Chapter 157: Friction
Julian extended his other hand, as if soothing a frightened kitten, his fingertips gently smoothing her disheveled hair in a restrained and polite manner.
"Listen, Astoria. Go back to your dormitory, drink a Sleeping Draught, and treat tonight's pain as nothing but a tedious illusion. By tomorrow morning, it will be better."
Astoria lifted her head, her eyes flickering with a near-fanatic adoration and infatuation, an emotion purer and more dangerous than Daphne's dependence.
"Do you promise? Julian? Tomorrow... will I still be able to see you?"
"I never make promises lightly, but once given, they are unchangeable." Julian released her hand, took a step back, re-establishing the safe distance of social propriety.
The sudden withdrawal of that warm and powerful aura left Astoria feeling a void. She straightened up somewhat unsteadily and tightened her school robes around herself.
"Thank you... Julian. You're always so... timely."
She pressed her lips, which had regained a hint of color, together, gave Julian one last deep look, and then turned towards the passage leading to the girls' dormitories.
With every step, she glanced back at Julian, standing in the shadows of the green flames, as if his mere presence there kept the world from crumbling.
Julian remained where he was until that figure of pale blonde hair disappeared completely behind the stone door.
He lowered his head and looked at his fingertips, where the foul and scorching aura of the Blood Demon Curseseemed to linger.
"Anchor point."
He murmured the words to himself, the sound dissipating into the lapping waves of the Black Lake.
Whether it was the obsessive Hermione or the fragile Astoria, they all tried to drag him into this mire of emotions and afflictions.
All he did was build an ornate bridge at the mire's edge, allowing them to step, with tearful gratitude, into the cage he had prepared.
He walked to the fireplace, adjusted the flickering green flames, then turned and headed towards his own dormitory.
Tonight's experiments had been quite sufficient.
Time, secrets, and the attachments that bloom in despair.
He sat on the edge of his bed, unfastened the silver chain from around his neck, and gazed at the time-turner, which still emitted a faint violet-grey glow in the darkness.
"Salvation?"
A scornful, low chuckle escaped him before he drew the velvet bed curtains closed.
At that moment, the entire Hogwarts seemed to fall asleep with his breath, while the threads of reality quietly rewove themselves in the darkness.
The next day
The morning in the Slytherin dormitories remained shrouded in the dim, greenish light filtering from the depths of the Black Lake.
Julian stood before the dressing mirror, methodically fastening the top button of his school robes.
The silver chain of the time-turner left a cold sensation against his collarbone, the violet-grey crystal pressed against his chest, pulsing faintly with each heartbeat.
Pushing open his dormitory door, he passed through the common room where hushed discussions about the Quidditch tryouts were taking place.
Green flames crackled in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows that made the serpent-patterned rug on the floor seem alive.
As Julian entered the Great Hall, hundreds of owls swooped down through the towering windows, bringing with them a cold gust of air mingled with the scent of feathers and hay.
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mimicked the weather outside, with low-hanging, grey rain clouds threatening to release melancholic droplets at any moment.
The moment Julian's figure appeared, the cacophony of conversation in the Hall fractured for an instant. Rumors about the "Void Eye" were still circulating among the students, and their gazes held a mix of reverence for his power and the alienation one might show towards a monster.
Julian walked calmly towards the Slytherin table. However, as he passed the Gryffindor table, a gaze sharp as needles locked onto him.
Hermione sat at a corner of the table, a plate of fried eggs before her long gone cold, the edges glistening with an oily sheen.
The dark circles under her eyes were alarmingly pronounced; clearly, last night's events in the Library had left her sleepless.
Her hand was clamped tightly over a black notebook, her knuckles a sickly white from the strain.
When Julian's peripheral vision swept over her, Hermione's head snapped up. Her usually rational brown eyes now burned with a fanatic light.
She did not shyly avert her gaze as she normally would, but stared fixedly at Julian's profile, her lips moving soundlessly as if confirming some divine oracle.
The corner of Julian's mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible curve—an appreciation for the "prey" awakening an interesting new trait.
He did not pause, proceeding directly to take his seat at the head of the Slytherin table.
"Good morning, Julian."
A soft, vibrant voice sounded beside his ear.
Daphne sat poised gracefully, having changed to a pair of pearl earrings today, their lustrous sheen accentuating her proud neckline.
Beside her, Astoria was taking small sips of pumpkin juice. Her face, once pale as parchment, now held an unnatural flush, and her eyes, the moment they met Julian's, threatened to overflow with something thick and syrupy.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Daphne asked, while naturally reaching out to cut a small piece of bread slathered with butter for Julian, her movements practiced as if asserting a kind of proprietorship.
"Well enough. I had some rather dimensional dreams." Julian accepted the fork, his fingertips brushing intentionally, yet seemingly casually, over the back of Daphne's hand, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from her.
"Brother Julian..." Astoria suddenly leaned closer, her ice-blue eyes sparkling with a secret only the two of them shared.
"Thank you for the Sleeping Draught last night. I slept very deeply, even dreaming that you dispelled all the mist for me by the Black Lake."
Daphne's bread-cutting motion faltered slightly. She keenly caught the note of unusual intimacy in her sister's tone.
She turned, scrutinizing Astoria's radiant face, her brow furrowing slightly. "Lia, you said you weren't feeling well last night. When did you see Julian?"
Astoria stuck out her tongue playfully, but her gaze remained glued to Julian. "In the common room, sister. Brother Julian is always so considerate."
A subtle, tense friction began to spread along the Slytherin table.
Daphne's eyes sharpened. She set down her knife and turned her gaze to Julian, her voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of possessiveness:
"Julian, you're always so gentle with everyone. It troubles me."
Just as Julian was about to speak, a heavy thud echoed from the other side of the Great Hall.
*Thud!*
Hermione had actually stood up, her movement so abrupt it knocked over the long bench behind her.
The eyes of the entire school instantly converged on the "Brightest Witch of Her Age."
Chapter 158: Buckbeak
Hermione completely ignored the whispers of the people around her. Clutching that black notebook tightly, she strode through the aisle of the Great Hall and walked straight to the Slytherin table.
Her breathing was rapid, her chest heaving violently, and the Gryffindor lion crest on her school robes trembled slightly with her movements.
"Julian." Her voice trembled, yet it carried a desperate determination.
Daphne gave a cold laugh and slowly stood up, blocking Julian in a condescending manner.
"Miss Granger, this is the Slytherin table. If you wish to ask for help with your homework, perhaps you should wait until class time."
Hermione didn't even spare Daphne a glance. Her gaze went past Daphne's shoulder, locking firmly onto Julian's deep black eyes.
"I saw it," Hermione said in a low voice, audible only to the few of them. "I saw that void, and I saw that you are falling."
She slammed the notebook onto the table, her fingertips pressing against the cover, a startling resolve flashing in her eyes: "I can help you."
Astoria was startled by Hermione's near-manic declaration. She instinctively grabbed Julian's sleeve and whispered, "Is she crazy? What nonsense is she talking about?"
Julian set down his black tea cup, the porcelain making a crisp sound as it hit the wooden table.
He slowly stood up, bypassed Daphne, and walked over to Hermione.
The air in the Great Hall seemed to freeze at that moment.
Julian reached out, his long, cold fingertips lifting a stray lock of Hermione's hair and tucking it behind her ear.
