favorite slogan."
Finally, they reached the end.
Chapter 131: Grindelwald's Manuscript
Before them was a vast circular hall.
At the center of the hall, a black stone pedestal rose, upon which rested an object resembling a crystal ball, yet filled with churning black smoke.
Scattered around the pedestal were various shattered experimental apparatuses, charred books, and... several skeletons clad in Nazi military uniforms.
"Those are..."
Blanche pointed at the skeletons, her voice trembling slightly.
"Muggle soldiers." Julian stepped forward, prodding a rusted gun lying beside one of the skeletons with his cane. "It seems the Dark Lord conducted some rather inhumane experiments here back in the day."
He approached the pedestal, his gaze fixed intently on the black crystal ball.
The smoke churning within seemed alive, sensing his approach. It began to seethe violently, faintly forming the shapes of agonized, contorted human faces.
"Is this a prototype of a Dementor?"
Blanche leaned in, examining it curiously.
"No, this is something more pure."
Julian extended a hand, holding it suspended above the crystal ball. He could feel the immense, chaotic soul energy contained within.
"This is... memory. Or rather, a collection of emotions—despair and fear—that have been stripped away."
At that moment, a low growl echoed from the shadows of the hall.
Several massive, rotting black dogs emerged from the darkness.
Their eyes glowed with a red light, black drool dripped from their maws, and they emitted a nauseating stench of decay.
Zombie Hounds.
Biological weapons used by Grindelwald to guard his secret stronghold.
"It seems we must clear away some trash before claiming our treasure."
Julian turned, his snake-headed wand striking the ground with a sharp crack.
"Blanche, the two on the left are yours."
"You certainly know how to put someone to work."
Blanche grumbled, but her movements were lightning-fast.
With a flick of her wand, a whip of purple light materialized instantly, lashing out viciously at the charging Zombie Hounds.
Battle erupted.
The Zombie Hounds felt no pain, no fear, driven only by the most primitive instinct to kill.
But before Julian, these low-level Dark creatures were like toys.
He didn't even use his wand. With mere sweeps of his cane, strands of black Fiendfyre flew out like serpents, coiling precisely around the Zombie Hounds, reducing them to ashes.
Minutes later, the hall returned to silence.
Only a layer of black ash and the lingering smell of scorched remains filled the air.
Julian walked to the pedestal and cupped the black crystal ball in both hands.
The moment his fingers touched it, a frigid electric current shot through his entire body. A blurry image forced its way into his mind.
It was a young, handsome, blond-haired Wizard standing atop a high tower, gazing down upon a burning city below, a fanatical gleam in his eyes.
"If only we can break the Statute of Secrecy... If only we can let Wizards stand in the sunlight..."
The voice echoed in his mind, carrying an irresistible, inflammatory quality.
Julian shook his head sharply, forcing the image down.
"That was close."
He took a deep breath and stored the crystal ball in his Undetectable Extension Charm pocket.
This thing was dangerous, but also an invaluable treasure.
If he could decipher the soul magic contained within, it might allow him to advance further in his mastery of the Dark Arts.
"Is that it?"
Blanche kicked at the ashes on the ground, seeming somewhat unsatisfied.
"This is just the beginning."
Julian surveyed the area, his gaze settling on a wall at the far end of the hall.
There, faintly carved, was a line of small text.
'The true legacy is for the one who can understand me.'
Beneath that line was a small indentation, its shape... a perfect match for the Rosier soul ring he held in his hand.
Julian walked over and pressed the soul ring into the slot.
The wall rumbled, slowly sliding apart to reveal a hidden chamber.
Inside the chamber were no gold or jewels, only a bookshelf laden with thick, leather-bound books—bound in human skin.
And, resting on the desk, an unfinished manuscript.
Julian approached and picked up the manuscript.
It was densely covered with complex Alchemy formulas and biological modification diagrams.
And at the title of the manuscript, a line of startling words was written:
"On the Possibility of Reforging Biological Magical Circuits"
Julian's fingers trembled slightly.
This was the true treasure.
Knowledge potent enough to alter the very landscape of the magical world.
"It seems we'll be quite busy this summer."
