Chapter 167: Transfiguration
"Sit down, Mr. Rosier, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's voice was as crisp as ever, but her gaze lingered on Julian for three seconds longer than usual.
This lesson was about the complex transformation of non-living objects into living beings.
Professor McGonagall asked everyone to turn the teacup on their desk into a living turtle.
"Remember, Transfiguration is not Magic; you need to clearly construct the turtle's circulatory system, skeletal structure, and most importantly—the will to live."
The sound of wands waving echoed throughout the classroom one after another.
Ron was poking his teacup vigorously, only to end up with a monster with a porcelain handle that sprayed water frantically.
Harry seemed distracted, glancing at Julian from time to time, his mind clearly still circling around the prophecy of the Grim and the large black dog.
Julian was in no hurry to start.
He extended his slender fingers, gently stroking the cold edge of the porcelain cup.
For an ordinary Wizard, this was transformation; but for him, it was a fine-tuning of reality.
He closed his eyes, stripping away the causality of the teacup as a "dead object" in his consciousness, and then re-injected the definition of "existence."
The white porcelain cup suddenly collapsed like melting snow, without being struck by any spell.
The white glaze turned into a hard carapace, the gold trim transformed into intricate patterns on the shell, and the cup's handle retracted into the body, becoming four short, thick limbs covered in heavy scales.
A snow-white turtle, its shell shimmering with dark gold Runes, lay quietly on Julian's desk.
It slowly extended its head, its ancient eyes shining with the light of wisdom as they looked at Julian, even affectionately rubbing against his fingertip.
The life force emanating from this turtle was actually much more real than the half-finished products created by the surrounding students.
Professor McGonagall walked over to Julian's desk.
She looked down at the turtle, her stern eyebrows knitted tightly together.
"A perfect construction, Mr. Rosier. But..." She reached out, attempting to touch the turtle, but stopped just as her fingertip was about to contact the shell.
She felt a sense of incongruity. This turtle was too "perfect."
"You have given it wisdom that does not belong to its level, Julian." Professor McGonagall's voice was very low, carrying a hint of warning. "Creation that oversteps boundaries often comes with an unknown price."
"The price is usually reserved for those who cannot control their power, Professor." Julian met McGonagall's gaze, his tone humble yet filled with an unquestionable strength. "I am merely presenting it as it should be."
Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment, and finally sighed.
"Ten points to Slytherin. But I suggest you go to the Library after class and carefully read the section on the forbidden zones of life in 'The Basic Principles of Transfiguration'."
Julian smiled slightly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
When the lesson ended and students began to leave the classroom one by one, the aroma of a hearty dinner already wafted from the direction of the Great Hall.
Julian did not go to the Great Hall immediately.
He pulled Hermione into a hidden corridor corner.
"Julian?" Hermione looked at him with some confusion.
Julian didn't speak; he pulled out the yellowed parchment from his robes.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink spread rapidly.
Hermione let out a short gasp, her eyes widening as she looked at the densely packed moving names on the map.
"This is... a map of Hogwarts? How can it... even show real-time locations?"
Her instinct as a top student made her instantly realize the terrifying value of this item.
"This is the legacy of the Marauders, Hermione." Julian's finger slid slowly across the map.
His gaze stopped on the area of the Gryffindor common room.
There, Ron Weasley was with Harry Potter.
And where their names overlapped, a small black dot was lying quietly.
Beside that black dot was a name: Peter Pettigrew.
"Look, Hermione." Julian's voice was as cold as ice. "The truth is often hidden in plain sight, but the mediocre are accustomed to turning a blind eye."
Hermione leaned closer, following Julian's finger.
"Peter Pettigrew? That... hero killed by Sirius?" Her breathing became rapid. "Why is he with Ron? And... he should have been dead for over ten years!"
"Dead people don't move on the marauders map." JulianCollapse map, The ink then disappeared..
He looked at Hermione, a playful light shimmering in his eyes.
"This rat has been hiding in the Weasley family for twelve years, witnessing the fall of Lord Voldemort and the growth of Harry Potter."
"Then we... are we going to catch him?" Hermione's tone carried a hint of excitement, the desire to uncover the truth.
"No, Hermione." Julian shook his head and took her hand as they walked toward the Great Hall.
"A dead hero is far less valuable than a living traitor. What we need to do is make him jump out on his own when he's most desperate."
When they entered the Great Hall, the long tables were already full of people.
Daphne was elegantly cutting a steak, but the moment she saw Julian enter, her movements visibly faltered.
Beside her, Astoria directly put down her pumpkin juice, her pale eyes revealing unabashed infatuation and dependence.
Julian sat opposite them.
"I heard you terrified Trelawney in Divination Class?" Daphne asked in a low voice, her tone carrying a hint of probing.
"She just saw a truth she couldn't understand." Juliancasually served himself a bowl of thick soup.
"They're all saying... that you are the Void." Astoriamurmured softly, reaching out her slender hand to quietly hook Julian's sleeve under the tablecloth.
The coldness brought by the Blood Demon Curse seemed to receive some kind of wonderful relief when she was near Julian.
"The Void doesn't mean non-existence, Astoria." Juliantook her hand in his, his fingertips gently stroking her cold palm.
"The Void means infinite possibilities. Because there is nothing, one can possess everything."
Astoria's face turned slightly red, and she lowered her head, a happy smile appearing at the corners of her mouth.
Daphne, watching this scene from the side, had a flicker of complex emotions in her eyes—dissatisfaction, unease, but more so a sense of irresistible sinking.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was stuffing fried fish into his mouth while complaining to Harry that Scabbers had been getting thinner lately.
"He's always listless, Harry. I think he might be getting old." Ron patted his pocket worriedly.
Harry responded absent-mindedly, his gaze crossing the crowd to land on the Slytherin table.
He saw Julian chatting and laughing with The Greengrass Sisters, and that composed manner gave him a strange sense of frustration.
Just then, the doors of the Great Hall were pushed open.
Chapter 168: Testing-
Professor Lupin walked into the Great Hall, his face paler than it had been in the afternoon, and his steps somewhat unsteady.
When his gaze swept across the Slytherin table and met Julian's, his hand trembled subconsciously.
Julian raised his goblet, gesturing to Lupin from afar.
It was a polite smile, yet one that radiated an extreme sense of pressure.
Lupin quickly looked away and sat at the staff table, but he didn't even dare touch the food in front of him.
He knew that the boy had already seen through everything about him.
And this game of hunter and prey, truth and lies, had only just begun.
The night deepened.
Julian lay in his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, Purple Fiend curled up by his pillow, breathing steadily.
He opened the Marauder's Map once again.
In the silent Castle, he saw [Severus Snape] pacing restlessly in the Dungeons.
He saw [Albus Dumbledore] standing atop the Astronomy Tower, gazing at the starry sky.
And the small black dot representing [Peter Pettigrew] was cowering in the shadows of Gryffindor Tower, completely unaware that Death had already arrived.
