Chapter 186: The Werewolf: Greyback
The next day, on the hogwarts express.
In the compartment, Julian was leisurely flipping through The Daily Prophet.
The front-page headline was about the Ministry of Magicstrengthening the guards at Azkaban; Fudge's fat face looked anxious in the photograph.
Opposite him sat Daphne and Astoria.
Astoria had fallen asleep leaning against his shoulder, still clutching a box of bertie botts every flavor beans.
Daphne was peeling a chocolate frog, her eyes occasionally drifting toward Julian.
"Father sent a letter," Daphne said suddenly, her voice kept very low.
"He said that the so-called Dark Lord's former followers have been very active in Knockturn Alley lately.
Many Pure-blood families are watching and waiting; even the Nott family seems to be wavering internally."
"Let them waver," Julian said without looking up.
"Fear is the best catalyst. When they realize their original backer (Voldemort) has become unpredictable and a new order is being established, they will make the right choice."
"You mean..."
"I mean, Daphne," Julian put down the newspaper, his deep eyes reflecting the scenery flying past outside the window.
"This summer break, I will pay a visit to Greengrass Manor.
By the way, I'll sign that document from your father regarding the transfer of water rights for the Black Lake."
Daphne froze for a moment, then an expression of sheer ecstasy appeared on her face.
This not only meant the expansion of family interests but also that Julian had officially brought the Greengrass Family into his inner circle.
"I... I will have everything prepared," Daphne's voice trembled slightly.
The train whistled as it sped through golden wheat fields toward London.
In distant Azkaban, Peter was huddled in a corner of his cell, staring at the twisted symbol he had scratched into the wall with his fingernails.
A certain summons was coming.
A storm sweeping through the entire wizarding world was quietly taking shape in this seemingly peaceful summer.
London in July was incredibly sweltering.
But in Knockturn Alley, the air was always cold, damp, and carried a musty scent of decay.
In the backroom of Borgin and Burkes, Julian Rosierappeared.
He wore a well-tailored long black trench coat with the collar turned up, covering half his chin, but those deep, abyss-like purple eyes were particularly striking in the dim shop.
"Welcome... welcome, Master Rosier."
Mr. Borgin's hunched figure immediately emerged from behind the counter, a greasy rag in his hand, his face filled with a fawning yet fearful smile.
He knew better than anyone how terrifying this youth was.
Not just because of the House of Rosier's wealth, but because of an aura that could make even Dark Arts items feel dread.
"Your business is doing quite well, Borgin."
Julian brushed non-existent dust off his shoulder, his voice as calm as stagnant water.
"It seems you have indeed put a lot of effort into maintaining it."
"Naturally, naturally! This is mainly thanks to your support," Borgin rubbed his hands, his eyes flickering.
"Do you have any special instructions today? I recently received a cursed opal necklace that is said to have taken the lives of nineteen Muggles..."
"I am not interested in such crude killing tools."
Julian interrupted him coldly, his gaze sweeping over the withered hands and rusted torture instruments on the shelves.
"I want to see Fenrir Greyback."
At the mention of that name, Borgin's face instantly turned pale, and the rag in his hand dropped to the floor.
"Grey... Greyback? That madman? Master, are you... are you sure? He's been like a wild dog in heat lately; even Dark Wizards don't dare provoke him..."
"You only need to tell me where he is," Julian turned his head, his eyes showing no ripple of emotion.
"In... in the basement of the White Wyvern," Borgin said tremblingly, "That's a gathering place for werewolves; even Aurors don't dare patrol there."
"Very well."
Julian casually tossed a bag of Galleons; the heavy pouch hit the counter with a pleasant clinking sound.
"Keep an eye on this street, Borgin. If anything happens here, you know what to do."
"Yes... yes! I am happy to be of service!"
Leaving the shop, Julian walked into the narrow, winding streets of Knockturn Alley.
The shops on either side were mostly closed tight; occasionally, a few witches wrapped in tattered robes huddled in the shadows, eyeing passersby with greedy and malicious gazes.
But as Julian passed, they all lowered their heads in unison, instinctively shrinking back.
Purple Fiend's figure appeared behind him like a ghost, her purple hair faintly visible beneath her hood.
"Master, the scent of werewolves is very strong; it's just ahead."
"Let's go and see our Scavenger."
The White Wyvern was a rickety wooden building with a sign depicting a headless dragon.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, a strong stench of alcohol, sweat, and blood rushed toward them.
The bar was dimly lit, with only a few whale oil lamps crackling.
There were no ordinary Wizards here, only fugitives, black market dealers, and... non-humans.
As Julian walked down the stairs to the basement, the surrounding clamor came to an abrupt halt.
The basement space was much larger than the floor above, with dirty straw covering the ground and dozens of pairs of glowing green eyes lighting up in the darkness.
On a throne built of bones at the far end sat a man as burly as a bear.
His hair and beard were matted together, his fingernails sharp and blackened, and his robes were tattered, revealing thick chest hair and crisscrossing scars beneath.
He was tearing into a piece of bloody raw meat, blood trickling down the corners of his mouth.
Fenrir Greyback.
The Werewolf leader looked up, his yellow eyes fixed on Julian, a low growl escaping his throat.