The movement was extremely gentle, yet it caused Hermione's body to stiffen involuntarily.
"Hermione," Julian's voice was low and magnetic, carrying a drowning allure, "thank you."
He leaned close to her ear and whispered in a tone only she could hear: "However, I indeed have encountered some problems. Perhaps I will consider your help."
Hermione's pupils contracted suddenly. She bit her lip slightly and nodded vigorously.
Julian straightened up and turned to look at a grim-faced Daphne and a jealous Astoria, offering a flawless smile.
"Breakfast time is over, everyone. We have Care of Magical Creatures this morning; I don't think we should keep the Professor waiting."
On a September morning, sunlight pierced through the thick clouds above the Forbidden Forest, casting slanted rays onto the clearing outside Hagrid's Hut.
The air here was thick with the scent of earth and the distinct musky smell of a large beast.
Julian walked at the very front of the Slytherin group, the hem of his black school robes brushing lightly over the tips of the grass without catching a speck of dirt.
Daphne stayed close to his right side, her face looking somewhat tense in the sunlight, clearly still brooding over the scene in the Great Hall earlier that morning.
Not far away, the Gryffindor students were gathered together, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing at the front.
Hermione was still clutching that black notebook tightly. When her gaze met Julian's, she trembled violently and then quickly looked down, as if avoiding a source of light that was too intense.
"All right, everyone, gather 'round!" Hagrid's thundering voice boomed across the clearing, his massive moleskin coat stained with suspicious slime.
He seemed exceptionally excited, his thick fingers rubbing together restlessly before he gestured behind him. "Today we're going to meet a big fellow. It's the most elegant of creatures—a Hippogriff!"
Following Hagrid's gesture, a massive creature stepped out from the shadows behind the fence.
It was Buckbeak.
It had the head and wings of a giant eagle but the body and hind legs of a horse.
Under the direct sunlight, its grey feathers displayed a metallic sheen, each feather appearing like a polished steel plate with sharp edges.
Its huge orange eyes were darting around restlessly, and its sharp beak occasionally clicked together, producing a grating metallic sound.
Julian narrowed his eyes slightly; he could feel the magical fluctuations flowing in the air.
This creature was more than just a beast; its very existence carried a sense of some ancient contract.
He instinctively felt the time-turner at his chest. The silver disc emitted faint pulses of cold beneath his robes, as if reminding him: time is not a straight line, but a piece of paper that can be crumpled.
"Who wants to come say hello first?" Hagrid looked at the students expectantly.
Amidst the shrinking crowd, Harry was pushed forward first, just as in the original story.
Julian watched Harry's somewhat clumsy bow with cold detachment.
Although it seemed that due to Julian's intervention, Buckbeak wasn't very familiar with Harry.
But someone who could become the chosen one was naturally gifted.
When Harry successfully touched Buckbeak's beak, which was covered in fine scales, a sparse round of applause broke out in the clearing.
"Look at that, he likes him!" Hagrid wiped away a tear happily.
Then came the classic flight segment.
Julian watched Harry ride on the back of the Hippogriff, tracing a wobbly arc over the Forbidden Forest.
The wind whipped through Harry's black hair and carried the gasps of the students below.
However, Julian's attention was not on the sky.
He turned his head to look at Draco Malfoy standing nearby.
Draco was staring gloomily at Harry in the air, his right hand instinctively adjusting his expensive cuffs, his pale face filled with resentment and jealousy.
"It's just a feathered brute, nothing special," Dracosnorted. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough for the surrounding Slytherins to hear.
Julian perceived the trajectory of fate.
In the original reality, Draco would arrogantly step forward, insult this proud creature, and then have his arm torn open by Buckbeak's sharp talons, thereby triggering a series of crises for Hagrid and the creature.
But now, Julian did not intend to let the script play out as usual.
He wanted to see what kind of distortion would occur in the entire movement if he lightly plucked a string at a node of causality.
As Harry landed safely, immersed in hero-like cheers, Draco indeed moved.
He strode toward Buckbeak, his face wearing a near-contorted expression of contempt.
"You're not dangerous at all, are you? You great ugly—"
Just as Draco was about to utter that fatal insult, Julianmoved.
He didn't pull out his wand, nor did he make a sound.
He simply sank his consciousness into the silver turner at his chest, sensing the rift in space-time within that single second.
He lightly plucked the threads of reality.
In Draco's vision, Buckbeak's original orange eyes suddenly became deep as an abyss, as if reflecting some unspeakable terror.
It was a direct gaze from the void.
The step Draco was about to take, for some reason, froze abruptly in mid-air.
Chapter 159: An Attempt
An inexplicable chill crept up Draco's spine, causing his muscles to stiffen instantly.
His throat felt as if it were being squeezed tight by an invisible hand, and the word "beast" was forced back down his gullet.
To onlookers, Draco simply seemed to freeze in front of Buckbeak; his face turned paler than a corpse's in an instant, and large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead.
Buckbeak's ruffled feathers slowly smoothed down. It tilted its head, looking down at the trembling little Wizard with the gaze one might reserve for an ant.
"Malfoy? What's wrong with you?" Hagrid walked over in confusion, a large hand clapping onto Draco's shoulder.
This pat seemed to break some sort of restraint. Draco let out a short scream and collapsed onto the ground, his strength failing him.
He recoiled in terror, his fingers clawing frantically at the dirt.
"Its... its eyes..." Draco murmured incoherently, his pupils constricting violently—a stress response from witnessing true horror.
Julian stepped forward slowly. His appearance caused the previously agitated Buckbeak to instantly quiet down.
The creature submissively lowered its head, even proactively nudging its beak against Julian's hand, letting out a purr-like sound similar to a house cat.
Julian reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing over the stiff feathers on Buckbeak's forehead; the sensation was cold and real.
He turned his head, looking down at the pathetic Dracoon the ground.
"Draco, arrogance requires capital," Julian's voice was calm, without a single ripple. "When facing power you cannot comprehend, awe is your only way out."
Draco looked up, but what he saw wasn't Julian's face, but a deity shrouded in a purple-gray halo.
He closed his eyes, trembling, not daring to make another sound.
Daphne walked over, casting a look of disgust at Dracobefore naturally taking Julian's arm.
"He's always so embarrassing," she said softly, her tone carrying a disdain for the weak.
In the distance, Hermione watched this scene, her hands tightening slightly.
She saw more than just Draco's breakdown; she saw Julian's absolute control over reality.
He didn't even need to lift a finger to completely dismantle a person's psyche.
"He is... getting further and further away," Hermionewhispered, tears welling in her eyes once more.
She opened her notebook and added another line:
[He rewrote destiny. Buckbeak didn't hurt anyone, but Draco's behavior has become very strange.]
Julian could feel Hermione's almost burning gaze. He didn't look back, merely patting Buckbeak's neck soothingly.
The shift in causality was complete.
Since Draco wasn't injured, the House of Malfoy would have no excuse to make things difficult for Hagrid.
However, the fear planted in Draco's heart would become an important pawn for him to control the House of Malfoy.
"Alright, class dismissed." Although Hagrid thought Draco's behavior was odd, he breathed a sigh of relief seeing there was no bloody conflict.
Julian led the Slytherin students away first.
As he passed by Harry, he paused for a moment.