Julian turned, offering a meaningful smile to the stunned Blanche.
...
After obtaining the materials left behind by Grindelwald, Julian eagerly began his research.
Late at night, thunder and rain raged.
Lightning, like silver serpents tearing the heavens, momentarily illuminated the towering spire of Rosier Manor.
Three levels below the manor, the Forbidden Alchemy Laboratory.
There were no windows. The air was thick with the scents of formaldehyde, dried herbs, and something akin to the ozone smell after an electrical overload.
Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, burning with a sickly green flame, casting the entire space in an infernal glow.
Julian wore only a white shirt, slightly damp with sweat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale, powerful forearms.
In his hand, he held a silver scalpel still dripping with blood. His eyes were feverish yet calm, like those of a mad surgeon.
On the massive obsidian dissection table before him, a fist-sized purple spider crouched at the center of a complex Alchemy array.
It was the mutated spiderling he had subdued in the Forbidden Forest. Now, seemingly sensing its impending fate, its eight furry legs trembled uneasily, its compound eyes reflecting Julian's almost ruthless face.
"Don't be afraid, little one."
Julian's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a strange, soothing magic.
"This isn't just pain. This is... evolution."
Chapter 132: Purple Fiend
Julian turned and walked to the operating table beside him, where the manuscript brought back from Knockturn Alley, Grindelwald's manuscript, lay open.
On the yellowed parchment, the ancient Germanic words written in blood seemed to come alive, twisting and writhing, whispering the forbidden truths of life's reshaping.
'Break the shackles of the soul, use potent blood as the catalyst, and recast the circuits of magic.'
Julian took a deep breath and picked up the crystal vial containing the Basilisk's heartblood.
The moment the stopper was pulled, an intensely sweet, cloying scent, so thick it was almost tangible, instantly filled the entire basement.
It was not the smell of ordinary blood; it was the life essence of an apex predator, carrying millennia of venomous hatred and oppressive might.
"Hssss——"
The spider on the dissection table emitted a fearful hiss; its instincts told it this power was enough to incinerate it to ashes in an instant.
"Endure it."
Julian's gaze sharpened. With a swift downward flick of his wand, he began to chant the obscure, difficult incantation.
"Sanguis mutatio... Spiritus reformatio... Ex bestia in hominem!"
As the incantation fell, the alchemical array on the dissection table instantly flared with a blinding bloody light.
The runes carved into the obsidian were like lit fuses, frantically drawing in the ambient, free-floating magical energy, converging into a storm of red energy that pinned the small spider firmly at its center.
Without the slightest hesitation, Julian poured the Basilisk's heartblood over the spider.
"Sizzle—!!!"
The moment the searing venomous blood touched the spider's carapace, it produced a terrifying sound akin to sulfuric acid corroding metal.
The purple carapace instantly softened and dissolved, revealing the crimson, still-pulsing flesh beneath.
The spider let out a shrill, agonized scream. Its body convulsed violently, its eight legs scratching frantically at the stone table, leaving deep gouges.
"Now... Recast!"
Julian's pupils contracted sharply. His spiritual force, like a precise scalpel, forcibly pierced into the spider's chaotic and feeble sea of consciousness.
What he intended was not a simple enhancement, but a complete rewriting of this creature's form—from the genetic level, from the depths of its very soul.
He saw the spider's primitive, murderous soul.
He saw the intricate, labyrinthine magical circuits.
In this moment, he was the Creator.
Guiding with his spiritual force, he directed that violent Basilisk blood to scour every nerve and every muscle of the spider.
"Change... for me!"
With Julian's low roar, the light from the alchemical array reached its peak.
On the dissection table, a scene unfolded that would have sent any normal person's sanity plummeting.
That spider, originally only the size of a fist, wrapped in the bloody light, began to expand at a speed that defied the laws of physics.
Flesh tore; bones restructured.
"Crack... Crack..."
The sound of splintering bone, grating on the nerves, was unceasing.
Purple flesh writhed and stretched like living dough.
The original arthropod structure was forcibly shattered, replaced by the rudiments of a skeleton more closely resembling that of a human.
It was a painful and protracted process.
Like forcibly molding a lump of clay into exquisite porcelain, each shaping accompanied by destruction and rebirth.
