Chapter 146: Dementor Invasion
White frost rapidly crawled across the windowpane, emitting faint cracking sounds.
Astoria instinctively burrowed into Julian's embrace, her body trembling.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Julian did not answer.
He could feel the happiness in the air being siphoned away by an invisible force.
Those warm memories of childhood, the thrill of power—all were rapidly fading, replaced by a bottomless despair.
A heavy, dragging, scraping sound came from the corridor.
Like a wet, rotten cloth being dragged across the floor.
"Shh, be quiet."
Professor Lupin stood up, a faint red light glowing at the tip of his wand.
His face, illuminated by the red glow, looked exceptionally grim, even carrying a trace of fear.
The compartment door was slowly pushed open by a hand.
It was a grayish-white, spot-covered hand, looking like a waterlogged corpse.
It extended from beneath a tattered black cloak, its fingertips scraping the doorframe, leaving a trail of rot.
A tall, hooded figure floated in the doorway.
It had no eyes, only that foul, dark, gaping mouth, facing the occupants of the compartment, emitting a long, bone-chilling, wailing sound.
Dementor.
Guardian of Azkaban.
It was sucking up every last remnant of warmth and hope from the air.
The air pressure in the compartment plummeted. Daphnelet out a suppressed scream, pressing herself tightly against Julian.
Lupin raised his wand, his hand trembling slightly.
And Julian, he sat in the darkness, his eyes fixed intently on that terrifying figure.
Deep within him, a violent, icy magic was awakening.
This feeling of having joy stripped away...
filled him with unprecedented fury.
Darkness, like thick ink, rapidly devoured every bit of light inside the carriage.
Frost climbed frantically across the glass, emitting a piercing, grating sound, as if countless invisible hands were clawing at the fragile barrier.
The oxygen in the air seemed frozen. Each breath felt like swallowing icy blades, sending sharp pains through the lungs.
Astoria's petite body trembled violently. Her heterochromatic, slit-pupiled eyes narrowed into thin lines in the darkness—a fear born from the depths of her soul.
Julian reached out, his broad palm resting steadily on her shoulder. The warm magic flowing from his palm was like a trickling stream, barely holding back the joy-sapping, deathly stillness from outside.
"Don't be afraid. It's merely the shadow of death."
Julian's voice was low and calm, strikingly out of place in this atmosphere of despair, carrying a terrifying sense of control.
Daphne bit her lower lip tightly. Her face, illuminated by the faint red light, was as pale as paper. Her slender fingers gripped the edge of the seat with white-knuckled force.
Although both girls had seen Dementors during the summer, those were half-crippled, tormented specimens.
The one before them now was a fully-formed Dementor, its power not to be underestimated.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Professor Lupin finally moved. His voice was hoarse and betrayed unmistakable weakness, but a cloud of silvery mist still gushed from the tip of his wand.
The mist was unstable, like a flickering lamp in a storm, barely forcing the Dementor back half a step.
At that moment, a piercing cry of alarm suddenly came from the far end of the corridor.
"Harry!"
It was Ron's voice, cracking with a near-desperate tone.
"Damn it, what is the Ministry of Magic doing!!!"
Lupin's expression changed instantly. A look of extreme worry flashed in his gray eyes. He even stumbled out of the compartment, not bothering to fully dispel the monster before him.
"Stay here! Don't open the door!"
Lupin's parting instruction was swallowed by the deeper darkness in the corridor.
Julian watched Lupin's disappearing back coldly, unable to help but shake his head.
A Professor who could barely maintain the Patronus Charm still insisted on protecting that so-called chosen one.
Julian remained seated, his fingers gently stroking the Rosier Family crest Ring.
He could feel Astoria's petite form pressed tightly against him in extreme fear.
He could also sense Daphne's tension—maintaining an elegant facade, yet her fingertips trembled slightly.
"Let's go. We should take a look as well."
Julian's voice was calm, devoid of any agitation, yet in this despair-filled environment, it acted like a shot of adrenaline, instantly steadying the two sisters' wavering spirits.
He stood up, leading the Greengrass sisters.
The corridor was pitch black, save for the faint light refracted by the frost.
As Julian led Daphne and Astoria through the crowded, trembling students, they saw a suffocating scene.
Outside the compartment where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were, seven tall Dementors floated, their rotten mouths beneath their cloaks emitting greedy, sucking sounds.
Professor Lupin stood blocking the doorway. Silvery mist gushed from his wand tip, but under the assault of multiple Dementors, it seemed precarious, on the verge of collapsing.
Chapter 147: The Patronus Charm +4
"Expecto Patronum!"
Lupin growled, but his face was as pale as paper. Clearly, the Dementors had awakened his most painful memories, making it difficult for him to maintain the high-intensity Patronus Charm.
Inside the compartment, Harry had already collapsed onto his seat, his eyes rolled back, his body convulsing violently, clearly teetering on the brink of having his soul sucked out.
Hermione held up her wand, tears welling in her eyes, her voice trembling almost beyond recognition: "Expecto... Expecto Patronum..."
Although she had practiced with Julian over the summer, in the face of this genuine threat of death, that rational knowledge was rapidly crumbling.
"Hermione."
Julian's voice wasn't loud, yet it pierced through the Dementors' shrieks with precision, landing in the young girl's ears.
He walked to the compartment doorway, just in time to block Lupin's faltering silver barrier.
Hermione's head snapped up. The moment she saw Julian, a flash of near-fanatic redemption flickered in her brown eyes.
"Look at me. Feel your happiness."
Julian reached out, grasping at the air as if manipulating invisible threads.
The silver pendant at Hermione's neck instantly grew scalding hot. A warm, domineering surge of magic rushed from her collarbone into every limb and bone.
It was Julian's aura—the extreme memory of him utterly possessing, destroying, and then rebuilding her in the Room of Requirement.
"You are my pet. Without my permission, even Death cannot touch you."
Julian's tone carried an ultimate allure, causing the magic within Hermione to instantly boil over.
That thrill of being dominated, that extreme pleasure, transformed into the strongest shield against despair.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Hermione let out a sharp, delicate cry. From the tip of her wand surged not weak smoke, but a torrential flood of silver light.
At the same time, Daphne and Astoria stepped to Julian's left and right.
Daphne straightened her posture, her mind filled with the memory of Julian kissing her fingertip and making his vow at the manor.
Astoria closed her eyes, her heterochromatic vertical pupils rapidly spinning beneath her eyelids. She focused on the shiver of new life she felt when Julian helped her purge the Blood Curse.
"Expecto Patronum!"
"Expecto Patronum!"
Two streams of cool, resolute silver light joined the torrent, instantly illuminating the entire corridor as bright as day.
Just then, a tall figure rushed out from a compartment on the other side—Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclawprefect.
She adjusted her glasses, her gaze lingering on Julian for a second before she raised her wand and joined this feast of light.
"Expecto Patronum!"
With the addition of four powerful Patronus Charms, the silver light interwove in the narrow corridor, forming an impregnable wall that slammed the greedy Dementors hard against the carriage walls.
The Dementors let out piercing, putrid screams, appearing so insignificant before that pure, life-filled, desire-infused radiance.
The darkness that had enveloped the train was torn to shreds. The frost rapidly melted into puddles of murky water.
Julian stood amidst the four girls. He hadn't even drawn his wand, merely standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his deep eyes reflecting the overwhelming silver brilliance.
He looked towards the end of the corridor, where several Aurors in Ministry of Magic uniforms stood. They were scrambling to control the situation, but under the glow from Julian's side, they appeared exceptionally ridiculous and incompetent.
"Is this the efficiency of the Ministry of Magic?"
Julian let out a cold laugh, his voice echoing in the silent carriage. "Letting these filthy non-beings disturb the students of Hogwarts."
"I believe the Board of Governors and the Wizengamotwill require a reasonable explanation."