"Potter, nice flying," Julian said indifferently, then walked away amidst a sea of astonished looks.
He could feel the time-turner pulsing cheerfully against his chest.
It was a gift from the reshaping of reality.
On the way back to the Castle, the rain began to fall harder.
Cold raindrops hit the bluestone path, splashing into tiny blossoms of water.
Julian didn't use a Rain-shielding spell; he enjoyed the feeling of being enveloped by the natural elements.
"Julian, tonight..." Daphne leaned close to his ear, her warm breath turning into a puff of white mist in the cold air, "I had my family owl send some fine red wine. Why don't we go to the Astronomy Tower..."
Julian turned his head, looking into Daphne's eyes, which were full of longing.
"I have things to do tonight, Daphne," he declined calmly. "Regarding my academic research, there are some things I need to confirm in the Room of Requirement."
Daphne's face darkened instantly. She looked at Hermione, who was following closely not far away, and grit her teeth.
"Is it because of that Know-It-All? Julian, whatever she can give you, I can give you too, and even more."
"No, Daphne." Julian stopped walking, turned around in the rain, and looked directly into her eyes. "She can give me a pleasure called self-sacrifice. You, on the other hand, only need to maintain your elegance and loyalty."
Daphne froze in place, letting the rain soak her blonde hair.
She didn't understand what the pleasure of self-sacrifice was, but she could feel that Julian was playing a high-level game that she couldn't reach.
And all she could do, surprisingly, was wait.
At dinner time, the atmosphere in the Great Hall became even more bizarre.
Draco didn't show up; it was said he had been sent to the Hospital Wing, even though Madam Pomfrey couldn't find any external injuries.
The rumor about Rosier scaring Malfoy witless without saying a word had already spread to every corner.
Julian sat at the long table, elegantly cutting the steak on his plate.
He could feel the causal lines of the entire school entangling around him like a tangled mess.
Dumbledore cast a scrutinizing gaze from the staff table; behind those half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes no longer held only kindness.
Julian raised his glass, offering a distant toast to the Principal.
The game had only just begun.
When the last glimmer of twilight was swallowed by the night, Julian stood up and walked toward the seventh floor.
He knew that there, a girl named Hermione Granger was preparing to offer her soul and everything else as a sacrifice to appease the "void" within him.
It truly was... an evening to look forward to.
He stood before the wall with the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls and walked back and forth three times.
[I need a hidden place.]
[I need a hidden place.]
[I need a hidden place.]
The stone door slowly emerged, accompanied by a heavy, fateful creak.
Julian pushed the door open, but inside was not the luxurious room he had expected.
Instead, it was a vast, empty space filled with countless silver threads.
Each thread represented a memory, or a piece of destiny.
And in the center of the space, Hermione was kneeling on the ground, surrounded by various ancient Runic Scriptstones.
She looked up, her face carrying a hint of excitement.
"You're here, Julian."
Chapter 160: Anchor Point
The air inside the Room of Requirement felt as if it had been sucked into a vacuum, with only those silver threads of fate trembling slightly.
There were no windows here, no wind; time manifested as a thick, viscous stagnation.
Julian stood at the edge of the cluttered pile of Runic Script stones, his footsteps on the cold stone floor producing a dull thud.
His shadow was stretched long by the glowing threads, cast distortedly upon the wall like a divine statue looking down upon all living beings.
Hermione knelt at the center of the magic circle. Her bushy brown hair appeared somewhat damp, and sweat slid down her temples, dripping onto the stones engraved with forbidden symbols.
She looked up, and those eyes that were originally filled with rationality and logic now held a near-holy madness.
"You're finally here... Julian." Her voice was raspy, carrying a tremor born of long-suppressed emotion. "I've calculated it—all the causality, all the logic... If we don't establish some kind of connection, you'll be completely swallowed by that void. I can't... I can't watch you disappear."
Julian didn't speak; he just watched her quietly.
A pulse of magic was injected into the time-turner at his chest.
In his vision, Hermione was no longer just a young girl.
She was one of the 'protagonists' of this world, a 'Reality Anchor' carrying a massive narrative causality.
Her every breath and every choice maintained the logical stability of this world.
And he, due to the side effects of contacting the void and the time-turner, had a soul in a dangerously fluid state.
He needed an anchor—one that was solid enough and absolutely open to him.
And Hermione, caught in the self-indulgent illusion of'salvation,' had proactively handed this key to him.
Julian took a step forward, slowly walking toward the center of the magic circle.
The faint blue light from the circle reflected on his pale face, making his deep black eyes appear even darker.
Hermione held her breath as he approached; her pupils constricted violently, and her body shivered slightly from extreme tension and anticipation.
When Julian came to a halt before her, the aura he carried—a mixture of cold rain and the void-like sensation of the silver turner—enveloped Hermione completely like an airtight net.
"Hermione," Julian looked down at her, his tone heartbreakingly gentle, "do you truly understand what you are doing?"
"I do!" Hermione answered urgently. She even shuffled a small step forward on her knees, her hands tightly clutching the hem of Julian's school robes.
"I've consulted all the forbidden books. This kind of binding, this intertwining of souls—it can let me share your burden. If the void wants to take you, it must take me first!"
Julian let out a faint sigh, a sound carrying the pity of a superior being toward the ignorant masses.
He reached out, his long and well-defined fingers passing through the silver threads of fate, finally pressing gently onto the top of Hermione's head.
In an instant, Hermione's body snapped straight, letting out a short moan that was a mixture of pain and ecstasy.
Julian did not use violence.
He simply opened the door to the void deep within his own soul.
At that moment, Hermione felt her consciousness being violently yanked into a boundless starry sky.
There was no gravity there, no sound—only countless purple-gray runes spinning wildly.
She saw Julian's essence—it wasn't a human soul, but a complex algorithm constantly collapsing and reorganizing, an engine weaving reality.
And her own soul—that ball of gold-red light representing logic, knowledge, and fervor—began to uncontrollably melt and permeate the moment it touched that void.
"Is this the salvation you desired?" Julian's voice rang out in the depths of Hermione's consciousness, grand and indifferent.
He began to guide the energy within the Runic Scriptstones.
He utilized Hermione's causal weight as a 'World Protagonist' to forcibly pull back the reality fragments that had been drifting in the void.
Hermione felt every one of her cells being redefined.
Her memories, her emotions, and her self-awareness all turned into silver threads, accurately grasped and kneaded by Julian's invisible hands, finally woven into his vast and dark soul map.
Hermione's soul was becoming his appendage, the ballast he used to stabilize reality.
In the physical world, Julian's hand remained steadily pressed against the top of Hermione's head.
A faint purple glow emanated from his fingertips, seeping through Hermione's scalp, causing her eyes to gradually lose focus and turn into a pure, unconscious void.
Her body was like a fallen leaf swaying in a gale, able to rely only on Julian's palm as its sole support.
Sweat soaked her shirt, outlining the still-slender contours of her back.
Her mouth was open, but she couldn't make a sound; only the sound of her rapid breathing echoed in the empty room.
As the experiment deepened, Julian felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment.
The'sense of detachment' originally caused by the frequent use of the time-turner was rapidly receding.
Hermione's vigorous soul energy, strongly colored by logic, was continuously repairing the cracks in his reality-weaving ability.
He saw Hermione's entire life.