After an unknowable length of time, the screams gradually subsided, replaced by a heavy, labored panting like bellows being pulled.
The light of the alchemical array slowly dimmed.
Julian wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, leaning weakly against the operating table, his gaze fixed intently on the... thing on the dissection table.
It was a massive, purple-black cocoon.
It was woven from countless sticky, faintly glowing threads, its surface covered in an amniotic-like fluid that rhythmically pulsed with the breathing of the creature within.
"Did it succeed?"
Julian murmured to himself, stepping forward. He reached out and gently stroked the warm cocoon skin.
The texture was slick, like touching some kind of internal organ.
Suddenly.
"Rip——"
A crisp, tearing sound, like silk being rent.
A pale, mucus-covered hand shot out from the cocoon and grabbed Julian's wrist.
The hand was slender, with long fingers, its nails an eerie purple-black, sharp as blades.
Immediately after, the cocoon skin was violently torn open from the inside.
A flood of mucus mixed with residual bloody water gushed out, splashing onto the obsidian table.
A naked figure slowly sat up from the shattered cocoon.
Julian's breath caught in that instant.
It was a 'girl.'
Or rather, a perfect chimera possessing the upper body of a human female, yet retaining spider-like characteristics.
She appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, gleaming with a sickly porcelain sheen in the candlelight, still dripping with crystalline mucus that slid slowly down her breathtaking curves.
Violet hair, wet and slick, clung to her spine, cascading down to her waist, covering the vertebrae that seemed especially sensitive from her recent birth.
Her face was enchantingly exquisite, carrying an inhuman, icy allure.
Her original compound eyes were gone, replaced by a pair of large, deep purple eyes with vertical pupils. Around them were the patterns of two pairs of closed, smaller compound eyes, like some mysterious totem.
His gaze traveled downward.
It was a form that could make a saint fall.
Her chest bore a pair whose scale was not that of a human girl's, full of the voluptuous, carnal quality unique to magical creatures.
As she breathed heavily, a strange yet alluring deep purple fragrance continuously wafted around her.
Her waist was slender enough to be encircled by one hand, her abdomen flat and taut. Only at her navel was embedded a purple crystal—her new magical core.
Below the waist, there were no human legs connecting, but...
Julian's gaze grew intense.
Her hips were unusually broad, an evolutionary result to support the massive lower body.
Where the roots of thighs should have been, extended four pairs of sharp, black-chitin-covered spider legs.
These legs did not appear monstrous; instead, they had a mechanical beauty. They supported her, suspending her in the air, making her look like a queen on high.
"Mas... ter..."
A hoarse, halting, yet infinitely clinging murmur escaped her pale purple lips.
She slowly raised her head. In those purple vertical pupils, Julian's reflection was clear, filled with the devotion of a newborn to its mother, and something more primal, more fanatical—possession.
She tentatively extended her forked, crimson tongue, then leaned her body forward.
Julian did not retreat.
He reached out, his fingertips slick with mucus, and gently lifted her chin.
"Truly beautiful."
He praised, his fingers sliding down her slender neck.
"From today, you are my masterpiece."
"Your name is... Purple Fiend."
Hearing this name, the girl—or rather, Purple Fiend—shuddered violently.
A soul-level contract was forged in that moment.
"Haa... Pur...ple Fiend... likes... Master..."
She suddenly moved.
Those four pairs of spider legs flexed agilely, propelling her body forward, pressing Julian back against the operating table.
She extended her human arms, wrapping them around Julian's neck, pressing her entire body against him.
It was an extreme sensory experience.
The mucus on her body soaked Julian's robes. That intense fragrance invaded his nostrils, causing a wave of dizziness in Julian's usually cool head.
"Hungry..."
Purple Fiend's eyes grew hazy. She leaned close to Julian's ear, "Chu... Guchu... Master... give me... magic..."
It was the weakness after completing her evolution, and the instinctive craving of a newborn.
"Snap!"
"Want magic?"
Julian leaned close to her face, staring intently at Purple Fiend.
"Then prove to me your worth."
A flash of wild light passed through Purple Fiend's eyes.
Julian knew the experiment had succeeded.