"Goodnight, dead rat," Julian said as he closed the map.
Thursday morning.
The atmosphere in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class classroom was even more oppressive than usual.
Lupin wore a brown robe with even more patches today; his eyes were sunken, and his skin had a sickly, waxen yellow hue, as if he had endured a long and painful struggle the night before.
His gaze drifted around the classroom, and whenever it swept past the Slytherin table—especially Julian's calm, unruffled face—it would involuntarily pause for half a second, his pupils constricting slightly.
It was the instinctive tremor of a herbivore facing an apex predator.
"Today, we are going to practice... Expelliarmus," Lupin's voice was somewhat raspy as he raised his wand and traced a standard arc in the air.
"This is a very basic yet extremely effective spell in dueling. It requires not only precise movement but also absolute control over the timing of the magic's release."
The sound of practice echoed throughout the classroom from all sides.
Julian stood bored at the back of the classroom, the elder-colored wand in his hand spinning deftly between his fingers, leaving behind faint afterimages.
In his vision, reality was no longer a solid entity, but stacks of probability slices that could be extracted at will.
He looked not far ahead.
Ron was clumsily waving his tape-wrapped wand, muttering the incantation, but he only managed to make Neville across from him take a small step back.
And in the pocket of Ron's baggy school robes, an unnatural bulge was trembling slightly.
That was Scabbers.
Or rather, it was that coward who had hidden in the gutters for twelve years just to survive—Peter Pettigrew.
"Ron, your elbow is too high," Harry corrected from beside him, fine beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, clearly practicing very seriously.
The corner of Julian's mouth curled into an amused arc.
He decided to add a little seasoning to this mediocre lesson.
"Probability Correction: Light refraction deviation 0.5 degrees."
"Space Curvature: Trace collapse, pointing to target coordinates: [X:145, Y:22, Z:10]."
Julian elegantly raised his wand, his movements so standard that no flaw could be found.
"Expelliarmus."
He whispered.
A beam of magic, extremely pure and even tinged with a faint purple-gray light, erupted from the tip of his wand.
Under normal circumstances, this spell should have hit the target Julian was practicing against.
But under the interference of the weaving of reality, the spell traced a strange arc in mid-air that defied the laws of physics.
It was as if pulled by some invisible force, suddenly accelerating and heading straight for Ron's side with a sharp whistle that tore through the air.
"Oops!"
Julian let out a well-timed exclamation, a perfectly measured look of surprise appearing on his face.
"Watch out, Ron!"
But it was already too late.
The spell didn't hit Ron's wand; instead, it slammed precisely into the pocket on the left side of his robes.
"Boom!"
A dull thud of impact was heard, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric.
Ron was knocked off balance, stumbling and nearly falling to the ground.
"Oh my god!" Hermione shrieked, her wand nearly slipping from her hand.
Professor Lupin's expression changed drastically as he rushed over in a single stride. "Ron! Are you alright?"
Ron stood there dazed; his school robe pocket had been completely torn open, revealing the gray lining inside.
In that instant, a gray shadow was knocked flying out of the pocket, tracing a pathetic parabola through the air before slamming heavily onto a nearby workbench.
It was Scabbers.
Its body twitched violently, its small, normally cloudy eyes now filled with extreme terror.
Its breathing was alarmingly fast, and its whiskers were shaking frantically.
Julian narrowed his eyes; he could feel that in that moment just now, the magic within the rat had fluctuated violently.
It was a sign that the Animagus form was nearly impossible to maintain.
Peter was afraid.
He thought he had been exposed.
He thought that spell was the Killing Curse, or some powerful magic to reveal his true form.
His short limbs scratched frantically on the workbench, trying to find a crack to crawl into.
"Scabbers!" Ron finally reacted, lunging toward the workbench in distress. "Damn it! Who did that?"
He turned his head angrily, meeting Julian's apologetic eyes.
"I am very sorry, Ron," Julian said, putting away his wand and stepping forward slowly, his tone so sincere it was impossible to doubt.
"My hand slipped just now, and the magic seemed to produce some unusual resonance... I didn't expect it to hurt your pet."
"You—" Ron was about to start cursing, but when he saw the unfriendly looks from the Slytherin students behind Julian, his voice weakened.
"It's just a rat! You almost killed it!"
"I am sorry." Julian approached the workbench, his gaze cutting across Scabbers' cowering body like a blade.
He reached out, seemingly wanting to check the rat's injuries.
In that moment, Scabbers—Peter Pettigrew—felt the shadow of death.
He could feel the all-consuming void-like aura emanating from Julian's fingertips.
He wanted to flee, but he didn't dare move.
If he showed even the slightest hint of human intelligence or magical fluctuation now, Lupin standing at the podium—his former best friend—would recognize him instantly.
He was gambling.
Gambling that Julian was just an arrogant genius, gambling that this really was just an accident.
Just as Julian's hand was about to touch Scabbers, the classroom door was flung open.
A cold wind, mixed with the bitter scent of Potions, swept through the entire classroom.
"Mr. Rosier, it seems your talent can, at times, become a dangerous liability."
Chapter 169: Mad Rage
Professor Snape strode in with heavy steps, his Blackrobes billowing behind him like a giant bat.
His hollow, cold eyes swept across the room, finally coming to rest on the rat in Ron's hands.
"Professor Snape?" Lupin asked, somewhat surprised. "What brings you here?"
"I am here to collect the... Moonstone Powder that was supposed to be delivered to my office ten minutes ago," Snape said coldly, his gaze lingering on Julian for a second with a silent understanding known only to the two of them.
He walked to the lab bench and roughly pushed Ronaside.
"It is just a rat, Weasley. If you spent even half the energy you waste on your pet on your brain, you wouldn't be unable to block a simple Expelliarmus."
Snape reached out with his gaunt fingers and hoisted Scabbers up by the scruff of his neck.
Scabbers let out a shrill scream, his body going as stiff as a stone.
"He looks a bit startled," Snape said tonelessly, though his long fingernails intentionally or unintentionally brushed against the paw where Scabbers was missing a toe.
"Still, such resilient trash."
He tossed the rat back to Ron and turned to look at Julian.
"Mr. Rosier, for your blunder in class, five points from Slytherin. Furthermore, you are to report to my office for detention this weekend to help me process some... less than cooperative experimental materials."
"Yes, Professor," Julian bowed slightly, an imperceptible smile touching the corner of his mouth.
Snape was providing him with cover.
In this way, he both appeased Ron's anger and gave Peterthe illusion that this was merely an accident.
More importantly, detention was a perfect excuse, allowing him a legitimate reason to discuss the next step of the plan with Snape.
Professor Lupin watched this scene, his brow furrowed.
He felt something was off, but Snape's intervention prevented him from investigating further.
"Alright, continue practicing!" Lupin clapped his hands, trying to dispel the eerie atmosphere in the classroom.
Julian returned to the queue.