He saw her childhood in a Muggle town, her trepidation upon first entering Hogwarts, her thirst for knowledge... and that distorted, deep infatuation she developed for him during that Library regression.
These memories now became Julian's collection.
He browsed through them at will, even leaving his own purple-gray marks on certain key nodes.
From now on, every thought of Hermione Granger's would be subtly influenced by him.
She would no longer strive to save him, but exist to become a part of him.
"Alright, Hermione. Time to come back."
Julian murmured softly, his fingertips pressing down with a sudden force.
The Runic Script stones at the center of the magic circle instantly shattered, turning into a cloud of dust.
The flying silver threads also dimmed, receding back into the void.
Hermione let out a long sigh, her entire body going completely limp at Julian's feet.
Chapter 161: Connection
Hermione's eyes gradually cleared, but the lively light that once flickered in those brown eyes had vanished, replaced by a bottomless, abyss-like silence.
She slowly raised her head and looked at Julian.
In that gaze, there was no fear, no anger, only an extreme, almost divine submission.
"Julian..." she whispered his name, her voice light as if it had lost all weight, "I feel it... we... we are one."
She reached out a trembling hand, wanting to touch Julian's fingertips, but stopped in mid-air.
Julian withdrew his hand and straightened his cuff, which was slightly wrinkled from his movements.
He looked down at the girl who had completely become an appendage of his soul, a satisfied curve tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes, Hermione. We are one. You did very well."
He bent down, picked up the black notebook from the floor, gently patted off the dust, and handed it back to Hermione.
"Now, take your secret and go back. Tomorrow, you will still be that clever Miss Know-It-All, still the pride of Gryffindor."
Hermione took the notebook as if she were holding some supreme holy relic.
She stood up unsteadily, her body still somewhat weak.
Before walking out of the Room of Requirement, she looked back at Julian one last time.
In that moment, Julian saw a faint glimmer of purple-gray light deep within her pupils.
It was his mark.
The stone door slowly closed behind Hermione, letting out a heavy thud.
Julian stood alone in the empty room, feeling the full and stable energy within his body.
He raised his hand, looking at the now completely stable purple pattern on his fingertips.
This was not just the success of an experiment.
This was a deep invasion of the narrative logic of this world.
By binding Hermione, he had obtained a pass into the protagonist's Causal chain.
Next, whether it was Dumbledore's scrutiny or Lord Voldemort's return, they would all become nourishment for him to grow stronger.
And with Hermione as an Anchor, in future magical research, he would not get lost in some point in time like his predecessors who studied time.
He walked to a corner of the room, where there was a large mirror.
The boy in the mirror was elegant, noble, yet possessed a chilling sense of strangeness.
He reached out and touched his own face in the mirror.
"Reality..." he whispered the word, his tone carrying an arrogant sense of total control.
Then, he turned and left.
When he stepped out into the seventh-floor corridor, the rain had stopped.
Cold moonlight pierced through the clouds, shining on the ancient Castle of Hogwarts.
Julian strolled through the silent corridor, the sound of his leather shoes clicking against the floor crisp and pleasant.
As he passed the Portrait hole of the Gryffindor Common Room, he heard the faint sound of laughter coming from inside.
He knew that Hermione was sitting by that bonfire right now, pretending to review her lessons.
But he also knew that deep within her consciousness, there was a purple-gray altar eternally enshrining his name.
Returning to the Slytherin dormitory, Daphne was already asleep, and Astoria was not there.
Julian lay on his large bed and pulled the velvet curtains closed.
He closed his eyes, his consciousness once again connecting to the feedback from Hermione's side.
He could feel her heartbeat, her breathing, and even every word about him she was currently writing on paper.
This sense of absolute control gave him an unprecedented feeling of tranquility.
"Goodnight, Hermione."
He said softly in the darkness.
On the other side of the Castle, Hermione, who was sitting at her desk, suddenly shivered unconsciously, her quill leaving a long ink stain on the parchment.
She looked up at the cold moon outside the window, a dreamy, bone-chilling smile appearing on her face.
The next morning, when the first light of dawn filtered through the waters of the Black Lake into the Slytherin Common Room, Julian had already finished washing up.
He sat in an armchair, flipping through an ancient book on soul contracts.
Draco still hadn't appeared; according to his roommates, he had been screaming in the Hospital Wing all night.
This was good news for Julian; fear was the best catalyst.
When he stepped into the Great Hall again, the atmosphere had undergone a subtle change.
Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, looking no different than usual, even loudly criticizing Ron's eating habits.
But the moment Julian sat down, Hermione's movements paused for an imperceptible second.
She didn't look back, but Julian could feel her soul bowing in homage to him at that very moment.
This secret connection, spanning houses and crowds, gave Julian a sense of wicked pleasure.
Daphne seemed a bit distracted today, constantly fiddling with her fork, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the Gryffindor side.
"Julian, were you really just doing academic research last night?" she finally couldn't help but ask, her tone carrying an ill-concealed anxiety.
Julian put down his black tea, turned his head, and gazed at her tenderly.
"Of course, Daphne. Isn't studying the structure of the soul the most fascinating scholarship in the world?"
Looking into Julian's deep eyes, the interrogation that was on the tip of Daphne's tongue was forced back down.
She felt a strange sense of awe, as if the boy before her was gradually transforming into some high-dimensional being she couldn't comprehend.
"Alright... if you say so." She lowered her head and continued to deal with the bacon on her plate.
Astoria, sitting beside her, stared at Julian's profile with an almost greedy gaze.
She could feel that the aura around Julian had changed.
It had become deeper, more alluring, like a bottomless ancient well, tempting her to jump in regardless of the cost.
Julian felt these intertwined emotions around him, his heart unmoved.
To him, whether it was Hermione's sacrifice or the attachment of The Greengrass Sisters, they could all become threads for him to weave reality.
...
The high, pointed windows of the Transfigurationclassroom illuminated the fine dust like floating bits of gold.
The classroom was filled with the scent of old parchment mixed with dry wood, a smell that always made the restless young Wizards quiet down unconsciously.
Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, her deep green robes spotless, tapping the desk with her long fingers covered in fine calluses.
"Today, we are going to discuss 'Inanimate Transformation of Complex Organisms'." Professor McGonagall's voice was clear and rhythmic, like a precise ruler.
"This requires you not only to master the reorganization of matter but also to understand the logic of existence itself. Now, there is a beetle in front of each of you."
Julian looked down at the black beetle on the table, its six legs scuttling restlessly.
Its shell shimmered with a humble oily sheen in the sunlight, its compound eyes reflecting countless fragmented worlds.
Behind him to the diagonal, Hermione sat upright.
Julian didn't need to turn around to perceive her current emotions through that invisible soul link.
Every breath she took resonated with his heartbeat, as if she had become a sensory organ extending from his own body.
"Begin," Professor McGonagall announced.
A series of wand movements rose and fell throughout the classroom.
Chapter 162: Professor McGonagall's Surprise
Ron was cursing at his beetle, while Harry frowned deeply, trying to turn the little creature into a proper button.
Julian pulled out his Redwood Wand, the tip lightly touching the beetle's cold carapace.
At that moment, the time-turner on his chest grew slightly hot.
Closing his eyes, his consciousness sank into the void that had been stabilized with Hermione's soul as an anchor.
What he saw were no longer atoms and molecules, but strings of pulsing Causal Code regarding 'form'.