And succeeded beyond imagination.
He had created a creature of his own, a fusion of beauty and terror.
"Very good."
Julian said in a low voice, the fervor in his eyes gradually receding, replaced by absolute control.
"Tonight, I will teach you well how to use this body..."
Outside the window, the thunder gradually faded away.
Chapter 133: South of France
South of France, the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur region.
A manor of the Greengrass Family was perched upon a cliff, overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean Sea below.
White waves crashed against the rocks, seagulls circled in the azure sky, and the air was filled with the fragrance of lavender and sea salt.
Unlike the damp and chilly Britain, the sunlight here was intense and unrestrained, as if it could bake away the gloom from one's very bones.
A carriage pulled by four Thestral-drawn Thestral-drawn horses descended slowly onto the manor's lawn.
The carriage was adorned with exquisite bas-reliefs, its wheels making not a sound upon landing, only the grass beneath the hooves yielding slightly.
Julian pushed open the carriage door and stepped down. He wore a light white linen shirt and beige trousers, his sleeves casually rolled up to reveal the sleek lines of his forearms.
The Rosier Family's Soul Ring glimmered with a cold, faint light under the sun, creating a subtle contrast with the bright scenery.
On his chest hung a seemingly ordinary silver necklace.
The necklace's pendant was a deep purple gemstone. Inside resided not only Norbert, the now considerably grown Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon, but also his newly created masterpiece—the Purple Fiend.
"Julian!"
A clear call shattered the tranquility.
Daphne, like a white butterfly, came rushing from the direction of the manor's main gate.
She wore a pale golden spaghetti-strap maxi dress, its hem fluttering in the wind as she ran, revealing a delicate string of pearl anklets.
Unlike her usual reserved demeanor at Hogwarts, she threw herself directly into Julian's arms, wrapped her hands around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and planted a kiss on his cheek that tasted of sunshine.
"You've finally come."
Her voice held a hint of coquettishness, her blue eyes full of laughter.
"Father and Mother have gone to a Ministry of Magicbanquet. These days, it's just me and Astoria in the manor."
When mentioning her sister's name, a slight shadow passed through Daphne's eyes, but it quickly brightened again.
"Astoria?"
Julian raised an eyebrow, his mind conjuring the image of that pale, frail girl who always hid behind her elder sister.
Blood Curse.
That was the curse passed down through generations of the Greengrass Family, a poison flowing through their bloodline, destined to claim its host at a young age.
But now, with Grindelwald's manuscript on the recasting of human magical circuits, perhaps this curse was no longer an unsolvable dead end, but could instead become a source of power.
"She's by the sea." Daphne linked her arm with Julian's, pressing her body against his—a gesture of claiming territory.
"Her health has been getting worse lately; she can't stay in the sun for too long, but she kept saying she wanted to see you."
The two walked through the manor's gardens, following a winding path towards the private beach.
The garden was filled with all sorts of rare magical plants: singing daffodils, water-spouting sunflowers, and Mandrakes whispering in the shade of trees.
Rounding a bend, the view opened up dramatically.
On the golden sand, beneath a large parasol, lay a slender figure.
Astoria wore a conservative one-piece white swimsuit, yet it couldn't hide the curves of her still-developing but already noticeable figure.
Her skin was even paler than Daphne's, an almost translucent pallor, as if it might shatter at the slightest touch.
A cascade of pale blonde hair spilled over the lounge chair, like a handful of flowing moonlight.
Hearing footsteps, she turned her head.
It was a face of delicate, ethereal beauty, her features softer than Daphne's, carrying a sickly, fragile quality.
But in those gray-green eyes lay a maturity and detachment that did not match her age.
"Julian, you're here." Astoria's tone was very excited, like wind chimes stirred by a gentle breeze.
Julian walked up to her and, without preamble, reached out and placed his hand on her forehead.
Astoria froze, her body stiffening slightly. Though puzzled, she did not pull away.
"Don't move." Julian's voice was low and magnetic. A faint black light shimmered at his fingertips—the power of soul perception.
Through her skin, he could clearly sense the chaotic, icy flow of magic within Astoria's body.