He watched Ron carefully stuff Scabbers back into his pocket, watching the rat tremble in the darkness.
"You certainly can endure, Peter," Julian sneered inwardly.
"However, the seed of fear has been planted. Next, it will take root and sprout until it completely consumes you."
The bell rang for the end of class.
The students filed out; Hermione walked beside Julian, her face still somewhat pale.
"Julian, was that really just an accident?" she asked in a low voice, her tone carrying a hint of suspicion and a certain morbid excitement.
"What do you think, Hermione?" Julian asked back.
Hermione was silent for a moment, then revealed a sweet yet chilling smile.
"I think it got what it deserved."
Julian laughed loudly, took Hermione's hand, and walked toward the sun-drenched courtyard.
In the shadows, Snape stood by the window, his eyes as deep as a bottomless abyss.
For revenge, he had waited for twelve long years.
Late at night, Hogwarts was shrouded in gray clouds, and the gale whistled through the towers like the low growl of a trapped beast.
The clock in the Great Hall had just struck twelve, its sound echoing through the empty corridors.
Julian stood in the shadows of the Slytherin Common Room, his fingertips lightly touching the yellowed marauders map.
The ink danced nimbly across the parchment; he saw Filch wandering near the fourth-floor Trophy Room with that detestable Madam Norris.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore's dot was slowly tracing circles in the Principal's office, seemingly pondering profound questions capable of changing the course of the wizarding world.
"Presence Stripping," Julian murmured softly, his wand tracing an elegant arc in the air.
With a slight adjustment to the weave of reality, Julian's figure seemed to melt into the air—not optical invisibility, but a literal erasure from the perceptual logic of his surroundings.
He pushed open the stone door of Slytherin and crossed the entrance hall soundlessly.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the air was utterly silent.
The trees here were twisted and tall, their branches interlacing like countless withered hands reaching for the sky.
Julian stepped onto the thick moss without making a sound.
Beside a massive oak tree split by lightning, a large Blackshadow crouched quietly.
As Julian approached, the Black dog let out a low growl, baring sharp fangs.
After catching that familiar scent on Julian, the hostility in its eyes quickly turned into anticipation.
The Black dog let out a muffled whimper, and its body began to undergo a violent, bone-grating distortion.
The sound of bones breaking and rearranging was exceptionally clear in the silent forest.
Within a few short seconds, the fierce beast vanished, replaced by a skeletal Black leaning against the tree trunk, panting heavily.
His once-expensive robes were now tattered rags, his skin was so pale it was almost transparent, and in those deep-set eye sockets, the flames of revenge danced wildly.
"You... you've come again, Rosier," Sirius Black's voice was as raspy as sandpaper. He breathed in the air greedily, as if it were his only lifeline.
"When do we deal with that traitor... that piece of filth... I can't wait any longer! I can feel him... he's right there in that Castle!"
His fingers scratched neurotically at the bark, leaving behind deep gouges.
Julian calmly pulled a small deep-blue porcelain bottle from his robes.
This was a High-grade Stamina Tonic he had specifically asked Snape to brew, with a hint of sedative added to stabilize the mind.
"Drink it, Sirius. A madman blinded by rage cannot catch that cunning rat," he said, tossing the bottle over.
Black caught it steadily, and without even waiting to pull the stopper, he bit through the neck of the bottle and downed the bitter liquid in one gulp.
As the potion took effect, Black's violently trembling body gradually settled down.
The veins on his face stopped throbbing, and his once-clouded eyes regained a hint of their former sharpness and clarity.
He stared fixedly at Julian, his eyes holding a complex scrutiny: "Heh, a Slytherin, a Rosier... who would have thought that you, who should have been a Death Eater, would help that man's enemy."
"Family and bloodline do not define me, just as Azkabandoes not define you, Sirius," Julian walked slowly toward him until they were close enough to feel each other's breath.
Julian reached out and tapped the void with his fingertip.
The surrounding air began to fluctuate violently, and light was forcibly distorted, forming a translucent screen like a movie curtain.
It was the scene from the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class this morning.
In the image, Ron clutched his pocket in terror while the rat with the missing toe fell clumsily onto the lab bench, its body convulsing violently, its small, cloudy eyes filled with extreme fear.
The image froze at the moment before Julian's fingertip touched Scabbers; the rat's distorted face clearly showed a despair that belonged to a human.
"Look, this is your 'good friend'," Julian's voice was low and magnetic, echoing in Black's ears.
"He hides with the Weasley family, eating the best cheese and enjoying the children's affection. While you were in Azkaban with the Dementors, gnawing on moldy bones in the gutter. He even kept that Order of Merlin—the one bought with the blood of James and Lily."
Black stared fixedly at the image, his pupils contracting violently as a sound like a dying beast's wail escaped his throat.
His body began to tremble again, but this time not from weakness, but from a hatred powerful enough to destroy heaven and earth.
He lunged forward, trying to crush the image, but caught only empty air.
"Peter... Peter Pettigrew!" he let out a shrill roar that carried far into the Forbidden Forest, startling a flock of Thestrals.
"I'm going to kill him! I'm going to crush his bones inch by inch! I'll make him beg for death!"
"Calm down, Padfoot," Julian reached out and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Though young, the hand carried an undeniable steadiness.
"If you rush into the Castle now, you will only have your soul sucked dry by the Dementors. And Peter? He will simply turn back into a rat and vanish into some crack. Do you want James and Lily to be unable to rest in peace even in the afterlife?"
Black seemed to have all his strength drained away, slumping back against the tree. His bloodshot eyes looked at Julian with a mad rage:
"Then what should I do? Tell me, what should I do? As long as I can kill him, I'd sell my soul to the devil."
"You don't need to sell your soul; you only need to wait," Julian withdrew the image, and darkness reclaimed the surroundings.
Chapter 170: The Phantom Pain Returns
Julian slid the Marauder's Map out from his sleeve and displayed it before Black.
"This is something you created. It has never deceived its master. I will monitor his every move. When the full moon rises, when all truths can no longer be concealed, I will personally deliver him to you."
Julian watched as Black transformed back into a Blackdog and disappeared deep into the Dense Forest.
He stood in place, feeling the gale wind tousle his Blackhair. All the actors for this play had assembled, and the script was progressing perfectly according to his design.
He wasn't merely helping Black seek revenge; he was weaving a vast Web of Causality.
The moment Peter Pettigrew is exposed as the traitor, the entire Magical World's credibility will suffer a devastating blow. And he, as the hero who unveils the darkness, will gradually ascend to the pinnacle of power.
He cast a final glance towards the direction of Gryffindor Tower, where a single light was still burning.
Perhaps Harry was still lying awake, haunted by the Ominous Omen.
Julian gave a cold sneer, turned, and vanished into the Thick Mist.
For him, this was not merely a story about revenge; it was a long journey about reshaping reality and ascending to the summit.