The faces of those Aurors instantly turned even uglier than the Dementors'. Their eyes involuntarily flicked to the family crest on Julian's chest. They retreated, cowering, not daring to meet Julian's gaze.
Professor Lupin leaned against the doorframe, gasping for breath. The look he gave Julian was filled with unprecedented shock.
He had seen countless geniuses; even the legendary Marauders of his youth were among the best. But he had never seen anyone, at this age,
merely through words and some hidden connection, enable four girls of different years and temperaments to cast such flawless Patronus Charms.
Has the era truly changed? Or have I simply grown old?
"Mr. Rosier..."
Lupin's voice was hoarse. He tried to say something, but was casually interrupted by Julian.
"Professor, rather than marveling at our self-preservation skills, perhaps you should first check on your chosen one."
Julian tilted his chin slightly, gesturing towards Harryinside the compartment, who was just coming to, his face deathly pale.
"After all, while chocolate can relieve low blood sugar, it cannot cure a weak soul."
With that, Julian turned. His hand naturally brushed against Hermione's cheek, which was slightly flushed from magical exhaustion.
Hermione, like a docile cat, instinctively nuzzled into his palm, her eyes hazy with a desire for reward.
"Well done, my girls."
Julian's low voice sounded by their ears, carrying a magnetic quality that induced surrender.
Daphne lifted her chin proudly, basking in the awe-filled glances from the surrounding students.
Astoria clutched tightly at Julian's sleeve, her heterochromatic pupils filled with adoration.
Penelope adjusted her collar with a touch of reserve, but in her eyes, curiosity and inquiry had completely transformed into a deeper, more profound desire.
At this moment, everyone on the hogwarts expressremembered this scene.
When darkness descended, it was Slytherin's Rosier, leading his followers, who personally tore despair asunder.
And the so-called chosen one, Harry Potter, could only lie unconscious, awaiting charity.
The train started moving again, the lights returning to their dim yellow glow. But tales of Julian's prestige continued to spread.
Julian led the group back to their compartment. Passing Lupin, he paused briefly, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Professor, remember to give my regards to Dumbledore. Tell him the students of Hogwarts are far more resilient than he imagines."
Back in the compartment, Astoria was still somewhat shaken. Her petite frame was almost entirely curled into Julian's embrace.
"Brother Julian... those things were really terrifying."
She murmured in a soft, delicate voice, her heterochromatic pupils misting over, looking utterly pitiful.
Julian naturally wrapped an arm around her waist, his tone carrying an undeniable note of indulgence.
"With me here, they won't even touch your shadow."
Daphne sat to the side, elegantly crossing her legs. Although she also craved Julian's comfort, as the eldest daughter of the Greengrass Family, she savored the current sense of superiority as the 'partner of the strong.'
"Those fools at the Ministry of Magic actually dared to let those monsters on board."
Daphne snorted coldly, a flash of severity in her eyes. "I'll write to Father tonight. A joint protest from Rosier and Greengrass will be enough to give Fudge a real headache."
Julian didn't respond. His gaze passed through the window, looking towards the distant towers of Hogwarts Castle, now faintly visible.
There, more shadows lurked. And he had already prepared the most splendid hunting ground.
Chapter 148: Arrival at the Station
The platform of Hogsmeade Station was shrouded in heavy fog, the scarlet train panting in the darkness.
Oil lamps swayed in the wind, their dim, flickering light dancing on the muddy ground, illuminating the shaken faces.
The air still carried the lingering, putrid scent left by the Dementors—a nauseating, sweetly metallic stench like ancient burial cloths soaked in water, refusing to dissipate.
Julian stepped off the footboard first, opening the black parasol. He tilted its canopy, enveloping Daphne and Astoria, who followed closely behind, in a dry shadow.
Daphne's slender fingers were tightly knotted together. Though she struggled to maintain the composure befitting the eldest daughter of the Greengrass Family, her slightly trembling breath betrayed the lingering fear in her heart.
Astoria had almost half her body tucked into Julian's coat. Her heterochromatic eyes flickered with unease in the darkness, like a frightened small animal, greedily inhaling the scent of sandalwood and cold magic that clung to Julian.
"Rosier, you were really amazing just now."
From the other side of the corridor, Penelope Clearwaterquickly caught up. Her Ravenclaw prefect robes flapped loudly in the wind.
This usually calm and rational senior's cheeks were flushed with an unnatural redness, her gaze toward Julianbrimming with an almost fanatical curiosity.
Hermione walked silently a step behind and to Julian's side, her head bowed, her bushy hair covering most of her face. Only the pendant at her neck occasionally refracted a cold gleam in the gloom.
She moved like a most loyal shadow, following step-by-step within the territory Julian had defined.
"Look, who's that? The famous chosen one, actually fainted on the train?"
A sharp, caustic voice, tinged with a noticeable tremor, cut through the curtain of rain.
Malfoy stood beside a lamppost not far away. His face was paler than usual, even taking on a sickly, greenish hue.
Though he tried desperately to project his usual arrogance, his hands—white-knuckled as they gripped his walking stick—and his eyes, which kept darting to scan the surrounding shadows, betrayed the panic that had him cowering under his seat in the carriage.
Crabbe and Goyle stood guard behind him like two iron towers, but these two fools were also chattering their teeth, producing a 'clattering' sound.
Harry descended from the train supported by Ron and Lupin. His glasses were askew, and emerald green eyes still held traces of undispersed terror.
"Potter, do you need a Pepper-Up Potion? Or did those big cloaks scare the pants off you?"
Malfoy let out a short, unpleasant laugh. He desperately needed to humiliate Harry to cover up his own earlier helplessness.
Students around them turned to look. Some Gryffindors wore expressions of anger, but most simply lowered their heads in silence. The shadow cast by the Dementors still weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.
Julian stopped walking.
He did not look at Harry, nor at the watching teachers and students.
His gaze slowly shifted, finally settling on Malfoy's face, which was slightly contorted with excitement.
For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.
Malfoy's laughter cut off abruptly, as if an invisible hand had suddenly seized his throat.
He felt a nearly tangible pressure surge toward him from Julian's direction like a tidal wave.
Julian did not speak.
He simply stood there quietly, the tip of his parasol resting in the muddy ground.
His gaze was profound and icy. Deep within his pupils, it seemed a dark flame flickered—a scrutiny that pierced to the very soul.
Malfoy instinctively took a step back. His leather shoe sank into a mud puddle, splattering filth on his clothes, but he didn't even dare to look down.
He felt his heart pounding wildly. Each beat against his ribcage brought a wave of dizziness. Cold sweat slid down his spine, sticking his shirt to his back.
Under Julian's gaze, he felt he had become a transparent specimen, all his fear, pettiness, and laughable pride completely stripped away.
It was the gaze of death.
"Draco."
Julian finally spoke. His voice was as gentle as a breeze brushing over a tombstone, yet it made Malfoy shudder.
"Didn't your father, Lucius, teach you to keep silent in the face of fear?"
Malfoy opened his mouth. His teeth chattered violently, but he couldn't produce a single coherent syllable.
Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle even instinctively unclenched their fists, hunching their shoulders as if trying to hide their bulky frames behind Malfoy.
Julian began walking again, leading his coven of witches past Malfoy.
Droplets of water dripped from the edge of the parasol, splashing onto Malfoy's face, but he remained frozen in place, unable to move.
As Julian passed by, Malfoy felt a cold aura brush past his shoulder—a sense of oppression that made him feel even more despairing than the Dementors had.
"Let's go. We shouldn't keep the carriages waiting."
Julian said to the girls beside him, his tone flat.
Daphne cast a contemptuous sidelong glance at Malfoy, raising her chin haughtily like a queen surveying her domain.
Astoria stuck her tongue out at Malfoy, her eyes full of mockery.
Penelope and Hermione followed closely behind. Four girls, each captivating in her own way within the school, clustered around the young man, forming an awe-inspiring sightline through the rain.