The beetle's life rhythm turned into a monotonous melody in his perception, and what he had to do was rewrite it into a complex symphony.
The tip of his wand traced an almost imperceptible purple-gray arc, a sign of reality being forcibly crumpled.
"Principium Chronos Mutatio."
He whispered softly.
In that instant, the originally noisy sounds in the classroom seemed to have their mute button pressed.
The black beetle did not swell or shrink rapidly like in conventional Transfiguration, but instead began to disintegrate from within.
Its carapace turned into countless tiny silver gears invisible to the naked eye, each leg extended into a precision lever, while its compound eyes condensed into a crystal-clear amethyst under the reshaping of magic.
A grating yet rhythmic sound of mechanical friction echoed in the quiet classroom.
In just a few seconds, that humble insect had completely disappeared.
In its place was an ornate Silver Hourglass about ten inches tall.
The frame of the hourglass was composed of twisted thorn patterns, the ancient decorative style of the Rosier Family.
At the top of the hourglass, two miniature figures held scythes, slowly rotating as time passed.
What was most astonishing was that what flowed within the hourglass was not fine sand, but a certain liquid shimmering with a faint blue light—the captured, solidified residue of time.
The gears at the base of the hourglass were running automatically, emitting a rhythmic ticking sound; every beat seemed to thrum against everyone's heartstrings.
"Oh... Merlin's beard," Ron gaped, his wand clattering onto the desk with a sharp sound.
Professor McGonagall, who was walking toward Neville, stopped dead in her tracks.
She snapped her head around, her sharp eyes staring intently at the masterpiece on Julian's desk.
She strode over, even creating a draft because her movements were so swift.
Leaning down, Professor McGonagall tremblingly reached out to touch the hourglass, only to pull back a second before her fingertips reached the silver frame.
"Mr. Rosier..." Professor McGonagall's voice actually carried an imperceptible tremor; it was the shock of a scholar facing something that transcended understanding.
"This... this is not just Transfiguration; you have altered the process of material entropy, granting a non-living entity a closed logic loop that simulates life."
She slowly raised her head, looking at Julian with a complex gaze.
"This level of precision, this simulation of the time dimension..." Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, striving to maintain her dignity as a Professor. "Fifty points to Slytherin, for this... this artistry-like mastery."
Julian bowed slightly, his face wearing his signature gentle smile. "It was just a shallow attempt at the Existence Logic you mentioned in class, Professor."
Behind him, Hermione's breathing became extremely heavy.
Through their link, Julian could feel her soul trembling—a mixture of extreme adoration and inferiority.
Daphne was biting her lower lip on the other side, her eyes filled with both pride and deeper concern.
She felt that Julian was growing at a lightning pace, so fast that even she felt unable to keep up.
"Mr. Rosier," Professor McGonagall said to him in a low voice before the bell rang, her tone carrying an unprecedented seriousness,
"After class, please come to my office. We need to talk... about your understanding of the essence of magic. There are some things where, if you move too fast, you might lose yourself in the shadows."
"I would be honored, Professor," Julian responded softly.
As the students filed out of the classroom, Julian was in no hurry to put away the hourglass.
He watched as the last drop of blue liquid in the hourglass fell, and the miniature figure at the top swung its scythe, making a light metallic clink.
He could feel the Causal Residue left in the classroom being absorbed by the time-turner on his chest.
On the way to Professor McGonagall's office, the portraits in the corridors bowed to him one after another.
Those ancient souls seemed more capable than the living of perceiving the awakening aura of one who could dominate reality emanating from Julian.
He knocked on the familiar wooden door.
The office was as tidy as ever, with a gentle fire dancing in the fireplace.
Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, holding a stack of essays on advanced Transfiguration, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Sit, Julian." She pointed to the chair opposite her, even changing her address from 'Mr. Rosier' to his given name, though the probing nature within it became even stronger.
She waved her hand, and two cups of steaming black tea appeared out of thin air.
"Julian, tell me." Professor McGonagall stared into his eyes. "In the transformation just now, what did you feel? That process of completely erasing life and reshaping it into a precision machine—did you feel an illusion of total control?"
Julian picked up his teacup, feeling the warmth from the porcelain.
He looked directly at this steadfast Witch, his eyes revealing a depth that transcended his age.
"Professor, that wasn't an illusion; it was a recurrence of truth," Julian said calmly. "Life and non-life, on the scale of time, are merely two different ways of arrangement. I simply chose the more stable one."
Professor McGonagall's pupils constricted suddenly. She set down her teacup and leaned forward, her voice becoming low and raspy:
"This way of thinking... many years ago, I heard it from a highly gifted student as well; his name was Tom Riddle."
"But I am not him, Professor," Julian interrupted softly, a hint of playfulness at the corners of his mouth. "What I pursue... is order."
The air between them seemed to freeze in that instant.
Professor McGonagall remained silent for a long time before she took a yellowed notebook out of a drawer.
"This is Dumbledore's private notes on 'Transfiguration and Ontology' from when he was young."
She pushed the notebook in front of Julian, her eyes full of struggle and expectation.
"Julian, you are a genius the likes of which Hogwarts has not seen in a century. But I hope you remember that magic has warmth. If you view the world as a pile of parts, then eventually, you will become one of them yourself."
Julian took the notebook, his fingertips touching the ancient cover; he could feel the vast magical fluctuations belonging to Dumbledore lingering upon it.
"Thank you for your teachings, Professor. I will... study it diligently."
Walking out of the office, Julian did not feel the heavy weight of being warned.
On the contrary, he felt a sense of pleasure following a match of wits.
Opening the first page of the notebook, a line was written in a slender script:
[Reality is fragile; only imagination can provide it with steel bones.]
[Reality is fragile; only will can completely reshape it.]
Chapter 163: The Black Lake
Night fell by the Black Lake.
Julian sat alone on a massive rock protruding from the lake's surface, the yellowed pages of Dumbledore's private notebook spread open on his lap.
By the faint, cold glow from the tip of his wand, his fingers lightly traced the dense, inked handwriting.
"...the ultimate goal of Transfiguration is not change, but deception. To deceive matter, making it believe it was originally another form..."
A playful smile tugged at the corner of Julian's lips.
Dumbledore's insight was indeed profound, touching the edges of fundamental rules—truly worthy of being called the greatest White Lord of the modern age.
Its contents precisely corroborated Julian's own understanding of Reality Weaving.
Just as he was about to turn the page, a faint, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps shattered the surrounding silence.
The footsteps were somewhat dragging, carrying the weariness of a long journey, yet exceptionally cautious, like a creature accustomed to moving through shadows.
Julian did not turn around, but the amethyst-gray markings on his chest grew slightly warm, sensing the newcomer's presence.
It was a scent mingling cheap tobacco, old wool, and a wild, suppressed beastly odor buried deep within the marrow.
"The view here is beautiful, isn't it? Though a bit too cold."
A gentle yet slightly hoarse voice sounded from behind.
Julian closed the notebook, his movements elegant and composed, as if he had long anticipated this visitor's arrival.
He slowly turned to face the man standing in the moonlight.
Remus Lupin.
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor wore an old, patched robe, his thin face etched with the harsh marks of time.
His hair was already streaked with gray, and his light brown eyes always held a heartbreaking gentleness and melancholy.
At this moment, his hands were in his pockets, his gaze not on Julian, but fixed on the nearly full moon in the sky.