In the Slytherin Common Room at two in the morning, the fire in the fireplace had dwindled to a heap of dull red embers, occasionally cracking with faint pops.
Outside the window, the waters at the bottom of the Black Lake, stirred by the rainstorm, appeared unusually murky. The giant squid's tentacles occasionally brushed against the thick glass, leaving a slimy trail.
When Julian pushed open the stone door and entered, he still carried the scent of damp earth and wood ash from the Forbidden Forest.
He didn't rush to clean the water stains from his robes. His first glance went to the long sofa by the window.
There, Daphne was holding her sister Astoria tightly.
The usual haughtiness and composure Daphnepossessed were completely gone. Her smooth blonde hair was somewhat disheveled over her shoulders, and her knuckles were white from the force of her grip.
Astoria was curled up in her sister's arms, her body trembling violently like a withered leaf in a cold wind. Fine beads of sweat covered her pallid face, and she was biting her lower lip so hard that tiny spots of blood had seeped out.
"Julian..." Daphne heard the movement and jerked her head up. Her eyes were filled with a hope bordering on despair, like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood.
"You're finally back. She... it's started again. The curse was lifted, but she still says it hurts, that bone-deep pain..."
Julian walked over slowly, his leather boots making a steady rhythm on the cold stone floor.
He looked down at the sisters, reached out, and with cool fingertips, gently lifted Astoria's chin.
The girl's eyes were half-open, her pupils somewhat unfocused from the pain. The moment she saw Julian,
she seemed to regain a sliver of awareness. Her slender fingers suddenly grabbed Julian's sleeve, her nails digging into the fabric with force.
"It hurts... Julian, save me... It feels like bugs are gnawing inside my bones..." Astoria's voice was so faint it was almost inaudible, laced with a heartbreaking sob.
"Hush, it's alright. I'm here."
Julian sat down on the other side of the sofa and smoothly took Astoria from Daphne's arms.
Astoria almost instinctively burrowed into his embrace, greedily inhaling the scent on him—a mix of rain and cold magic.
"This isn't the curse, Daphne," Julian's voice was exceptionally clear in the silent room.
"This is the inertia of reality. The Blood Demon Cursecarved its mark too deeply upon her soul and flesh. Even though the source was severed, her nerves and the very fabric of her being still remember that pain.
"Just as an amputee feels phantom limb pain, in the logic of her reality, the pain still exists."
Daphne froze. She didn't understand these profound terms, but she could feel the terrifying magical aura emanating from Julian.
"What should we do?" Daphne asked, her voice trembling.
"It's simple," Julian said, looking down at the girl in his arms, his fingers brushing over her sweat-drenched forehead. "Since reality remembers the pain, I will erase that memory completely. Not through potions, but through rewriting."
He closed his eyes, his consciousness instantly sinking into that endless abyss of nothingness.
A Weaver of Reality's authority awoke within him. The surrounding space began to warp visibly.
The embers in the fireplace froze instantly. The sound of rain outside seemed to be muted. The entire common room was stripped out of the normal Flow of Time at that moment.
Julian extended his right hand, placing his palm over Astoria's heart, and channeled his magic.
"Anchor the existence."
Julian locked onto Astoria's Life Tapestry within his consciousness.
Astoria instantly transformed into complex strands of code composed of causality, magic, and matter.
Within those layered codes was a dark red, twisted fissure—the lingering echo of the Blood Demon Curse.
"Sever the causality."
He guided the Power of Nothingness within him, precisely piercing that fissure.
He directly and forcibly extracted the logic of pain from the definition of Astoria's existence.
This operation was extremely dangerous; the slightest misstep could cause the target's cognition to collapse.
Astoria's body went rigid, a low, choked whimper escaping her throat. But immediately after, that tense musculature began to rapidly relax.
"Recast reality."
Julian filled the void with the pure ambient magic.
He issued an absolute command: From the moment of her birth, Astoria Greengrass's body has never known the Blood Demon Curse, has never known Phantom Pain.
As the command took effect, the sickly pallor rapidly faded from Astoria's skin, replaced by a healthy flush.
Her previously ragged breathing became steady and deep, her tightly furrowed brow completely smoothing out.
When Julian opened his eyes, the Flow of Time around them resumed.
Thunder crashed outside the window, and the flames in the fireplace leaped back to life.
Astoria still lay in his arms, but she was no longer trembling.
She slowly opened her eyes. Those once-dull orbs were now clear as water, reflecting Julian's stern face.
She tentatively moved her fingers, then her arm, an expression of disbelief spreading across her face.
"It doesn't hurt..." she murmured, her voice filled with the joy of a new beginning. "Julian, really... it doesn't hurt at all. That icy feeling that was always clinging to me... it's gone."
Chapter 171: Scabbers' Flight
Astoria suddenly sat up, ignoring her sister beside her, and threw herself into Julian's arms. Her hands tightly encircled his neck as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably.
This was not a cry of pain, but a release—a catharsis from years of pent-up despair finally finding an outlet.
Daphne stared blankly at the scene. She reached out and gently touched the back of her sister's hand, finding it warm, no longer carrying that deathly chill.
The look in her eyes when she turned to Julian had completely changed.
If before her submission had been born of infatuation and self-interest, now it was infused with a near-sacred fervor.
'You... you healed her. Completely.' Daphne's voice trembled. She suddenly knelt on the rug before the sofa, placed her hands on Julian's knees, and looked up at him, her eyes filled with a sense of humble devotion.
'The Greengrass Family owes you a life, Julian. No, two. From this day forward, whatever you ask of us, even if it means walking into hell, we will follow you.'
Julian felt the warmth of the girl in his arms and the slight tremor of Daphne's hands on his knees.
He reached out with one hand, lifted a strand of Daphne's blonde hair, and twirled it around his finger.
'Remember your words today, Daphne,' he said calmly, his tone devoid of any inflection. 'I do not tolerate betrayal. In my reality, a betrayer's end is only oblivion.'
'I swear it,' Daphne replied, bowing her head to kiss the back of his hand.
Astoria lifted her head from his chest, her eyes red and puffy like a frightened rabbit that had finally found refuge.
Summoning her courage, she planted a quick kiss on Julian's cheek before shrinking back, whispering, 'You are my god, Julian.'
Julian leaned back against the sofa, enjoying the moment of peace.
He knew these two pawns were now irrevocably marked as his own.
In this school steeped in ancient rules and blood prejudice, The Greengrass Sisters would become his most solid shield and his most concealed dagger within Slytherin.
'Go and rest, Astoria,' Julian said, patting the girl's back. 'You need sleep to solidify this new state of reality.'
'I want to stay here with you...' Astoria protested softly, but upon meeting Julian's unwavering gaze, she obediently lowered her head.
'Alright, but I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning.'
Daphne helped her sister to her feet. She gave Julian a deep look, her eyes holding a complex mix of emotions—infatuation, fear, and a desire to explore this man further.