The students on the platform spontaneously cleared a path, their gazes filled with reverence and fervor.
They had witnessed with their own eyes how the hero who had torn through the darkness on the train had utterly shattered the arrogant Malfoy with a single look.
Professor Lupin stood beside Harry, watching Julian's retreating back. A flicker of deep concern passed through his eyes.
He could sense that the power emanating from that young man had already far exceeded that of a student.
Meanwhile, by the carriages leading to the Castle.
The skeletal, winged Thestrals snorted restlessly in the rain.
Julian closed the parasol and politely helped Daphneboard the carriage.
As he took the final step onto the footboard, he turned his head to look toward the forest shrouded in dense fog.
There, the Dementors drifted among the treetops like ghosts.
A faint smile touched the corner of Julian's mouth.
This term had only just begun.
Chapter 149: The Start of the School Year
The carriage jolted along the muddy mountain road, and a strange atmosphere, a mix of girls' perfume and the dampness of rain, filled the compartment.
Because Astoria was only in her first year this year, she wasn't with Julian and the others.
Daphne sat to Julian's left, her long legs elegantly crossed, the tips of her feet gently wiggling beneath her silk skirt.
"Julian, you really shouldn't have bothered with that idiot Malfoy just now."
She reached out, her fingertips tracing the silver crest on Julian's coat, her tone laced with a hint of petulance she only showed in front of him.
"He just squawks like a startled peacock; he's not worth your time."
Julian took her hand, feeling its delicate, porcelain-like touch.
"Sometimes, a moderate trim makes weeds grow more orderly."
Hermione and Penelope sat opposite them.
Hermione remained silent, clutching her school bag tightly, her gaze fixed out the window, but the corner of her eye was always on Julian.
Whenever their eyes met, her breathing would quicken slightly, and the pendant around her neck would emit a faint warmth.
Penelope, on the other hand, was much more open. She pushed up her glasses, her gaze sweeping over Julian and the girls beside him, a meaningful smile playing on her lips.
"Julian, I think this semester, the Ravenclaw common room will be full of discussions about you."
She lowered her voice, leaning forward slightly, revealing a startling expanse of white skin at her collar.
"After all, it's rare in Hogwarts history to have four witches around who can cast the Patronus Charm."
Julian smiled faintly, not directly responding.
The carriage passed through the majestic stone archway of the school gate, where winged boar statues on either side looked particularly menacing in the rain.
The Castle towers loomed faintly in the dark clouds, and the faint lights from thousands of windows seemed to welcome the true heir's return.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, students of all grades were already seated.
Julian led the group into the Great Hall, and at that moment, the previously noisy hall fell into a brief silence.
Countless gazes converged on them.
The pureblood noble children by the Slytherin long table stood up one after another, bowing slightly to Julian.
The Gryffindor students, however, wore complex expressions, a mix of gratitude for being saved on the train earlier and fear of Julian's overwhelming aura.
Julian calmly walked to the central position of the Slytherin seats, with Daphne sitting beside him.
Hermione and Penelope walked to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw long tables respectively, but before sitting down, they both subconsciously cast a final glance at Julian.
At the faculty table, Headmaster Dumbledore's gaze, through his half-moon spectacles, continuously scrutinized Julian.
His sky-blue eyes no longer held their usual benevolence, replaced instead by scrutiny and gravity.
Professor Snape sat in the shadows, his sallow face still expressionless, but when he saw Julian take his seat, his fingers on the table tapped lightly.
"You did very well, Rosier."
Snape murmured in a voice only he could hear.
He knew that this semester, the landscape of Hogwartswould be redefined by this young man.
The feast began, golden plates piled high with sumptuous food, but Julian didn't have much of an appetite.
He was using Legilimency to capture the subtle emotional fluctuations throughout the Great Hall.
Fear, worship, jealousy, greed...
These emotions intertwined, forming a grand tableau of sentient beings, and he was the one wielding the brush for this painting.
The Sorting Ceremony quickly concluded, and Astoria, as expected, was sorted into Slytherin.
"Julian, try this, it's freshly baked Yorkshire Pudding."
Daphne carefully cut a piece of pudding and brought it to Julian's lips with a fork.
Julian opened his mouth to take it, but his gaze was fixed on Dumbledore, who was speaking on the stage.
"Due to Sirius Black's escape, the Ministry of Magic has decided to dispatch Dementors to guard every entrance to the school..."
Dumbledore's voice echoed through the Great Hall, causing a stir of unease.
"But I must remind everyone that Dementors do not distinguish between friend and foe; they will not be swayed by excuses or lies..."
Julian let out a barely perceptible sneer.
Lies?
In this world, the most powerful force has never been truth, but will packaged as truth.
The feast soon ended.
As students gradually left, the occasional clinking of cutlery in the dining hall echoed through the empty stone walls.
Julian meticulously folded his napkin, his gaze sweeping over the few older Slytherins still whispering at the end of the long table, their awe almost overflowing.
At the faculty table, Snape's deep, emotionless eyes, like obsidian, precisely caught Julian's glance.
It was a subtle nod, and then, the black robes, like a shadow sweeping across a desolate plain, vanished into the shadows of the side door.
Julian stood up, his hand resting reassuringly on Daphne's shoulder as she was about to follow, the touch of his fingertips cool from the silk and warm with her youthful heat.
"Go back to the dormitory first, Daphne. Astoria needs your help with her luggage."
His voice was low and magnetic, carrying an undeniable authority. Although a hint of inquiry flashed in Daphne's eyes, she obediently lowered them and, linking arms with an equally reluctant Astoria, headed towards the dungeons.
Julian walked alone through the corridor, the sound of his boots striking the flagstones echoing chillingly in the silence.
The air in the dungeons was always imbued with a bitter scent, a mix of damp moisture and aged potions.
Torches on the walls flickered violently in the draft, casting grotesque and elongated shadows, as if countless ghosts were peering from between the stones.
Professor Snape's office door silently slid open a crack before Julian arrived, revealing a faint, dark green light with the pungent scent of herbs.
Julian stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The heavy bolt dropped, making a crisp metallic click, completely isolating them from outside prying eyes.
Inside the room, Snape stood with his back to the door, facing a large cauldron, a silver stirring rod tracing viscous arcs in the dark green liquid.
"Rosier, your heroic performance on the train has been chewed over by Dumbledore at the dinner table no less than three times."
Snape's voice was like sandpaper on dry parchment, carrying a viscous sarcasm, but he didn't turn around, all his attention focused on the bubbling liquid in the cauldron.
"In such desperate times, people always need a little light, even if that light comes from the abyss they usually fear."
Julian walked to the desk, elegantly sitting in the black leather-backed chair, his hands clasped on his knees, his posture as relaxed as if he were in his own study.
"Especially when the Ministry of Magic's watchdogs can only run away with their tails between their legs."
Chapter 150: Snape's Disgust
Snape finally stopped his movements. He turned around, his sallow face resembling an exquisite plaster mask under the dim green light, with only his eyes gleaming with a near-pathological coldness.
"Don't perform for me, Julian. Every piece of information you gave me this summer felt like a curse upon my sleep."
He walked to the desk, placed his hands on the surface, leaned forward, and the scent of wormwood mixed with snake venom washed over them.
"Remus Lupin... that fellow reeking of poverty and wolf-stench, now brazenly sitting at the High Table."
The corner of his mouth twitched, revealing an arc of utter revulsion.
"And Dumbledore actually demands I brew that expensive and complex Wolfsbane Potion for him, just so he can stay lucid like a tame little dog during the full moon?"
"Because a lucid Lupin is more useful than a frenzied Werewolf, Professor."
Julian met those hate-filled eyes directly, his tone steady and devoid of any fluctuation.
"You must remember, our common enemy has never been that beast howling in the Forbidden Forest, but the coward who stole the only light in your life from the shadows."