His body was subtly tense under the moonlight—an instinctive stress response of a Werewolf on the eve of the full moon.
"Good evening, Professor Lupin." Julian stood up, giving a slight, impeccably polite nod.
Lupin withdrew his gaze and looked at the young man before him.
The moment their eyes met, Lupin's originally gentle gaze suddenly froze.
As a Wizard who had struggled on the fringes of dark creatures for half his life, he possessed an intuition for the aura of the unnatural far beyond the ordinary.
On Julian, he did not sense the bloodlust and malevolence characteristic of a Death Eater.
But he sensed something far more terrifying—a kind of void.
It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into a bottomless abyss, that oppressive feeling where even light would be swallowed.
This boy's soul seemed not entirely of this dimension.
Lupin instinctively tightened his grip on the wand in his pocket, but quickly forced himself to relax.
He pulled a half-melted chocolate bar from his pocket, unwrapped the foil, and offered it.
"Have some, Mr. Rosier." Lupin said with a smile, attempting to dispel that inexplicable chill with his signature kindness. "Chocolate improves one's mood, especially on nights like this that invite wild thoughts."
Julian looked at the rather plain-looking chocolate, a strange glint flashing in his eyes.
He reached out. The moment his fingertips touched Lupin's palm, Lupin felt a piercing cold.
"Thank you, Professor." Julian took the chocolate but did not eat it immediately, instead turning it over in his hand. "You seem quite fond of the moon?"
Lupin's smile stiffened for an instant. He tugged somewhat uncomfortably at his collar, covering an old scar on his neck.
"Oh, I wouldn't say fond." Lupin shook his head with a bitter smile. "It's just... I've grown accustomed to noting its phases. You know, some things we cannot change, only adapt to."
"Cannot change?" Julian softly repeated the words, his tone carrying a hint of barely perceptible mockery.
He raised the notebook in his hand. Dumbledore's signature on the cover flickered faintly in the moonlight.
"Professor Dumbledore writes in his notes that reality is fragile. Since it is fragile, it means it can be broken, reshaped."
Lupin's gaze fell upon the notebook, his pupils dilating slightly.
"That's... the Principal's private notebook?" He looked at Julian in surprise, the wariness in his eyes replaced by curiosity. "Professor McGonagall actually lent it to you? It seems the rumors are true. Your talent is astonishing."
"Talent is merely a key, Professor." Julian took a step forward, closing the distance between them.
The oppressive aura about him vanished completely in that moment, replaced by the elegance and humility befitting a Slytherin noble.
"I heard that you were once close friends with Potter's father?" Julian suddenly changed the subject, his deep black eyes fixed on Lupin. "Then you must know your friends well. For instance, Peter Pettigrew."
Lupin's face instantly turned deathly pale, as if struck a heavy blow.
His breathing grew ragged. The gentleness in his eyes shattered, revealing a deep-seated pain and remorse.
"That is... a painful part of the past." Lupin's voice turned dry. "Peter... he was a hero. He died confronting Sirius."
"Was he?" Julian took a small bite of the chocolate. The cloyingly sweet taste spread in his mouth, but the smile in his eyes did not reach their depths.
He could see the turmoil deep within Lupin's soul.
Though kind, this man was suffocated by the shadows of the past and his own curse.
He was filled with guilt towards his best friend, yet also harbored an instinctive doubt about the truth of those events.
"Sometimes, what the eyes see is not necessarily the truth, Professor." Julian said meaningfully. "Just as this is merely a piece of chocolate. Yet in some people's eyes, it could be a life-saving antidote, or a deadly poison."
Lupin fell silent.
Chapter 164: The Unremarkable Parchment
Lupin looked at the thirteen-year-old boy before him, a strong sense of absurdity rising in his heart.
He felt as though he were facing not a student, but a centuries-old monster, dissecting his inner thoughts from a superior vantage point.
This feeling reminded him of Lord Voldemort from years ago, yet it was also different.
Voldemort brought fear, while what Julian brought was a sense of awe toward the unknown.
"You are... very special, Julian." Lupin finally spoke, his voice low. "But I hope you understand that no matter how powerful the strength you possess, if you lose empathy for others, that power will eventually become a cage."
"Empathy?" Julian chuckled softly. He wrapped the remaining chocolate and placed it in his robe pocket.
"Professor, does a wolf have empathy when it tears apart its prey on a full moon? Or is that its essential nature—a fate it cannot defy?"
Lupin's body trembled violently as he looked at Julian in horror.
Could he know?
Impossible... Dumbledore had promised...
Julian did not give Lupin a chance to question him further.
He bowed slightly, performing a standard farewell gesture.
"Goodnight, Professor Lupin. I hope this full moon... is a bit more peaceful for you."
With that, he turned and left, his black robes billowing in the night wind like a giant black swan.
Lupin stood where he was, not moving for a long time.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
He watched Julian's receding figure and then looked at the pale moon in the sky, a sense of unprecedented unease rising in his heart.
This Hogwarts seemed to have welcomed a variable even more dangerous than the Defense Against the Dark Artscourse itself.
By the time he returned to the Castle, most of the torches in the corridors had been extinguished.
Julian did not go directly back to the Slytherin Common Room.
He could feel the piece of chocolate in his pocket heating up slightly.
It was Lupin's residual magic, carrying a quality that was warm yet sad.
"Truly a... contradictory soul."
Julian commented in a low voice.
He did not intend to expose Lupin's identity now, or use it to threaten him.
On the contrary, a Professor harboring guilt and secrets was far more useful than an ordinary Werewolf.
He was constructing a new chessboard in his mind.
Sirius Black was still on the run, Peter Pettigrew was shivering in Ron's pocket, and Professor Lupin was licking his wounds alone under the moonlight.
The grudges of the old Marauders had now all converged in this Castle.
And he, Julian Rosier, would become the director of this belated drama.
Pushing open the stone door of the Slytherin Common Room, the warmth of the hearth fire rushed toward him.
The common room was empty, except for his pet—Purple Fiend—who suddenly appeared on the sofa, lying lazily.
"Are you hungry too?" Julian extended a finger, teasing Purple Fiend's chin.
Purple Fiend let out a low hiss.
Julian sat on the sofa and reopened Dumbledore's notes.
Outside the window, the water of the Black Lake lapped against the glass with a dull thud.
Hogwarts seemed peaceful, but beneath that calm surface, great undercurrents were surging.
Several days passed in a flash.
The Whomping Willow outside the window began to shed its first batch of withered yellow leaves, and the draft through the Castle carried a touch of desolate chill.
Life at Hogwarts seemed to have returned to its former tranquility.
Except for Malfoy, who was still enjoying Pansy's feeding service in the Hospital Wing and occasionally letting out exaggerated screams, everything appeared orderly.
On Tuesday afternoon, the third-floor corridor was crowded with students who had just finished class.
Julian carried several heavy volumes of Intermediate Transfiguration, walking through the crowd with a composed pace.
His gaze seemed indifferent, but in reality, he had already locked onto a commotion not far ahead.
"Turn out your pockets! All of them!"
Filch's raspy, duck-like voice was particularly piercing amidst the noisy chatter.
The loathed caretaker was blocking the area behind the One-Eyed Witch statue, his face flushed red, his cloudy eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.