Watching them disappear down the corridor leading to the girls' dormitories, Julian unfolded the marauders maponce more.
On the map, the small Black dot representing Peter Pettigrew was pacing restlessly within the Gryffindordormitory.
'Your days are numbered, Peter,' Julian murmured.
He stood up and walked to the window.
The heavy rain had stopped. The clouds had parted, revealing a sliver of a waning moon behind them.
Tomorrow morning was Friday, with a Flying Class in the afternoon.
He recalled that in the original story, Harry Potterencountered Dementors during his first Quidditch match in his third year.
Although the match hadn't started yet, the shadows prowling the boundaries of Hogwarts had already made the air feel oppressively heavy.
He planned to use tomorrow's Flying Class for some more interesting experiments.
For instance, to see how those monsters that feed on happiness would react when faced with true nothingness.
The Purple Fiend emerged from the shadows. Its dark purple eyes fixed on the window as it growled uneasily.
'Patience, little one,' Julian soothed, stroking the creature's cool spine. 'There will be a feast soon. A traitor's soul, seasoned with a Dementor's chill... should be quite tasty.'
He returned to his own dormitory and lay down on the bed.
In his mind, the laws of reality he wove continued to evolve.
The more he used his power, the more he found his ability to interfere with this world was increasing exponentially.
But he was also keenly aware that the old fox Dumbledore was undoubtedly observing everything from the shadows.
Trelawney's prophecy, though absurd, had served as a warning to the old man.
'The Eye of Oblivion...' Julian closed his eyes. 'Then let them see what this world becomes when the abyss opens its eyes.'
His consciousness gradually blurred, sinking into a deep sleep.
At the edge of his dreams, he seemed to see a door, one inscribed with death and rebirth.
From behind it, a voice was calling to him.
'Julian...'
Whose voice was it? Lord Voldemort's? Or that of the original Julian Rosier, whom he had personally killed?
He didn't care.
Because the him of now was the only reality.
[The next morning...]
The Great Hall was as noisy as ever on a Friday.
When Julian entered, he distinctly sensed an unusual atmosphere.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was shouting loudly at his schoolbag, while Harry and Hermione tried to calm him down.
'He's gone! I swear I locked him in his cage!' Ron's voice was choked with tears.
'Scabbers ran away! He must have been scared by that Rosier yesterday—he doesn't feel safe here!'
Julian elegantly took his seat at the Slytherin table, where Daphne had already prepared a bowl of oatmeal for him.
'He can't escape,' Hermione's cool voice cut through. She turned her head, her gaze meeting Julian's from across the Slytherin table in a secret exchange.
Hermione had also received a note from Julian last night.
She was now his eyes within Gryffindor.
'He's just hiding, Ron,' Harry comforted. 'Maybe he just went to the kitchens looking for food.'
Julian took a sip of his oatmeal, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips.
Of course Peter would run.
Yesterday's incident had made him realize someone in this school wanted him dead, and that someone was more terrifying than Black.
But what he didn't know was that as long as he remained within the bounds of Hogwarts, he could never escape the surveillance of the marauders map.
'Mr. Rosier.'
A low voice sounded behind Julian.
He turned to see Professor Lupin standing there.
Lupin looked slightly better today, but his gaze as he regarded Julian was filled with scrutiny.
'Professor, is something the matter?' Julian asked politely.
'About that... incident in class yesterday,' Lupin said, pausing thoughtfully. 'I've been thinking about it. That magical signature didn't resemble an ordinary loss of control. Julian, were you attempting some sort of... ancient spell I haven't taught?'
'I am merely pursuing the pinnacle of power, Professor,' Julian replied, setting down his spoon and meeting Lupin's gaze directly.'Sometimes, power chooses its own direction, does it not?'
Lupin fell silent. In Julian's eyes, he saw something that frightened him—something he had only seen in Lord Voldemort in years past.
No, this was purer. Colder.
'Be careful during this afternoon's Flying Class,' was all Lupin finally said before turning and walking away.
Julian watched his retreating back, a cold laugh echoing in his heart.
Lupin suspected, but he had no proof.
In this Castle filled with magical wonders, anything inexplicable could be attributed to extraordinary talent.
'Julian, shall we head to class?' Daphne leaned in. Her complexion was radiant, her whole being exuding youthful vitality.
'Let's go,' Julian said, standing up and casually picking up his schoolbag.
Chapter 170: Control
On the Flying Class lawn, third-year students from Slytherin and Gryffindor were standing sparsely.
The sky above Hogwarts was piled with heavy, leaden clouds, pressing down so low they seemed ready to collapse at any moment.
The wind turned biting and damp, carrying a rotten chill.
Madam Hooch's hawk-like yellow eyes swept over the group. She blew her whistle, the sound distorted in the heavy air.
"Alright, today we're practicing balance correction after a high-altitude dive! Don't wriggle on your brooms like clumsy Fire Crabs!"
Julian held his nimbus 2001 casually with one hand.
He could sense them, those tattered black-robed monsters, prowling at the edge of Hogwarts's magical defense perimeter.
They had become ravenous and frenzied, unable to enter the Castle, unable to feed on the students' happiness.
"Too slow," Julian murmured to himself.
He closed his eyes slightly, his consciousness piercing through the veil of the material. The threads of reality weaved, pulsating at his fingertips.
"Reality Logic Micro-adjustment: Revoke the Protective Anchor Point three miles north of the Forbidden Forest."
"Gravitational Constant Perturbation: Create a Negative Pressure Cavity above the Quidditch Pitch."
"Pheromone Simulation: Release a signal mimicking peak euphoria."
As Julian's will took effect, a nearly imperceptible ripple formed in the previously stable Magical Boundary.
For the Dementors, who fed on emotion, this ripple was like a sudden, enticing beacon in the darkness.
*Whoosh—*
The temperature plummeted.
Ron, who had been trying to mount his broom, suddenly shivered violently, his teeth beginning to chatter.
"Do you... do you feel like it just got dark all of a sudden?"
Harry's head snapped up, his face instantly turning deathly pale, his hand instinctively moving to the scar on his forehead.
Deep within the clouds, several black, tattered-cloth-like figures were gliding soundlessly toward the lawn, like rotting corpses falling from a great height.
"Dementors!"
Madam Hooch screamed, her voice filled with terror. "Everyone! Back to the Castle at once! Now!"
Chaos erupted on the lawn.
Students screamed and fled in all directions. Neville even tripped over his own broom, scrambling and crawling toward the entrance hall.
Draco had initially wanted to mock Harry, but when that bone-deep sense of despair washed over him, he froze on the spot, his legs turning to jelly.
Julian did not move.
He stood at the eye of the gale, his black school robes flapping wildly in the wind.
In his vision, the three Dementors were spreading their scabbed, festering claws, greedily lunging toward the vibrant prey below.
"Since you're here, you might as well leave something behind."
Julian sneered.
He did not use the Patronus Charm. That kind of magic, which used happiness as a shield, seemed far too primitive to him.