Upon hearing this, Snape's breath hitched sharply. His fingers, pressed against the desktop, turned white from excessive force, his nails digging deep into the wood.
That long-sealed pain and guilt regarding Lily Evans deep within his eyes was instantly ignited, transforming into the most fervent murderous intent towards Peter Pettigrew.
"Peter... Pettigrew."
Snape ground out the name through clenched teeth, each syllable sounding like flesh and blood being ground between his molars, "That scum who should have been blown to pieces twelve years ago, now spent twelve years as a pet in the Weasley family's pocket?"
"He's clever, knowing the most dangerous place is the safest."
Julian took out a stack of parchment from his robe and gently pushed it towards Snape. It was the records he had collected over the summer through various channels regarding 'Scabbers'.
"But I have confirmed it. The missing toe on that rat perfectly matches the sole item left at the scene of Black's murder all those years ago."
Snape extended his thin, powerful, and calloused hands, grabbed the stack of documents, and rapidly scanned them by candlelight. A complex emotion flickered in his eyes—a twisted mixture of longing for the truth and disgust for Black.
"So, what do you want me to do? Charge into the Gryffindor common room and drag that filthy beast out to be brewed into poison?"
"That's too crude, and unbefitting of your station, Severus."
Julian stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the unfathomably deep waters of the Black Lake, the broken lights of the Castle reflected on its surface.
"Although Dumbledore doesn't believe Black is the murderer either, he still cooperated with the Ministry of Magic, agreeing to their deployment of Dementors. If we reveal the truth directly now, it would only cause unnecessary turmoil."
He turned his head, a playful curve appearing at the corner of his mouth, "We need to let Black seek revenge himself. We need him to catch the real traitor with his own hands, in front of the entire school."
"And you, Professor, will be the hero who 'uncovers' the truth at the critical moment and personally captures the true murderer of Lily."
Snape let out a cold snort, but a trace of an indescribable acknowledgment appeared in his gaze towards Julian.
"Hero? Rosier, your choice of words truly sickens me."
But he still carefully stored away the documents, "But I must admit, compared to that arrogant fool Black, I would much rather see Pettigrew die in agony and despair."
"Professor, actually, about the Wolfsbane Potion..."
Julian walked back to the desk, lightly tapping the surface with his finger, "You could add something'special' to the potion. It doesn't need to be fatal, just enough to make him a bit... sluggish when necessary."
Snape raised an eyebrow, a flash of sinister understanding in his eyes.
"That's not difficult for me. I'll ensure that while he remains lucid during the full moon, he won't be able to stop anything from happening."
He sat back in his chair, leaning back, his whole body sinking into the shadows.
"But you must ensure that when that madman Blackappears, he won't turn my Dungeons into a complete mess."
"He's just a wretch tormented by despair for twelve years now, Professor. Without retrieving his wand and his innocence, he understands the need for restraint better than anyone."
Julian walked to the door, placed his hand on the handle, and paused.
"Also, regarding Harry, his performance on the train was indeed disappointing. I suggest you temporarily set aside that pointless antagonism. A broken Chosen One is of no benefit to our plans."
Snape didn't answer, only emitting a low, disdainful snort of laughter.
Julian pushed the door open and stepped back into the cold passageway.
By now, Hogwarts had completely fallen into slumber, with only the faint snores of the portraits on the walls.
Julian didn't head directly back to the Slytherin dormitory, but turned towards the long corridor leading to the Trophy Room.
He could feel the Basilisk fang in his robe faintly warming, a sign of its craving for a certain powerful soul energy.
In this ancient Castle full of secrets, every stone whispered, every gust of wind carried omens of the future.
He stopped before a large full-length mirror. The youth reflected within had delicate yet severe features, his Blackschool robes seeming to blend with the surrounding shadows.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
He softly repeated the phrase to his reflection, a profound purple glint flashing in his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Snape, Pettigrew...
These fragmented souls entangled by fate for over a decade would finally play out the final act of tragedy on his chessboard.
And he would stand atop the highest tower, overlooking this magnificent feast of betrayal and revenge, woven by his own hands.
At the entrance to the Dungeons, the stone wall slowly closed with a dull, heavy thud.
Julian entered the Slytherin Common Room. The green fire in the fireplace was burning dimly, emitting crackling sounds.
Daphne was sitting in a winged armchair by the window, a thick woolen blanket over her lap, holding a copy of 'powerful potions', though she clearly hadn't read a single word.
Hearing the movement, she abruptly looked up. Her ice-blue eyes shone with dazzling brilliance the moment they saw Julian.
"You're back."
She stood up, barefoot on the thick carpet, like a snow lotus blooming at the polar extremes, carrying a kind of heart-wrenching fragility.
Julian walked over, naturally wrapping an arm around her slender waist and drawing her into his embrace.
"I said you didn't need to wait for me."
He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, but his gaze drifted towards the direction of the dormitories.
There, an even smaller figure was waiting for his return.
The night was still long...
Chapter 151: Black
The green flames in the Common Room gradually dimmed, their flickering light reflected in Daphne's slightly dazed eyes, like a layer of fragile, thin ice.
Julian gently stroked the delicate nape of her neck, his fingertips tracing the elegant curve of her cervical spine.
"Get some rest, Daphne."
Daphne obediently stood up, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. Her gaze followed Julian's retreating figure as he walked towards the inner Dormitory, until the heavy oak door completely severed her line of sight.
Julian returned to his room but did not remove his heavy school robes.
He stood before the massive Floor-to-Ceiling Window, watching the occasional enormous shadows glide through the depths of the Black Lake. With a twist of his wrist, a Cane, pitch-Black throughout and topped with a Serpent-Eye Ruby, appeared in his palm.
He did not use the Disillusionment Charm. Instead, he employed Spatial Folding Magic.
The air wrinkled like crumpled silk. Julian's figure distorted on the spot before vanishing into thin air.
When he reappeared, he was already standing in the shadows of the Castle's outer Ramparts.
Hogwarts at midnight was locked in a thick, viscous fog. In the distance, Dementors circled silently under the pitch-Black sky like a flock of hungry vultures.
Cold Rain mixed with Sleet slapped against Julian's face. Expressionless, he opened his Black Parasol. The soles of his Black boots crushed Dead Branches and Leaves, emitting a dull, crunching sound.
The edge of the Forbidden Forest exuded a primitive, savage silence.
The trees here were twisted and grotesque, their trunks covered in thick moss like countless withered arms reaching up from the earth, trying to seize the ankles of any intruder.
Julian stopped beside a charred, Ancient Oak Tree that had been split in two by lightning.
He took an antique-looking Silver Whistle from his robes but did not blow it. Instead, he tapped it lightly three times with his fingertip.
An extremely subtle vibration, perceptible only to the soul, rippled through the darkness.
Before long, a series of hurried, heavy footsteps approached from deep within the dense thicket.
A massive Black dog, its fur matted and caked with mud, burst forth.
Its eyes, like those of a trapped beast, gleamed with an eerie green light in the dark. A low, guttural growl rumbled in its throat, filled with a near-maddened wariness.
"It's me, Black."
Julian spoke calmly, the tip of his Parasol planted firmly in the soil at his feet, unmoving.
The Black dog halted. It stopped a few paces from Julian, its nose twitching violently as it confirmed the familiar scent.
Then, the dog's bones began to twist with a sickening, grating sound.
The fur receded, the body elongated, and a tall yet gaunt, almost skeletal figure gradually materialized within the mist.
Sirius Black.
Hair like dead grass obscured most of his face. The exposed skin bore an unnatural, ashen-gray hue—the permanent brand left by Azkaban.
"Rosier... You're half an hour late."
Sirius's voice was as hoarse as two rusted sheets of metal grinding together. He coughed violently, his chest producing a sound like a broken bellows.