It was like a venomous serpent lurking in her bloodline, slowly devouring her life force, transforming it into a destructive, curse-ridden energy.
Blood Curse.
It truly lived up to its name.
But in Julian's perception, this cursed energy was not entirely uncontrollable. In essence, it was an extremely domineering mutation of the magical circuits.
If her magical circuits could be recast, like how the Purple Fiend was transformed...
"So this is the feeling of the Blood Curse?"
Julian withdrew his hand, a lingering chill on his fingertips.
Astoria looked at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
No one had ever dared to touch her curse so directly. Those so-called Healers were always overly cautious, fearful of being struck by the curse's backlash.
"It's very cold, isn't it?" Astoria said quietly, "Like living in an icehouse."
"The cold is because your body cannot bear this power."
Julian sat down on a nearby chair, his gaze burning as he stared at her. "If this power were to be guided out, it might burn hotter than Fiendfyre."
Daphne, listening nearby, was confused, but she keenly grasped the implication in Julian's words.
"Julian, do you have a way to treat Lia?"
"Treat?" Julian chuckled softly and shook his head. "No, not treatment. Evolution."
He pulled a thin notebook from his pocket—notes he had compiled based on Grindelwald's manuscript.
"But before that, we should first enjoy this wonderful holiday, shouldn't we?"
Julian snapped his fingers.
The necklace hanging on his chest suddenly emitted a purple light.
The next second, a figure clad in a purple maid's uniform materialized on the beach.
It was the Purple Fiend.
However, she had now retracted her terrifying spider-like lower half, using Transfiguration to maintain a humanoid form with legs.
Though those legs seemed somewhat overly long and her gait carried a strange rhythm, to an ordinary eye, she was merely a maid with an excessively voluptuous figure.
"Master..."
The Purple Fiend obediently knelt on the sand, her purple eyes full of devotion.
Both Daphne and Astoria widened their eyes.
"This is..." Daphne looked at the Purple Fiend's exaggerated bust and that bewitching face, a sense of crisis instantly exploding within her.
"My new pet, and also my bodyguard."
Julian waved his hand dismissively. "Go, prepare drinks for the young ladies."
The Purple Fiend nodded obediently, rose, and walked towards the nearby bar.
Her movements were fluid and swift, showing no sign of being a creature that had just been born.
"A pet?" Astoria watched the Purple Fiend's retreating back, thoughtful. "Her aura is very dangerous."
"The more dangerous something is, the more captivating."
Julian turned his head, looking at Astoria. "Just like that thing inside you."
Chapter 134: The Blood Curse
For the next few days, Julian lived an extremely regular and luxurious life.
During the day, he would instruct Daphne in practicing spells on the beach or discuss Ancient Runes with Astoria.
It must be said that Astoria's talent for theoretical knowledge was exceptionally high, even rivaling Hermione's.
She possessed a natural intuition for those obscure and difficult ancient texts, which might also be one of the side effects of the Blood Curse — a more sensitive soul.
And at night, after Daphne and Astoria had fallen asleep, Julian would enter the subspace to conduct "special training" for the Purple Fiend or study samples of Astoria's Blood Curse.
That afternoon, the sun was blazing.
Daphne had gone to attend a local Pure-blood family's tea party, leaving only Julian and Astoria in the manor's study.
The study window was open, the sea breeze billowing the white gauze curtains.
Astoria sat at the desk, translating a passage of ancient text about soul contracts.
She wore a thin silk nightgown, her pale skin almost translucent in the sunlight.
Suddenly, her face turned white, and the quill in her hand fell to the floor.
"Hmm..."
Clutching her chest, she let out a pained groan.
The Blood Curse was flaring up.
That bone-deep chill instantly swept through her entire body, making her shiver uncontrollably.
Julian set down the book in his hand and walked behind her.
"Is it very bad?"
He placed his palm against her back, a stream of warm magic slowly infusing into her body, attempting to suppress the rampaging curse.
"It's no use..." Astoria said weakly, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. "It's too terrifying..."
"That's because you are too weak."
Julian's voice was cold and calm.
He suddenly bent down, leaning close to Astoria's ear, his warm breath brushing against her icy earlobe.
"Do you want to live? Astoria."