He simply extended his hand, fingers splayed, toward the lead Dementor.
"Causal Lock: Non-existent Biological Definition Collapse."
*Hum—!*
An invisible wave rippled outward from Julian.
The diving Dementor suddenly froze mid-air. Its tattered black robes trembled violently, as if pinned in the void by some invisible force field.
To the others, the Dementor seemed to be struggling in agony, its eyeless head shaking from side to side, emitting a piercing wail only souls could hear.
But in Julian's sight, he was forcibly dismantling the creature's underlying logic.
Dementors were not living beings; they were condensations of despair and nothingness.
And for Julian, who had mastered 'Reality Weaving,' nothingness was his domain.
"Interesting code structure," Julian mused, rapidly scanning the Dementor's essence within his consciousness.
"A pseudo-life cycle constructed from negative emotions... What if I redirect the vector of this cycle?"
He flicked a finger. A dark purple light slipped through a seam in reality and into the Dementor's hollow chest cavity.
"Logic Rewrite: Obedience, silence, become shadow."
The Dementor stopped struggling.
Its body, which had been exuding a deathly chill, began to contract, finally coalescing into a dense, impenetrable black mist.
The black mist obediently wound itself around Julian's wrist along his fingers, then vanished into his shadow.
The remaining two Dementors, sensing their companion's disappearance and an absolute, superior pressure, let out a shriek of terror, abruptly turned, and fled desperately back into the depths of the clouds.
"Julian!"
Daphne ran over, panting. Her face was pale, but seeing Julian unharmed, her eyes were filled with fearful relief.
"Are you mad? What were you doing standing there just now? Those monsters..."
"They're gone, Daphne," Julian said, turning around, his expression as calm as if he had merely shooed away a few flies.
He looked into the distance.
Madam Hooch was busy taking a headcount. The figures of Dumbledore and Snape had already appeared at the Castle entrance, clearly alerted to the disturbance.
"They... they seemed afraid of you," Hermione said softly from beside him.
She had observed more carefully than Daphne. She had seen the Dementor trembling before Julian.
"Not afraid of me," Julian corrected, straightening his collar, which had been ruffled by the wind. "Afraid they might disappear too."
He felt the tamed shadow within his own.
This Dementor was now his private collection—an invisible agent that could release despair and gather intelligence at will.
Compared to the half-dead specimens Blanche had captured, this wild one taken directly from outside was clearly much more vigorous.
"Let's go, back to the Castle," Julian said, leading the way toward the entrance hall. "It seems this class ended early."
As he passed Harry, Julian saw the 'Chosen One' sitting on the ground, supported by Professor Lupin.
Harry looked as if he had just been pulled from icy water, his eyes vacant.
"Harry, are you alright?" Julian stopped, a note of feigned concern in his voice.
"I... I heard a voice," Harry said, trembling. "A woman screaming..."
Lupin looked up at Julian, his gaze deep and sharp. "Rosier, your performance just now was... impressive. You seemed completely unaffected by them?"
"Perhaps because my mind is empty enough, Professor," Julian replied with a slight smile. "Nothing for them to take."
Without waiting for Lupin's response, he strode off, leading the Slytherin students away.
He could feel Snape's gaze on his back. It was a complex look, a mixture of shock, approval, and a hint of wariness.
"Detention this weekend is going to be very interesting," Julian thought to himself.
Back in the common room, Julian ignored the classmates casting admiring looks his way and went straight to his dormitory.
He drew the bed curtains and cast a Silencing Charm.
"Come out."
Chapter 171: Luna Lovegood
A shadow spread from Julian's feet. The shrunken Dementor hovered by the bedside like a pitiful ghost.
It no longer radiated a wide aura of chill, but instead, like a lamp emitting a black light, it waited quietly for orders.
"Go. Find that rat missing a toe," Julian gave it its first command. "Don't alarm it, just watch it. I need to know every one of its hiding spots."
The Dementor emitted a faint, low hum, then passed through the wall and vanished into the Castle's shadows.
Lying on his bed, a slight smile curled at Julian's lips.
Now, he didn't just have the flat surveillance of the Marauder's Map; he also possessed a three-dimensional radar capable of passing through walls and sensing fear.
Peter Pettigrew, where else can you hide?
Late at night, Julian once again took out the silver time-turner.
He needed more time.
As the golden hourglass turned, he returned to three hours earlier once more.
This time, he didn't go to the grounds. Instead, he used this extra time to sneak into the Library's Restricted Section.
He was looking for the foundational spells concerning the "Dementor's Kiss." Since he already controlled such a creature, he had no qualms about sharpening this lethal weapon further.
Deep within the Restricted Section, he opened an ancient tome bound in human skin—*The Darkest Soul*.
Its pages recorded a lost Dark Arts technique: using a Dementor as a medium to forcibly extract a target's memory fragments and convert them into magical power.
"Now *that's* the proper way to use it," Julian murmured, his slender fingers tracing the twisted script.
Unconsciously, Julian became engrossed in the ancient text. Back on the normal timeline, the storm outside the window had completely subsided.
He stood by the window, gazing at the distant silhouette of the Forbidden Forest.
Sirius was out there, Peter was inside the Castle, and the Dementor lurked in the shadows.
All the threads were converging at his fingertips.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the perfect moment to suddenly pull them taut.
"Saturday," Julian whispered to himself. "The day for the Hogsmeade trip is coming soon."
Exiting the Restricted Section, he passed through the towering stacks of mahogany bookshelves and returned to the main reading area.
By now, the once-bustling Library was deathly quiet. Only a few dim oil lamps flickered tirelessly.
The air was thick with the smell of aged parchment and dust. This silence was comfortable to Julian.
He casually took a seat in a corner, opening a copy of *Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3* as cover, but his gaze fell upon the shadow at his feet.
There, the Dementor he had enslaved clung to the crevices between the stone tiles like a puddle of melted tar.
It was trembling—not from fear, but from some kind of logical conflict forced upon it by its rewritten nature.
"If you can't learn to hide that rotten stench, I'll wipe you clean entirely," Julian warned coldly in his mind.
The shadow's ripples instantly stilled, becoming as placid as stagnant water.
Just then, a set of footsteps, so faint they were almost illusory, came from the other side of the bookshelf.
Julian didn't look up, but he could feel a subtle warp in the stable logic of reality as the newcomer approached.
It was like a drop of ink falling into clear water. While it didn't change the water's essence, it made the refraction of light turn strange.
"There's a sad Wrackspurt hiding in your shadow, but it looks much bigger than usual, and it's eating its own tail."
An ethereal, dreamy voice, as if drifting from another dimension, sounded from across Julian.
Julian's finger, turning a page, paused slightly.
He looked up and met a pair of enormous, silvery eyes that seemed perpetually veiled by a thin mist.
Luna Lovegood.
She stood quietly by the table, her pale blonde hair a messy cascade down to her waist. She wore oddly-shaped carrot-shaped earrings and a necklace of corks.