"Dealing with that suspicious Potions Master, half an hour was the minimum price to pay."
Julian retrieved a specially crafted metal flask from inside his coat and tossed it over.
Sirius caught it deftly, unscrewed the cap, and greedily gulped down a large mouthful.
It was a Tonic laced with a small amount of Sedative and High-Proof Alcohol. The pungent liquid burned down his throat, finally restoring a glimmer of human spirit to his sunken eyes.
"That traitor... that filthy, damned rat. Where is he?"
Sirius lunged forward, his skeletal hands gripping Julian's collar with astonishing force. His fingers dug into Julian's skin even through the fabric.
"He's still with the Weasley family's youngest son, currently nestled in the warmest bed in Gryffindor Tower, enjoying the comfort he stole."
Julian did not push him away, merely enduring the foul stench of mud and wild beast that assaulted him.
"And you, Black, in your current state, would have the last shreds of your soul sucked dry by those Dementors the moment you set foot in the Castle."
Sirius let out a low, trapped-animal growl. He released his grip and slumped against the charred tree trunk, gasping for breath.
"I can't wait any longer... Every time I close my eyes, I see James falling in that corridor, see the despair in Lily's eyes... I must kill him myself!"
"You will kill him, but not now."
Julian closed his Parasol, letting the Cold Rain soak his shoulders. The sensory shock helped him maintain absolute calm.
"I've reached an agreement with Snape. He will use the Wolfsbane Potion to keep Lupin stable, ensuring no one interferes with our Rat Hunt on that Full Moon Night."
Hearing the names Snape and Lupin, Sirius's face twisted with an intensely complex expression.
"Snivellus? You trust that Death Eater? And Remus... He actually believes I'm a murderer!"
"In this world, trust is the cheapest currency, Black."
Julian stepped closer, his deep eyes locking onto Sirius's gaze with an undeniable force of will.
"Snape hates you, but he hates the one truly responsible for Lily's death even more. Give him a chance at personal revenge, and he'll be more fanatical than anyone."
"As for Lupin, he's too weak, too attached to that pitiful shred of friendship. He can be a witness, but never the executioner."
Julian took the Investigative Report on Scabbers from his robes and tossed it at Sirius's feet.
"I will provide you with a Secret Path into the Castle, but you must remain patient."
"I will help you show the entire Ministry of Magic just how wrong they were. And you, Black, will reclaim your name and your wand."
Sirius bent down, picking up the report with trembling hands.
Looking at the blurred photograph of the rat missing a toe, his eyes instantly turned bloodshot. Veins bulged on his forehead like writhing, venomous green snakes.
"Fine... I'll listen to you, Rosier."
He looked up, revealing a cruel, savage smile that held twelve years of hell within it.
"As long as I can make that bastard Pettigrew feel the same fear before he dies, I'll give you my life."
"Your life is worthless to me, Black."
Julian reopened his Parasol and turned his back to the fathomless depths of the Forbidden Forest.
"I want a loyal ally, one who controls the House of Black's legacy and political capital."
"In the coming days, I'll send food and information through Hagrid's Hut. Remember, do not approach Harry. He is still too fragile right now."
Chapter 152: Boggart
Sirius watched Julian's departing back; the boy, who was only thirteen years old, appeared so tall and unshakeable amidst the curtain of rain.
It was as if he were not looking at a student, but at a young deity weaving the grid of the world.
"James... perhaps our son has truly met a remarkable friend."
Sirius murmured softly, and then his form twisted once more, changing back into the massive black dog before vanishing into the pitch-black thicket.
Julian crossed the lawn, and as he approached the Castlegates, he keenly sensed a scrutinizing gaze from the top of the tower.
That was Dumbledore's office.
He did not pause, nor did he look up; he simply closed his umbrella naturally and pushed open the heavy oak doors.
Most of the torches in the corridor had already been extinguished, and only the gargoyles on the walls emitted a dull breathing sound in the darkness.
The next day, Julian rose from his dormitory and pushed open the window; the mist from the Black Lake rushed in, washing away the last trace of weariness.
Today was the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the new term.
Remus Lupin.
Julian ground the name between his teeth once, his lips curling with a certain playful arc.
When Julian stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, the atmosphere around the Slytherin table changed quietly.
The originally arrogant pure-blood children instinctively lowered their voices the moment that dark green figure appeared.
Malfoy was huddled at the end of the long table, mechanically cutting the bacon on his plate, not even daring to look up in Julian's direction; that contest of gazes at the station had already utterly crushed his pride into the mud.
"Good morning, Julian."
Daphne took her seat elegantly, having changed into a brand-new set of school robes; the silver serpent brooch at her collar glinted coldly under the lights.
Her ice-blue eyes lingered on Julian for a long while, as if searching for traces of his late-night outing, but in the end, she simply poured him a cup of black tea with a gentle touch.
"I heard Professor Lupin turned a deserted classroom into a temporary practical training ground."
Daphne lowered her voice, her fingertips grazing Julian's hand with a hint of secret flirtation.
"He seems to have a particular fondness for Boggarts."
Julian raised his teacup, his gaze drifting across the Gryffindor table.
Hermione was buried in a heavy copy of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection', but her quivering eyelashes and occasional glances in this direction betrayed her inner unease.
The pendant around her neck, blessed by Julian, rose and fell slightly with her breathing.
After breakfast, the students headed to the third floor in groups.
The classroom was filled with the smell of old wood and a faint scent of mold; the curtains were drawn tight, and only a few dim oil lamps flickered in the draft.
Professor Lupin stood before the podium; his patched brown suit looked somewhat shabby in the shadows, but his gentle yet sharp eyes flashed with an imperceptible scrutiny the moment Julian entered.
"Good morning, class."
Lupin's voice was raspy and gentle; he patted the violently shaking old wardrobe beside him, the "thump-thump" of the doors making many students shrink back.
"There is a Boggart trapped inside."
"Who can tell me, what is a Boggart's favorite shape?"
Hermione's hand shot up almost reflexively, her voice carrying a hint of tense excitement.
"It has no shape, Professor! It turns into whatever each person fears most."
"Quite right, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor."
Lupin smiled, his gaze turning to Neville at the front of the line.
And so, a farce of fear and laughter began.
Snape appeared wearing Neville's grandmother's clothes, a giant spider put on roller skates, and a colorful venomous snake turned into a doll...
The classroom was filled with merry laughter, and the students who had been shrouded in the shadow of Dementors seemed to finally find a sense of security.
However, when Lupin called out the name "Julian Rosier," the laughter came to a screeching halt.
The previously noisy air seemed to be sucked dry by an invisible hand, becoming viscous and heavy.
The Slytherin students held their breath, while over on the Gryffindor side, Harry and Ron stopped their fooling around, their gazes turning complex as they watched the boy slowly walk forward.
Julian stopped in front of the wardrobe.
He did not show a nervous expression like the other students; instead, he stood straight with his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his pitch-black eyes like an ancient mirror capable of reflecting the soul.
The shaking of the wardrobe suddenly stopped.
The thing inside seemed to sense some incomprehensible terror that transcended biological instinct.
The Boggart was shifting chaotically.
It tried to turn into a rotting corpse, but disintegrated the moment it touched Julian's consciousness; it tried to turn into a hideous demon, but recoiled when facing that absolute rational will.
Finally, the wardrobe door burst open.
There were no screams, no monsters, and none of those worldly fears.
The temperature in the classroom suddenly dropped to freezing point, and the flickering flames of the oil lamps were instantly extinguished.
In front of Julian, a crack appeared.
A pitch-black crack spanning the void, spreading continuously in all directions.
Deep within that crack was a giant, emotionless eyeball of a soul-withering violet-gray, its pupil reflecting countless shattered worlds.
That was nothingness.
That was the ultimate end when the Reality-weaving engine stopped running, when all axioms were swallowed by paradoxes, and when the essence of existence returned to silence.