In front of him, Fred and George Weasley were holding their hands up with innocent expressions, but their eyes sparkled with the cunning gleam of a prank about to succeed.
"Mr. Filch, we really were just admiring the artistic value of this statue," Fred said earnestly.
"Yes, look at the construction of this single eye; what a post-modern deconstructive style it has," George added immediately.
"Enough talk! I saw it! You stuffed something in there!" Filch roared, spittle spraying all over the twins' faces. "Was it Dungbombs? Or those damned Fanged Frisbees?"
He roughly grabbed George's robes, attempting to thrust his hand into his pocket.
At that moment, Julian stopped in his tracks.
He stood at the edge of the crowd like a detached bystander.
But the time-turner on his chest vibrated slightly, and an invisible ripple extended from his gaze, silently covering that chaotic corner.
Reality Weaving, activate.
He gently waved his wand, needing no incantation.
He merely plucked a string of causality.
"Probability Correction: The friction coefficient of the stone slab under Filch's feet is zeroed."
"Physical Interference: The sliding trajectory of the Parchment is corrected to thirty degrees to the right."
In the next second, Filch's foot, clad in a worn-out leather shoe, suddenly slipped.
"Ouch!"
The caretaker let out a strange cry as he toppled backward, his hands instinctively clawing the air.
In the chaos, George's pocket was torn open, and a large pile of messy prank products clattered to the floor.
Skiving Snackboxes, Fake wands, and several smoking Filibuster's Fireworks.
And amidst this pile of colorful props, an old, yellowed, and unremarkable-looking Parchment slid out silently.
It hugged the floor like a nimble snake, precisely avoiding everyone's heels and tracing a strange yet extremely natural arc before finally coming to a stop by Julian's polished black leather shoes.
The surrounding students were all laughing at Filch's mishap, and the twins were busy helping (or rather, taking the opportunity to mock) the caretaker; no one noticed this inconspicuous Parchment at all.
The corners of Julian's mouth curled up in a smile whose meaning only he knew.
He bent down gracefully, as if merely adjusting his shoelaces.
With a light flick of his slender fingers, the Parchmentdisappeared into his wide cuff.
"It seems you need some help, Mr. Filch."
Julian straightened up and casually waved his wand.
"Reparo."
The prank products scattered on the ground instantly gathered into a pile, and Filch was righted by a gentle force.
"Oh... Mr. Rosier." Filch panted, his distorted face softening slightly upon seeing the Slytherin honor student.
"Thank you... these damned Gryffindors, one day I'll hang them all from the ceiling!"
"I'm sure you'll have the chance," Julian nodded mildly, his gaze sweeping over the wary Weasley twins.
Fred and George looked at each other; they felt as though they had just lost something important, but amidst Filch's roaring, they had no time to think.
"Get out! Don't let me see you again!"
Driven away by Filch, the twins grabbed their things from the floor and bolted.
Julian watched them leave, his fingers lightly stroking the rough Parchment in his sleeve as he turned to walk in the opposite direction.
Chapter 165: The marauders map
A few minutes later, in an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor.
Julian casually cast 'Muffliato' and 'Colloportus' on the door.
He walked to the dust-covered lectern and spread the blank parchment flat on the desk.
Sunlight streamed through the broken windowpanes onto the paper, dust motes dancing in the beams.
Julian drew his wand and gently tapped the center of the parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
His voice was low and resonant, carrying a sense of homage to the geniuses of a bygone era.
Ink, as if alive, flowed from the tip of his wand, spreading and intertwining on the aged paper.
Lines sketched the outline of the Castle, intricate text surfaced, finally converging into that famous opening line:
[Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs... offer their compliments...]
Julian looked at the tiny Black dots moving across the map, a flicker of admiration in his eyes.
"True name magic..." he murmured softly.
This was not merely a map.
It was a small, omniscient system built upon the ley lines of Hogwarts.
It could ignore Polyjuice Potion, ignore invisibility cloaks, even Harry's Deathly Hallow, ignore most concealment charms, and accurately pinpoint the true existence of every individual.
"James Potter and Sirius Black might be arrogant bastards, but in magical attainment, they indeed possessed enviable talent."
Julian's finger traced the edge of the Forbidden Forest on the map, where Sirius's name did not appear—because this map only covered the Castle and part of the grounds.
But he soon found that name in a corner of Gryffindor Tower: [Peter Pettigrew].
That name was pressed right up against little Ron Weasley's name.
"The principle behind this shares similarities with the taboo on Lord Voldemort's name."
Julian analyzed.
Lord Voldemort placed a curse on his own name; anyone who spoke it aloud would breach magical barriers and expose their location.
That utilized the name as a connection point between soul and reality.
The marauders map, however, used Hogwarts' enrollment list to reversely track the entity corresponding to each name.
"Names are chains."
Julian closed his eyes, sensing the complex magical circuitry within the map.
For someone dedicated to weaving reality, this artifact was not just for surveillance; it was an excellent research specimen.
It demonstrated how to materialize information.
Although he already knew Black's and Peter's movements through plot advantages and his own perceptual abilities.
Both of them were extremely unstable variables.
Peter was as timid as a mouse, fleeing at the slightest disturbance; Black was mentally unstable, liable to act rashly at any moment.
With this map, he effectively possessed a pair of ever-watchful eyes.
"As a contingency plan, it's perfect."
Julian gave his wand a light flick.
"Mischief managed."
The ink rapidly faded, and the parchment returned to blankness.
Julian folded the map neatly and placed it into his inner pocket, right against the time-turner close to his chest.
At that moment, he felt a solid sense of having everything under control.
The entire Hogwarts was now in his pocket.
As he left the abandoned classroom, Julian was in an exceptionally good mood.
He even encountered Peeves in the corridor and, unusually, didn't glare the poltergeist away. Instead, he smiled and greeted him.
"Good afternoon, Peeves."
The always-mischievous poltergeist froze mid-air, the water balloon in his hand forgotten, a look of utter shock on his face as he watched Julian's retreating back.
"That brat... why is his smile scarier than The Bloody Baron's?" Peeves muttered, shuddered, and whooshed away through the wall.
Julian paid no mind to the little episode behind him.
His current objective was clear.
Now that the map was secured, the 'rodent hunt' plan could officially be put on the agenda.
The spiral staircase leading to the North Tower seemed endless, the air thick with a soporific incense scent.
It was a peculiar aroma mixing sherry, old carpets, and some cheap perfume.
Julian stepped onto the final stair and pushed open the trapdoor hung with a brass plaque.
The Divination classroom was less a classroom and more a cluttered attic.
Over twenty small round tables were crammed into the cramped space, each lit by dim red lanterns.
The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out the midday sun, creating an artificial sense of mystery—or perhaps oppression.
"Welcome to the realm of future sight."
A vague, drifting voice came from the shadows.
Professor Sybill Trelawney emerged from behind a large armchair.
She was extremely thin, wearing enormous glasses that made her eyes look like two startled dragonflies.
She was draped in countless shimmering shawls, her neck laden with various beads and amulets that made faint clinking sounds with her movements.
"Sit, my children," she said in a tone as if she had just woken from a dream. "Open your minds to the supernatural."
Julian casually took a seat at a round table by the window.
Sitting opposite him were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
Harry looked somewhat nervous, while Ron wore an expression of impatience, clearly holding little hope for this class.