"Do you want... to master this power, instead of being consumed by it?"
Astoria lifted her head, her grey-green eyes filled with struggle and longing.
"How?"
"Open your soul to me."
A dark light flickered in Julian's eyes—the precursor to Legilimency, an invitation to a soul contract.
"Let me enter your mental world and help you sort out those chaotic pathways."
Astoria looked at him, silent for a moment.
Then, she slowly closed her eyes, abandoning all resistance.
"Come in."
The corner of Julian's mouth lifted in a satisfied smile.
Mental link, established.
The next second, he saw a snow-covered wasteland.
That was Astoria's inner world.
And at the center of the wasteland, a giant serpent composed of black ice crystals coiled there, tightly wrapped around a faintly beating heart.
"Found it."
Julian's consciousness transformed into a sharp sword, thrusting fiercely towards the ice serpent.
In the real world.
Astoria's body shuddered violently, letting out a scream that was both agonized and ecstatic.
"Ah—!!!"
As Julian's mental force invaded, the Blood Curse energy within her body began to frantically fight back. But under the overwhelming pressure of Julian's soul, it was forced to begin circulating along a new trajectory.
The sensation was like being forcibly torn apart and then pieced back together.
Painful, yet accompanied by an unprecedented sense of relief.
As if a massive stone pressing on her chest had been lifted.
It was unclear how much time had passed.
Astoria slumped in the chair, her entire body drenched in sweat.
Her face was still pale, but her eyes were much brighter than before.
The cold that had tormented her constantly had vanished, replaced by a warm current flowing through her limbs and bones.
"This is only the first step."
Julian withdrew his hand, looking at the weakened Astoria with a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.
"Your willpower is stronger than I imagined."
"Thank you..." Astoria panted, her voice hoarse.
The look in her eyes as she regarded Julian changed.
No longer the previous indifference and detachment, it now held a trace of awe, along with an indescribable, ambiguous emotion.
Just then, the study door was pushed open.
Daphne stormed in, a letter still in her hand.
"Julian! Look at this!"
She slapped the letter onto the table.
It was a special edition of *The Daily Prophet*.
The front-page headline was a massive bold title:
*Azkaban Escapee Spotted in London! Ministry of MagicIssues Top-Priority Wanted Notice!*
And below the headline was a blurry photograph.
In the photo, a massive black dog was crossing a dimly lit alley, and behind it, the faint silhouette of a familiar place could be seen.
That was... Blanche's pet shop.
Julian picked up the newspaper, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Sirius Black.
He had finally come.
"Get ready, Daphne."
Julian set down the newspaper, his tone calm. "We may have to return to London ahead of schedule."
"And you, Astoria."
He turned his head, looking at the girl who had just undergone a soul baptism.
"You're coming too."
Astoria was taken aback for a moment, then revealed an extremely faint smile.
"Alright."
Julian stood holding a black oil-paper umbrella before the weathered back door of the Leaky Cauldron.
He wore a deep grey trench coat, the collar turned up, covering half his face, revealing only a pair of eyes that gleamed coldly in the shadows.
He had already arranged for Daphne and Astoria to return to Rosier Manor, which had top-tier defensive magic and was sufficiently safe.
And he, alone, had come here for that great black dog wandering in the rainy night.
"Meow—"
A lazy cat's meow came from the shadows of the alley.
A black-and-white cat walked out with elegant steps, its fur not dampened by the rain, as if an invisible barrier separated it from the foul weather.
It was Blanche's Animagus form.
The cat walked to Julian's feet, rubbed against his trouser leg, then instantly transformed into a puff of smoke, reverting to the woman in the purple tight-fitting dress.
"It's still there."
Blanche pointed towards a pet shop at the end of the alley. It was her shop, currently closed, with only an oil lamp in the window emitting a faint glow.
"That big dog has been lurking around my shop entrance for three days."
Blanche pulled a slender lady's cigarette from her pocket, flicked her fingers, and a small flame ignited at her fingertips.
"It seems very interested in my little mice... or rather, interested in a certain scent on the mice."
She blew out a smoke ring, the smoke dissipating rapidly in the rain.
"That's no ordinary dog."