The entire classroom fell into a deathly silence.
Neville fell to the ground in terror, Ron's face turned as white as paper, and even Hermione's brow furrowed slightly.
Even Lupin subconsciously gripped his wand; the desolate aura of nothingness spilling from the crack made his instincts as a Werewolf sound a frantic alarm.
It was an extreme fear of non-existence.
Julian looked at that eyeball.
He could feel his consciousness resonating with that nothingness.
If reality were no longer stable, if everything he wove were merely an illusion...
Chapter 153: Unease
Julian did not retreat.
Instead, he stepped forward.
Under the pressure that would drive any adult Wizardmad, he slowly raised his hand, his fingertips subtly moving, as if plucking an invisible string in the void.
"Riddikulus."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable sense of command.
There was no laughter.
Under Julian's gaze, the terrifying void rift began to twist and collapse.
Finally, it transformed into an exquisite, amethyst-studded dressing mirror.
In the mirror, Julian was elegantly adjusting his tie, with the bustling, vibrant Hogwarts as a backdrop, and the beautiful, lively beings clustered around him.
Nothingness was forcibly reshaped.
Professor Lupin was stunned; he even forgot to instruct the next student.
His gaze at Julian, besides astonishment, held an indescribable horror—this young man could so calmly manipulate even his deepest fears.
"Excellent... Mr. Rosier."
Lupin said dryly, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
"I think... Slytherin should get twenty points."
Julian bowed slightly, retreating politely and distantly into the crowd.
Daphne immediately grabbed his hand, her palm slick with sweat, her body trembling slightly from extreme tension.
"What was that... Julian?" she asked in a voice only they could hear, filled with an unprecedented terror.
"Just a joke about the ending, Daphne."
Julian patted her hand, his gaze, however, fixed on Hermione, who remained frozen in place.
Hermione was staring intently at the mirror; as one of the people who knew Julian best, she had, in that instant, caught something that transcended the realm of magic.
It was the loneliness of a deity gazing upon a wasteland.
The bell rang, and students rushed out of the classroom as if escaping a disaster.
Julian walked out last, and as he passed Lupin, the new Professor suddenly spoke.
"Mr. Rosier, I think... your understanding of power might be far deeper than I anticipated."
Julian stopped, turned to Lupin, and a meaningful smile played on his lips.
"Professor, fear is merely the shadow of reality. As long as the light is strong enough, the shadow can only submit."
He walked out of the classroom; the sunlight in the corridor was still bright, but that purplish-gray afterimage was forever etched into the souls of everyone present.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of Gryffindor Tower, a rat with a missing toe was restlessly scurrying under the bed.
It could feel an inescapable noose, named Order, slowly tightening.
Julian hadn't returned to the Dungeons yet when a Phoenix feather landed on his shoulder.
...
When the giant stone gargoyle slowly rotated and moved aside at the password "Fizzing Whizzbee."
Julian tapped three times with his knuckles; the sound of his knuckles hitting the wooden door echoed particularly clearly in the silent corridor.
"Come in, Julian, I've been waiting for you."
Dumbledore's voice penetrated the door, carrying an undeniable gentleness, like a fine, soft net.
Pushing open the door, countless silver instruments silently rotated and puffed out light smoke on the shelves.
The portraits of past Principals pretended to doze in their frames, but Julian could feel countless scrutinizing gazes falling upon him through the oil paint.
Dumbledore sat behind the large desk, and behind his half-moon spectacles, his azure eyes shimmered with a nearly transparent wisdom, and a deeply hidden trace of worry, like a glacial crevice.
He was using a slender silver tongs to prod a plate of lemon sherbet; beside the plate, two steaming cups of black tea emitted a rich aroma.
Julian elegantly pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, the hem of his school robe tracing a perfect arc in the air; his demeanor was so composed it was as if this were his Slytherin dormitory.
"Lemon sherbet? Or perhaps you'd prefer this high-mountain black tea from Ceylon?"
Dumbledore pushed a teacup towards him, his long, scarred fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop.
"Tea will be fine, Professor. Sweets create a false sense of pleasure, thereby weakening one's perception of reality."
Julian picked up the teacup, the warmth of the cup spreading through his fingertips. He did not rush to speak, but quietly watched the tea leaves floating in the cup, as if observing a footnote to destiny.
"Reality..."
Dumbledore repeated the word with a hint of inexplicable melancholy. He stood up and walked to the large window, looking out at the Black Lake, which was gradually being enveloped by twilight.
"Professor Lupin just came to see me; his face was even worse than his old suit. He told me that when facing the Boggart, you displayed something... very special."
He turned around, his gaze like a torch, piercing deep into Julian's soul.
"That wasn't death, nor pain, nor any known Dark creature, Julian. Tell me, that eyeball, that void, what nightmare did you glimpse from what forbidden book?"
"That wasn't a nightmare, Professor, it was an axiom."
Julian set down his teacup with a faint clink. He looked directly at the greatest White Wizard of this century, his tone steady without a single fluctuation.
"When all rules are stripped away, when the rhythm of magic falls silent, what remains is that state.
The Boggart merely captured the logical deduction of an ending in my mind; it was torn apart by that immense void, nothing more."
"Logical deduction?"
Dumbledore let out a low sigh. He walked around the desk to Julian's side, and the powerful, deep-sea-like magical fluctuations rippled slightly in the air.
"When I was your age, I was also obsessed with exploring the essence of the world, trying to transcend reality. But you must understand, Julian, reality has weight; it is composed of thousands upon thousands of vibrant, emotional souls."
He reached out, seemingly intending to place a hand on Julian's shoulder, but withdrew it before touching the invisible mental barrier.
"The power you displayed today, or rather, that mindset, denies the meaning of existence. If you no longer acknowledge the reality of this world, then the magic you wield will become an extremely dangerous eraser, capable of obliterating everything."
"Professor, are you worried that I will lose myself like Riddle, in pursuit of immortality?"
Julian chuckled softly, a mocking purple glint flashing in his eyes.
"No, Riddle is too greedy; he wants to possess reality. As for me... I am merely weaving it. I care more about the stability of this world than anyone else, because only a stable canvas can bear the narrative I desire."
Dumbledore's gaze tightened abruptly; he heard something in Julian's words that disturbed him more than Dark Arts.
Chapter 154: Admonition
"Weaving reality is the function of deities, Julian. As humans, our task is to love, to feel, to make mistakes, and then to correct them."
He sat back down in his chair, his expression turning serious and grave, like a judge pronouncing a verdict in court.
"I must give you a piece of advice, or rather, a warning: do not attempt to touch taboos that do not belong to this dimension. Your performance in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class has already alerted certain ancient defense mechanisms."
"If you continue to probe the edge of the void, reality itself will produce a rejection reaction. By then, even I cannot guarantee you will remain safely in this spacetime."
He paused, his tone softening slightly, yet carrying a weight akin to an elder's.
"Spend more time talking to Miss Greengrass, or go see Miss Granger. Emotions are anchors, Julian. They can pin you to the solid ground of reality, preventing you from being devoured by the void in your mind."
"Thank you for your advice, Professor. I will cherish my anchors."
Julian stood up, giving a slight bow. His expression was flawless, revealing no trace of genuine emotional fluctuation.
"Since we are discussing the stability of reality, I believe, regarding the time-turner I previously applied for..."
He lifted his head, his gaze burning as he stared at Dumbledore.
"To ensure I can complete those numerous courses, and to give me more time to experience reality, I trust you won't refuse my legitimate request?"
Dumbledore remained silent for a long time. The whirring of the silver instruments in the office seemed to grow particularly sharp, and the portraits of former Principals began to cough uneasily.
Finally, he retrieved a signed piece of parchment from a drawer and pushed it towards Julian.
"Professor McGonagall will give it to you. But remember my words, Julian. Time is the most fragile thread in the tapestry of reality. If you attempt to snap it, the consequences will be catastrophic."