"Today, we will be learning tasseomancy—tea leaf reading," Professor Trelawney floated to the center of the room, her gaze sweeping over each student as if searching for some sign of misfortune.
"Drink your tea until only the dregs remain. Then, with your left hand, swirl the cup three times, turn it upside down onto the saucer..."
Julian picked up the chipped porcelain cup, looking at the murky tea inside.
It was a poor-quality Black tea with a stale, musty smell.
He didn't drink it. Instead, using a small trick of reality weaving, he directly evaporated the water from the tea, leaving only a layer of damp tea leaves.
"Now, exchange cups and interpret your partner's fate," Professor Trelawney's voice sounded again.
Harry and Ron exchanged cups, both scratching their heads over the patterns in their manuals.
"This looks like a... sun?" Ron said uncertainly. "Does that mean you'll be happy soon? Or that you'll get sunstroke?"
"That's an acorn, Ron," Hermione's voice suddenly came from behind. She had somehow sat down nearby and was staring at Trelawney with a skeptical look. "It represents unexpected wealth."
Professor Trelawney seemed to have heard the commotion. She drifted over slowly.
"Let me see..." She picked up Harry's cup—the one Ronhad just been interpreting.
Her enormous eyes suddenly widened, and she let out a terrified shriek.
Chapter 166: Prophecy
"No! Oh, my dear boy... you have... the Grim!"
The entire class fell silent in an instant, everyone holding their breath.
"It's an omen of death! A large black dog!" Trelawneytrembled, pointing at the dregs in the teacup.
Harry's face turned pale as he remembered the black dog he had seen earlier on the Muggle street.
Julian watched the farce with cold detachment.
He knew that while Trelawney was mostly a fraud, she did occasionally catch a glimpse of fate's edge.
However, such glimpses were far too vague and saturated with subjective fear.
"And what about this gentleman?" Trelawney, seemingly to dispel her earlier fright or to find a new victim, turned her gaze upon Julian.
She reached out a hand laden with Rings and picked up the teacup before Julian.
The previously noisy classroom fell silent once more.
Everyone watched the Slytherin genius with curiosity, wanting to know what secrets his fate held.
Trelawney lowered her head, peering into the teacup.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
The expected gasp did not come.
Instead, Professor Trelawney froze in place as if petrified.
Her hands began to tremble violently, the teacup clattering sharply against the saucer.
"This... this is impossible..."
Her voice was no longer airy but filled with genuine, soul-deep terror.
It was a fear more terrible than seeing death itself.
"I can't see... I can't see anything..." Trelawney muttered, her eyes darting frantically in their sockets as if searching for a non-existent escape.
"No past... no present... no future..."
Suddenly, she let out a piercing shriek and flung the teacup from her hand.
*Crash!*
The teacup hit the wall and shattered to pieces.
Black tea leaves scattered across the floor like dried bloodstains.
"It's nothingness! It's a black hole!" Trelawney collapsed onto the floor, clutching her head, her body curled into a tight ball.
"He isn't there! He's not on the tapestry of fate at all! He's a loophole! An abyss that devours everything!"
The entire class was stunned by the scene.
Lavender Brown screamed, and Neville scrambled under his desk in fright.
Even Hermione, usually so composed, stared at Julianwith a pale face.
"Professor, I think you might be tired," Julian's voice was frighteningly calm, standing out starkly in the chaotic classroom.
He stood up and walked over to Trelawney.
Looking down at the broken Witch, a faint glimmer of amethyst-grey light flickered in his eyes.
"Some things are not for your eyes to see," Julian said softly, a hint of warning in his tone. "If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back."
Trelawney jerked her head up. Through her thick spectacles, she saw a pair of seemingly endless dark eyes.
In those eyes, she saw not human emotion, but a cold, absolute interweaving of order and chaos.
As if scalded, she scrambled backwards on all fours until she bumped into the bookshelf in the corner.
"Class dismissed! This lesson is over! Everyone out!" Trelawney shrieked hysterically.
The students fled as if pardoned, rushing towards the trapdoor.
As Harry passed by Julian, he couldn't help but pause.
"You... are you alright?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Even though he was from Slytherin, what had just happened was far too bizarre.
"I'm quite well, Potter," Julian replied with a smile, adjusting the cuff of his robe. "But you, watch out for that big black dog. Sometimes, dogs are far more loyal than people."
Harry was stunned, unable to grasp the deeper meaning in Julian's words.
By the time he regained his senses, Julian was already descending the stairs.
In the corridor, Hermione caught up to him.
"Julian!" she called out breathlessly, still clutching the book *Unfogging the Future* tightly.
"Just now... what Professor Trelawney said..." Hermione's eyes were filled with worry and a flicker of fervor. "She said you aren't on the tapestry of fate... What does that mean?"
Julian stopped and turned to look at the girl who now belonged entirely to him.
He reached out and gently stroked Hermione's bushy hair.
"It means, Hermione," Julian's voice was gentle yet low, "I am not bound by fate. And you, as my anchor, will also transcend those tedious prophecies."
Hermione trembled slightly. She felt the warmth from Julian's fingertips, the thrilling shiver of being chosen making her almost unable to stand.
"Yes... I know," Hermione whispered in response, a near-fanatical adoration gleaming in her eyes. "Whether you are a black hole or an abyss, I will fill it."
Julian smiled.
It was a smile of satisfaction.
Trelawney's breakdown, though unexpected, had produced an astonishingly good effect.
It had not only deepened Hermione's devotion but also sown a seed of awe throughout the school.
A person even a Seer could not fathom was far more terrifying and intriguing than one doomed by prophecy.
"Come, Hermione," Julian withdrew his hand. "Next is Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. I don't wish to be late."
"Yes, Julian," Hermione followed obediently behind him, like a devout believer following her deity.
Meanwhile, atop the North Tower, Professor Trelawneyremained curled in the corner, muttering incessantly:
"Doesn't exist... He doesn't exist... and yet he is everywhere..."
Julian walked along the corridor leading to the second-floor Transfiguration classroom.
Rumors spread through Hogwarts faster than any known owl.
As he passed a group of third-year Hufflepuff students, their animated discussion ceased abruptly.
The children, as if faced with some unspeakable monster, instinctively pressed themselves against the wall, their eyes filled with wary uncertainty.
"Is that the one... even Professor Trelawney couldn't see through?"
"I heard the Professor was scared out of her wits by him, still screaming in the tower..."
Whispers spread like damp moss in the shadows.
Julian paid them no heed, not even glancing at those mediocre souls.
Half a step behind him, Hermione Granger clutched her schoolbag tightly. In her usually rational eyes now burned a disquieting light.
She no longer tried to correct the absurd rumors. Instead, she swept her gaze over anyone who looked at Julianwith fear, her scrutiny almost clinical.
In her logic, the fear of the mediocre was the most sincere coronation for the strong.
"They don't even dare say your name, Julian," Hermionemurmured, a hint of morbid pride in her voice.
"That's good, Hermione," Julian pushed open the door to the Transfiguration classroom, his tone flat. "Names are merely symbols. They only become taboos when they bear an incomprehensible weight."
Inside the classroom, Professor McGonagall already stood behind the lectern.
Her perpetually stern face held a trace of barely perceptible gravity.
Clearly, the Deputy Headmistress had already heard about the "Prophecy of Nothingness" from the Divination Class.
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