She didn't regard him with the awe or fear other students showed. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him with the look one might give a rare magical creature.
"Luna Lovegood," Julian closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and a playful smile touched his lips.
"Ravenclaw's 'Loony' girl. Shouldn't you be in your common room looking for your missing shoes at this hour?"
"Shoes always come back. They just like playing hide-and-seek," Luna said softly, seating herself opposite Julian as if it were the most natural thing.
Her movements were so light they didn't stir even a wisp of air.
She stared at Julian's shadow, then at his eyes.
"The air around you is very strange, Mr. Rosier. It's like a piece of silk that's been folded over and over, full of creases. Ordinary people can't see them, but they make my eyes a bit itchy."
Julian's gaze froze for an instant.
Reality-weaving was his greatest secret. Even Dumbledore could only sense something amiss through a kind of macro-level intuition.
Yet this seemingly batty first-year girl had pointed it out directly.
"Creases?" Julian lowered his voice, a thread of dangerous curiosity weaving into his tone. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's... disjointed," Luna extended a slender finger, tracing a vague line in the air.
"You see, the air here should be smooth. But around you, it's broken, then forcibly stitched back together. Did you break something and then pretend it was still whole?"
Her words were like a blunt knife, piercing precisely into the core of Julian's nature as a "reality-weaver."
Julian looked at her, a faint glimmer of dark purple light flickering deep in his eyes.
He began to reassess the girl before him.
The world Luna saw was clearly different from that of ordinary people.
If Julian modified the world through programming, then Luna was an observer born with the ability to see the flaws in the source code.
"I'm just better than most at untangling knots," Julianreplied evenly. He extended a hand, his fingertip lightly tracing the surface of the table.
A faint ripple of reality emanated, attempting to interfere with Luna's perception.
"So, what do I look like to your eyes right now?"
Luna blinked. The silvery mist in her eyes seemed to grow deeper.
"You look very lonely, Mr. Rosier."
Chapter 172: Hogsmeade
Luna stared at Julian for a long time, then suddenly revealed a faint, almost sympathetic smile.
"You are standing in the center of a void, desperately trying to weave a carpet to step on. But beneath the carpet, there is still nothingness. You caught that black shadow and wanted it to guard the door for you, but it's actually just crying because it forgot who it was."
Inside the shadow, the Dementor seemed to have been struck in a sore spot, writhing violently and emitting a faint chill.
Julian's gaze turned completely cold.
He didn't like the feeling of being seen through, especially by someone he considered a mere passerby.
However, he had to admit that Luna's perspective held immense research value for him.
"You say it's crying?" Julian's voice became low and magnetic, carrying an inducive power.
"Then what do you think I should do to make it stop crying?"
"Give it a name," Luna said briskly. "Wrackspurts are most afraid of names. Once they have a name, they turn from a phenomenon into an existence. But if you give it a name, you have to be responsible for it. It's like raising a dandelion; you can't just want its fluff without watering it."
Julian fell silent for a moment.
Naming a Dementor? It sounded utterly absurd, but within the logic of magic, it was indeed a very high-level form of defining enslavement.
"You are very interesting, Luna." Julian suddenly laughed, and his cold killing intent dissipated, replaced by the interest of someone discovering a novel toy.
"In your world, what else is there that I cannot see?"
"Many things," Luna pointed to the dark sky outside the window. "For example, the Crumple-Horned Snorkackdancing in the clouds, and Thestrals counting stars while hiding in the Forbidden Forest. People say they don't exist because they only want to see things that have already been woven."
She turned her head and looked at Julian seriously. "Mr. Rosier, the things you weave are very beautiful, but don't forget to leave a few gaps. Otherwise, the wind from outside won't be able to blow in, and you'll suffocate."
Looking at this girl, Julian felt a strange sensation he had never experienced before.
To Hermione, he was a god; to The Greengrass Sisters, he was a master; to Snape, he was a highly threatening ally.
But to Luna, he seemed to be just a 'lonely child working hard to weave a carpet.'
This displacement of perspective felt fresh to him.
"I will remember your suggestion, Luna." Julian stood up and elegantly straightened his school robes.
He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was about time.
"In exchange, I can tell you a secret." He leaned down and whispered into Luna's ear, "That rat, it isn't a Wrackspurt. It's a rotting dead man, carrying a foul stench. If you see it, remember to stay far away."
Luna's eyes lit up, and she nodded.
"No wonder I always feel like there's a smell of moldy pudding over by Gryffindor Tower. Thank you, Mr. Rosier. You're actually a good person, aren't you? Even though the wrinkles around you are really prickly."
Julian did not answer.
A good person? To him, the term was even more illusory than a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
Carrying his shadow, he walked silently out of the Library.
In the corridor, moonlight spilled onto the stone tiles, casting long, distorted shadows.
"A name..." Julian looked at the black mist at his feet, his fingertips twitching slightly. "From today on, you shall be called 'Umbra'."
A submissive low moan came from the shadow.
With the bestowing of the name, the Dementor's underlying code underwent a violent reorganization.
It was no longer just a forcibly twisted monster, but an existence truly defined by Julian, belonging to him.
This sense of control gave Julian a shiver of excitement.
He realized that a casual remark from Luna had actually helped him break through a bottleneck in Reality Weaving.
"Luna Lovegood..." Julian repeated the name in his mind.
This girl might be the most unexpected variable in this grand game of his.
He returned to the common room and saw Daphne still waiting for him under the lamp.
"Julian, where did you go? It's so late..." Daphne came forward, her eyes filled with concern.
"I went to the Library," Julian answered simply as he walked straight back to his dormitory.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
The snow in Hogsmeade should be starting to fall soon.
And he was already prepared to welcome that blizzard named 'Truth.'
He lay on the bed and closed his eyes.
Luna's silver eyes kept replaying in his mind.
Reality is wrinkled, and he is the one who mends the wrinkles, or... creates more of them.
Saturday.
The morning in Hogsmeade was covered in a layer of frost and snow, and the distant Shrieking Shack looked even more dilapidated against the gloomy background.
Julian wore a perfectly tailored deep black cashmere coat, with his silver and green Slytherin scarf draped loosely over his shoulders. He held Astoria's hand in his left, while his right arm was affectionately held by Daphne.
The air was thick with the cloying scent of sweets coming from Honeydukes.
"Julian, look at that! Is that the latest anti-jinx hat?" Astoria was like a reborn sparrow, chirping and pointing at the window of Zonko's Joke Shop.
Her face, now healed, showed a healthy flush, and the fanatical adoration in her eyes almost overflowed in the sunlight.
Daphne appeared much more composed, her gaze always lingering on Julian's profile, her fingers gently stroking his arm through the fabric.
"Just some little toys to make people laugh, Lia." Julian's voice was low and magnetic. He turned his head slightly and gave Astoria a light kiss on the forehead.