"I never snap threads, Professor. I only mend them."
Julian picked up the parchment, his fingertips tracing over the still-damp ink. A confident smile played at the corner of his mouth.
He turned and strode towards the door.
Just as his figure was about to disappear down the spiral staircase, Dumbledore's voice came from behind once more, tinged with weariness.
"Julian, do you truly believe that the void you see is the ultimate answer?"
Julian stopped but did not turn around.
"Professor, the answer is not important. What matters is who holds the pen, writing the process."
He vanished into the shadows, leaving Dumbledore alone in his smoke-filled office.
The Phoenix Fawkes let out a low, mournful cry, flapping its crimson-gold wings before settling on the Principal's shoulder.
Dumbledore looked at the plate of now-cold Lemon Drops, the worry in his eyes solidifying into something tangible.
"So similar... yet utterly different. Gellert sought change, Tom sought power, but this child... he seeks 'definition'."
He murmured softly, his fingers trembling as he picked up his teacup, only to find the tea inside had long turned icy cold.
Meanwhile, Julian was walking down an empty corridor.
He felt the weight of the parchment in his embrace—a key to power in a higher dimension.
The boundaries of reality?
They were merely footnotes he could revise at will.
As he descended the steps, he bumped into Daphnewaiting in the shadows.
The young woman's ice-blue eyes were filled with concern. The moment she saw him, she rushed forward, disregarding propriety, and gripped his arm tightly.
"Did he give you a hard time? Julian?"
Julian took the opportunity to pull her into an embrace, inhaling the faint scent of iris from her hair.
"No, Daphne. He merely gave me a gift for the new term."
He looked towards the distant Astronomy Tower, a light of madness and rationality flickering in his eyes.
"Don't worry, Daphne."
Julian lowered his head, his warm breath brushing against her ear, sending a slight shiver through her.
"Dumbledore simply thinks I'm learning too much, so he decided to grant me a little extra... convenience."
He waved the parchment bearing the Phoenix seal.
Daphne looked up, staring at the parchment, her voice somewhat hoarse and confused:
"Convenience? Julian, the way he looks at you is like he's looking at another Grindelwald."
Julian didn't answer directly. He merely gently stroked her jawline with his fingertips until her breathing gradually steadied, then led her towards the TransfigurationProfessor's office.
Professor McGonagall's office was, as always, neat to the point of severity.
The air held the faint scent of dry ink and wool fabric. Several beetles, magically transfigured into snuffboxes, were neatly lined up on a bookshelf, emitting a crisp 'click' sound every five seconds.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her high-backed chair, her square spectacles reflecting a sharp, scrutinizing light.
When Julian and Daphne pushed the door open, her tightly pursed lips twitched slightly. Her gaze swept back and forth between the parchment and Julian's flawless face.
"Mr. Rosier."
McGonagall's voice was clear and forceful. She took the parchment, her fingers lingering for a moment over Dumbledore's signature, her brow deeply furrowed.
"Although Albus believes you possess the mental fortitude to bear this responsibility, I must reiterate: time is not a piece of parchment you can scribble on at will."
She stood up and retrieved something from a locked wooden box carved with Runic Script.
Julian's gaze sharpened slightly the moment it fell upon the object.
This was not the golden, necklace-style time-turnerHermione had possessed in the original story.
Before him lay a silver, pocket-watch-sized, intricate instrument.
Its casing was crafted of refined mithril, densely etched with patterns resembling star charts. At its very center, instead of transparent glass, was a perfectly cut crystal emitting a faint purple hue.
The sand grains inside were not gold either, but a nebulous grayish-purple, swirling with an eerie light in the dim room.
"This is a new model of converter specially prepared by the Ministry of Magic for advanced academic research, Rosier."
Professor McGonagall handed it to Julian, her tone as heavy as if she were delivering a deadly will.
"It is more stable than standard converters, capable of handling longer temporal spans, but it is also more dangerous. Each turn of the dial is a challenge to the logic of reality."
Julian reached out. His fingertips touched the cold mithril casing, and an extremely subtle sensation—like countless steel needles piercing his soul—vibrated through his entire body from his fingers.
It was reality's resistance, and the temptation of power.
"I understand, Professor McGonagall. The acquisition of knowledge always carries risk, and I am willing to pay the price."
Julian's expression instantly switched to his 'humble and earnest scholar' mode.
Chapter 155: The First Time Jump
Julian lowered his head slightly, his eyes revealing a near-pathological thirst for knowledge, yet perfectly restrained within a rational framework by impeccable etiquette.
"I applied for it to be able to simultaneously take advanced courses in Ancient Runes and delve deeper into Arithmancy. As you witnessed, my... lapse in the Boggartclass was precisely because I touched upon certain logical paradoxes that cannot be explained by existing theories..."
He looked up, revealing a somewhat weary yet resolute, bitter smile.
"I need time to perfect my model, to prove... that reality is not void."
These words clearly struck a chord within Professor McGonagall, the chord of a rigorous scholar.
She looked at this thirteen-year-old boy before her who already exuded the bearing of a master. The wariness in her eyes quietly melted away a layer, replaced by a complex sigh.
"You are too much like that person, Julian. Even more radical."
She personally hung the silver chain around Julian's neck.
"Remember, you must never let another version of you from a different time see your current self. Once a time paradox is created, your body will be torn apart in the fissures between dimensions."
"I will heed your instruction, Professor."
Julian tucked the cold, silver timepiece into the inner lining of his school robes, against his chest.
The purple crystal seemed to sense the beating of his heart, emitting an extremely faint, audible only to him, humming sound.
Stepping out of the office, the light in the corridor had completely faded.
Daphne had been silently following behind him. Only when they reached an empty balcony did she suddenly embrace him from behind, her arms tightly encircling his waist.
"You were lying to her, weren't you?"
Her voice held a hint of a sob, her cheek pressed against Julian's cold back.
"It wasn't for those tedious classes at all. That thing on you... it's like a star that could explode at any moment."
Julian turned around, cradling her delicate little face in his palms.
Moonlight fell upon Daphne's ice-blue eyelashes, upon which hung a glistening teardrop.
"Daphne, this world itself is a deception."
Julian's voice was low and full of magnetism. He took Daphne's hand and pressed it against the cold device on his chest.
"But I will use this star to weave for you a spring that will never wither. As long as you stay obediently in my shadow..."
He lowered his head and kissed her trembling lips.
The kiss carried the cold taste of metal and the chill of late autumn, yet it made Daphne respond frantically, like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood.
In the shadow of the moonlight, Julian's hand quietly turned a gear on the edge of the silver timepiece.
*Click.*
An invisible ripple spread through the air.
He wasn't trying to return to the past, but was rather feeling the momentary difference in the flow of time.
That thrill of holding all things at his fingertips was far more intoxicating than any Potion.
"Julian..."
Daphne murmured in his arms, her gaze gradually growing hazy.
Julian held her slender waist, but his gaze looked over her shoulder towards the Library on the other side of the Castle, where faint lights still flickered.
There, another anchor point was anxiously flipping through books in the Restricted Section.
"Don't be afraid, my dear."
He led Daphne into the darkness, while the silver time-turner shimmered with an ominous violet-grey light in the night.
The wind on the West Tower balcony carried the stern chill of late autumn, slightly tousling Daphne's golden hair.
"Go back, Daphne." Julian's voice sounded particularly clear and cold as he gently smoothed the stray hairs on her forehead with his fingertips.
"I still have some academic details to verify at the Library. The gift Professor McGonagall gave me isn't meant to be admired in a velvet box."
Although her eyes were full of reluctance, under Julian's deep, unwavering gaze, Daphne could only obediently lower her head.
She lifted the hem of her skirt and slowly walked towards the direction of the Slytherin Dungeons under Julian's watchful eye.
Only when that graceful figure completely disappeared around the corridor's corner did the tenderness on Julian's face recede like a tide, replaced by an absolute rationality.
He reached into the inner lining of his school robes, his fingertips touching the cold, slightly vibrating silver disc.
The Library was nearing closing time. Madam Pince was waving her wand, making the stray books line up and return to their shelves.
Julian skillfully avoided those hawk-like sharp eyes. Utilizing the lingering fluctuations of the Disillusionment Charm, he slipped like a silent wisp of smoke deep into the Restricted Section.
The air here was thick and stale. Every book seemed to carry some restless soul, emitting faint, grating friction sounds in the darkness.
Julian came to a stop in a corner piled with discarded parchment.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled the silver time-turner out from under his collar.
In the dim light of the restricted area, the violet-grey crystal at the center of the time-turner emitted a magnetic field that distorted the light.
He did not simply turn the outer ring as Professor McGonagall had taught.
As a weaver of reality, he could sense the logical flaws contained within this artifact. He pressed his thumb against the central purple crystal and slowly rotated it counterclockwise by two notches.
*Click. Click.*
It wasn't the sound of mechanical gears meshing, but the sound of something called 'existence' being forcibly folded.
In an instant, Julian felt the surroundings begin to violently pull away.
This sensation was different from the squeezing feeling of being stuffed into a tube during Apparition. It was more like his soul was being peeled from the current reality and projected into a solidified memory tape.
The dust in the air froze, then began to swirl madly in reverse.
The oil lamps that had been extinguished reignited one by one in his vision. That violet-grey light enveloped everything, protecting Julian within an independent temporal bubble.
When the vibrations ceased, Julian opened his eyes.
Time: 16:30.
At this moment, 'he' should be sitting in the Principal's office, locked in a game about the void with Dumbledore.
And this corner of the Library was not empty as it had been when he left.
At a wooden table nearby, piled high with hefty tomes, a girl with brown curly hair was curled up in a large armchair. It was Hermione.
Julian stood in the shadows. Due to his overlapping temporal state and the Disillusionment Charm, Hermionewas utterly unable to perceive his presence.
He approached slowly. His leather shoes made no sound on the wooden floorboards, as if he were merely a silent ghost, peering into a secret named the past.
Chapter 156: Notes
Hermione's condition was terrible.
The collar of her usually neat Gryffindor school uniform was askew, and the book she cherished like life itself, 'A Beginner's Guide to Ancient Runes,' lay discarded on the floor.
She was staring fixedly at a photograph on the desk—a silhouette secretly left by Julian in the Room of Requirement after treating her last Christmas.
In the photo, Julian was tilting his head.
*Plop.*
A glistening teardrop fell onto the photograph, landing right on Julian's forehead in the image.
Hermione let out a faint, stifled sob. With trembling fingers, she reached out and began stroking Julian's cheek through the cold photographic paper, over and over again.
"What are you, Julian..." she whispered, her voice so hoarse it made Julian raise a slight eyebrow, "Why..."
Suddenly, as if possessed, she grabbed a thick black notebook beside her—the one Julian had once given her to record Potion insights.
Julian leaned closer, his gaze falling upon the densely packed handwriting.
[September 2nd. He conjured 'Nothingness' from the Boggart. That wasn't fear; it was his essence. He is devouring this world.]
[I cannot leave him. If this world is destined to collapse, I will be the final pillar supporting his reality.]
At the very end of the notes, Hermione had scrawled a fragment of a spell in a nearly manic script.
[If he is to become a god, I shall be his altar. I will save him, pull him back from that nothingness, even at the cost of myself.]
Julian looked at the elegant script, a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He had originally thought Hermione was merely a tool he had disciplined with Potions and power, but he never expected that under such extreme pressure and twisted attachment,
this know-it-all Miss had nurtured such a beautifully dangerous obsession within her heart.
She wanted to save him?
Through this self-destructive binding, to burden him with a sense of 'humanity'?
What a... foolish and captivating idea.
At that moment, the 4:30 PM Hermione seemed to sense something unusual. She abruptly looked up, her swollen eyes staring fixedly in the direction where Julian stood.
Of course, she saw nothing.
Julian reached out, stroking the top of her head in the void.
That touch across time manifested in reality as a sudden, cold gust of wind.
Hermione shivered, instinctively hugging her shoulders tightly, pressing the photograph firmly against her chest.
"Time's up."
Julian murmured softly.
He rotated the central crystal of the silver time-turner.
Violet-grey light erupted once more, forcibly pulling him back from this tear-soaked, obsessive past.
When he steadied himself again in the Library's Restricted Section at 6:30 PM, the dizziness from the time jump caused him to sway slightly.
His heart was beating fast, not from exhaustion, but from the exhilaration of having obtained absolute information.
He stepped out of the Restricted Section just as Madam Pince was approaching with a feather duster.
"Mr. Rosier? What are you still doing here?" Madam Pinceeyed him suspiciously.
"My apologies, Madam. I was just verifying a few footnotes regarding 'temporal paradoxes.' I'll be leaving now."
Julian gave a polite nod, the hem of his school robe sweeping in an elegant arc.
Exiting the Library, the cool night air cleared his mind considerably.
The Slytherin common room lay deep at the bottom of the Black Lake, the night-time waters as ever a deep green.
Julian pushed open the heavy stone door. The green flames in the fireplace flickered with an eerie light.
Curled into a ball of unease in the large, black high-backed armchair by the fireplace—his personal chair—was a petite figure.
It was Astoria.
She wore only a thin silk nightgown, haphazardly draped with her sister Daphne's school robe.
Her pale blonde hair was disheveled across the armrest. Under the green firelight, her face was pale, almost translucent, with the blue veins at her temples clearly visible, pulsing faintly.
"Astoria?"
Julian approached, his tone flat and devoid of any inflection.
Hearing his voice, the girl's body trembled violently. She jerked her head up.
Her once lively eyes were now shot through with fine red veins, her pupils slightly unfocused from extreme pain.
Seeing Julian, she was like a drowning person clutching at a final lifeline. She struggled to stand but collapsed back into the cushion from sheer weakness.
"Julian... you're back..." Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, carrying a heartbreaking fragility, "It... it's starting again. Those cold, snake-like curses burrowing into my bones..."
Julian stopped beside the chair, not immediately reaching out to help her, instead calmly observing her current state.
These were classic symptoms of the Blood Demon Curse. Grindelwald's legacy mentioned that this curse was essentially the self-devouring of magical power within the bloodline.
He extended his hand, his fingertips lightly resting on Astoria's astonishingly cold wrist.
In that instant, Astoria let out a long, relieved sigh.
Julian's unique aura—a fusion of the Reality Weaver's rationality and the time-turner's sense of nothingness—was, for her, tormented by the curse, the most potent analgesic in the world.
"Where's Daphne?" Julian asked indifferently, his fingers moving from her wrist upward to press gently on her pulse point.
"Sister... she's asleep. I didn't want her to see me like this." Astoria gasped for breath, greedily inhaling the cold scent emanating from Julian. Her body involuntarily leaned toward him, seeking more of his warmth,
"Only you... Julian, only near you do those feelings disappear."
Julian looked at her small face, slightly contorted with pain.
"Astoria, you should understand that dependence is not a cure."
He took her hand and pulled her up from the chair, his movements graceful.
"The Blood Curse now truly belongs to you alone. You must learn to overcome it, and master it."
Astoria leaned against his chest, her forehead pressing against a button on his school robe, behind which the silver time-turner emanated waves of coolness through the fabric.
"But I only need now." Astoria murmured, her breathing gradually evening out.
The oppressive gloom that had clouded her brow seemed forcibly suppressed by Julian's overwhelming presence.
"What you need now is rest." Julian looked down at her, his gaze deep and shadowed.
"If you continue to deplete your vitality here, even I will not be able to see you cheering on the sidelines next summer."