They finally stopped in front of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
The decor here was, as always, filled with lace, pink ribbons, and flying golden cupids; the air was so thick it made breathing difficult.
Julian chose a secluded spot by the window and ordered a pot of Earl Grey tea and several plates of exquisite pastries.
"Wait for me here, Daphne. Take care of your sister." Julian set down his teacup, a flash of dark purple light flickering in his eyes.
"I need to go handle some things."
"But..." Daphne instinctively started to stand up, but her body suddenly froze the moment she met Julian's eyes.
In that instant, she felt as if the surrounding space had distorted. The noisy chatter in the tea shop and the fluttering of the cupids' wings all vanished.
"Reality Weaving: Cognitive Anchoring."
Julian gave a light snap of his fingers.
In the perception of The Greengrass Sisters, Julian was still sitting elegantly across from them drinking tea, even smiling in response to their conversation.
But in the dimension of reality, Julian's figure had already turned into a hollow resonance, vanishing into the shadows of the tea shop.
Chapter 173: Chaos
Navigating through the snow-covered narrow alleyways, Julian evaded all patrolling Dementors and arrived at the formidable Shrieking Shack.
The rotting floorboards creaked with a teeth-gritting sound in the wind, the air thick with dust, mold, and a beastly, pungent odor.
Julian pushed open the half-ajar door, his leather boots stepping on the shattered remains of furniture with dull thuds.
"Come out, Padfoot," Julian spoke coldly, his shadow stretching eerily long on the wall as the 'Phantom' moved through the darkness.
A sound of heavy, ragged breathing came from the shadows, followed by.
"Rosier... you're more punctual than I imagined," Black's voice suddenly rang out. "That traitor... where is Peter?"
"He's in the Gryffindor tower right now," Julian said, pulling the marauders map from his robes and tapping his fingertip lightly on the small Black dot representing 'Peter Pettigrew'.
"He's clever, knowing the safest place is beside the chosen one. But unfortunately, he underestimated a cat's curiosity."
Julian walked to the window, pointing towards the faintly visible streets of Hogsmeade in the distance.
"Later, you'll need to appear in your Animagus form near the Three Broomsticks."
"Are you mad? That place is crawling with Aurors and Dementors!" Black growled, his body trembling slightly with anger.
"I'm not mad, Black," Julian turned around, a look of playful control in his eyes.
"I'll help you from the shadows, guide the Dementors to create a small-scale riot. The scene will become extremely chaotic.
When everyone's attention is on you, the most wanted fugitive, Peter will try to flee out of sheer terror. And by then, I'll have a trap ready on his escape route."
Julian stepped closer to Black.
"I want you to force that rat to reveal his true form in front of everyone. Not a private execution in some dark corner, but before Dumbledore, before Fudge, before all the Wizards of England, make him spit out the truth of that night."
Black's breathing grew ragged. He looked at Julian as if seeing a monster more terrifying than Lord Voldemort.
"Why are you doing this? I know... the House of Rosiernever makes a deal without profit."
"Profit?" Julian let out a light laugh, his fingers brushing over Black's filthy robes.
"Indeed. When people discover the hero they've believed in for a decade is actually a coward, and the demon they've hunted for a decade is a tragedy... the cracks formed by that shattered faith are precisely the opportunity for our Rosier Family to grow powerful."
Julian extended his hand, fingers curling loosely, faint dark purple lightning flickering in his palm.
"Peter's life is already on a countdown. Black, don't disappoint me. Otherwise... I'll make you understand that death is actually a mercy."
Black remained silent for a long time, eventually transforming back into the Black dog and leaving wordlessly.
Julian left the Shrieking Shack and returned to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
As he withdrew his Cognitive Anchor, Daphne was smiling, adding a sugar cube to his teacup.
"Julian, what were you just thinking about? Astoria was asking if you'd like to visit Greengrass Manor for Christmas," Daphne asked gently.
"Of course," Julian picked up his teacup, taking a small sip, his gaze profound as he looked out the window.
"But before that, we have a performance to enjoy."
At that moment, the sky outside the window darkened completely, a suffocating chill instantly sweeping through all of Hogsmeade.
The Phantom had begun to act.
Screams and the sound of shattering came from the end of the street. Chaos, as scheduled, had arrived.
"What's that?!" Astoria cried out in terror, grabbing Julian's sleeve. Hordes of Dementors were swooping down from the sky, the once bustling street instantly turning into a frozen hell.
"Don't be afraid, Lia," Julian naturally pulled the young girl into his embrace, his palm resting against the warmth of her back.
He looked at Daphne, his eyes signaling her to have her wand ready.
Julian led the two sisters out of the tea shop, moving against the tide of panicked, fleeing people, heading towards the eye of the storm.
At the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, a massive Black dog was barking furiously in the direction of the Gryffindor students.
Amid Ron's terrified cry, a grey rat was desperately scrambling out of his pocket, fleeing for its life towards Knockturn Alley.
"Causal Convergence."
Julian silently recited in his mind.
The ground beneath the rat instantly became sticky like a swamp, making every inch of progress excruciatingly difficult.
And behind it, Black's hate-filled claws were already within reach.
"No! Scabbers!" Ron tried to rush forward but was held back tightly by Harry.
Harry stared at the Black dog. For some reason, he didn't feel the expected murderous intent. Instead, from between those canine teeth, he read a pain suppressed for twelve years.
Julian stood on high ground, looking down upon it all.
Within his shadow, the Phantom was leading a group of Dementors, greedily absorbing the fear and despair radiating from the surroundings.
"The performance begins."
Julian whispered softly, his fingers giving a sharp tug in the empty air.
A crisp cracking sound came from the air, as if some invisible barrier had been forcibly torn apart.
Amid the rat's desperate shriek, a blinding white light exploded within the narrow alley.
As the light faded, the rat was gone. In its place stood a short, wretched-looking man, reeking of foul odor.
He cowered in the snow, his severed finger trembling as he pointed at Black, a grating plea escaping his throat.
"No... don't kill me... Sirius..."
On both sides of the street, Wizards who had been hiding indoors peered through cracks in their windows. Aurors, led by Fudge, closed in from all directions.
Minister Fudge's face looked absurdly comical in the cold wind, his eyes wide as he stared at the hero returned from the dead.
"Peter... Pettigrew?!!"
The streets of Hogsmeade seemed to hit a mute button at that moment.
Peter Pettigrew's wretched, filthy, terror-stricken face appeared especially glaring against the backdrop of the snow.
His rat-like, restless eyes frantically scanned the crowd, finally fixing on Minister Fudge's plump face, which was etched with disbelief.
"Peter... Pettigrew?" Ron's voice rose to a shrill pitch. He stared fixedly at the man who had transformed from his pet, his stomach churning.
The Scabbers he had raised for twelve years was actually a man who had supposedly died on the heroes' memorial.
And most importantly, an ugly man at that. Which meant all those times he bathed, slept...