"A tender-skinned little Wizard..." Greyback dropped the piece of meat and stood up, his massive shadow looming over Julian.
"Are you lost? Or are you a dessert specially delivered to my door?"
The surrounding werewolves erupted in harsh laughter; some had already begun gnashing their teeth, eager to strike.
Julian did not speak; he just stood there quietly, as if admiring a beast in a cage.
"I heard you like biting children?" Julian's voice was cold and clear, sounding out of place in this space filled with bestiality.
"So that they contract lycanthropy at a young age and grow up in hatred?"
"That is my masterpiece!" Greyback laughed wildly, spreading his arms. "I am building an army, an army strong enough to tear the entire wizarding world apart! And you, kid, your flesh smells delicious..."
Before he could finish, Greyback lunged forward.
His speed was astonishingly fast, even bringing a gust of bloody wind, his sharp claws reaching straight for Julian's throat.
However, Julian didn't even draw his wand.
He simply raised his right hand slightly and gave a soft tap in the void with his index finger.
"Kneel."
"Boom—!"
Chapter 187: Continuing the Layout
An invisible, terrifying gravity suddenly descended upon Greyback.
This wasn't an ordinary Gravity Charm; it was a direct modification of Reality Weight.
At this moment, Greyback felt like he wasn't carrying air, but a mountain, or rather, the repulsive force of the entire world.
"Crack!"
Greyback's strong kneecaps made a tooth-gritting cracking sound as he fell heavily to his knees, shattering the stone slabs on the ground.
"Roar—!" he bellowed in anger, trying to struggle, muscles bulging, veins writhing like earthworms.
But he found he couldn't move at all.
The surrounding werewolves watched this scene in horror, their original jeering instantly turning into a deathly silence.
Julian walked gracefully to Greyback, looking down at the beast from above.
"The strength you pride yourself on is, in my eyes, nothing more than the brute force of a lower creature."
Julian reached out and pressed his hand against Greyback's filthy forehead.
Dark purple magic flowed from his fingertips into the Werewolf's brain.
"Aaaaah—!"
Greyback let out a piercing scream, more painful than any Cruciatus Curse.
Because Julian was "weaving" his brain.
In the depths of Greyback's soul, he implanted an absolute logic:
Julian is the ruler; defiance is destruction.
"Your so-called army is nothing but a rabble," Julian said softly, a hint of pity in his tone.
"But I can give you a chance. A chance to no longer be driven away like beasts, but to live as normal Wizards."
As the magic poured in, the madness in Greyback's eyes gradually faded, replaced by a deep, bone-deep fear and submission.
That suppression from the soul level made him instinctively lower his proud head.
"Mas... Master..." Greyback trembled as he spat out the word, his voice hoarse and humble.
Julian withdrew his hand, and the terrifying gravity dissipated.
Greyback slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, sweat mixed with blood wetting the floor.
"Very good."
Julian turned around and looked at the shivering werewolves around him.
"From today on, you are no longer Lord Voldemort's lackeys, nor are you stray dogs."
"You are my Scavengers."
"Before this summer break ends, I want you to integrate all the dark forces in Knockturn Alley—those defiant Dark Wizards, those thieves trying to fish in troubled waters..."
Julian paused, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"They are your food. Additionally, I will have someone deliver a batch of modified Wolfsbane Potion to you; it will allow you to maintain your combat power without being infectious."
"Yes!"
All the werewolves, including Greyback, prostrated themselves on the ground, bowing to the young tyrant.
When they left the White Wyvern, the sky outside had completely darkened.
The shadows of Knockturn Alley seemed to deepen, but in Julian's eyes, these shadows had become the sharp blades in his hand.
"Master, where to next?" Purple Fiend asked softly. She had just cleared out several Dark Wizards attempting a sneak attack in the shadows, her dagger still stained with blood.
"Back to the manor."
Time entered August.
The Quidditch World Cup campsite was like a giant, colorful maze.
In the British countryside, the air was filled with the mixed aroma of grass and Butterbeer.
Various magical tents crowded the hillside, some even built like three-story buildings, complete with gardens and fountains.
Julian wore a casual grey linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing long, powerful forearms.
He strolled through the bustling crowd, followed by the dressed-up Greengrass Sisters.
Daphne held his left arm, her emerald green silk dress making her skin look as white as snow.
Astoria wore a light blue dress, hopping around in front like a happy little sparrow, holding a screaming Bulgarian team doll.
"Look! That's Harry Potter!"
A commotion came from the crowd.
Julian looked toward the sound and saw Harry just and Ron's family squeezed in front of a shabby little tent trying to start a fire.
Beside them stood a thin but energetic man—Sirius Black.
Having regained his freedom, although his face still bore the vicissitudes left by Azkaban, light had reignited in those grey eyes.
"Oh, Rosier!"
Sirius was the first to see Julian. He strode over, a characteristic Gryffindor warm smile on his face.
"Long time no see! Thank you for taking care of Harry at school."
Harry scratched his head awkwardly. He hadn't had the chance to tell his godfather that the senior who took care of him was actually the shadow leader of all Slytherin.
Of course, Sirius didn't tell Harry that they had collaborated before either.
"It's my honor, Mr. Black."
Julian smiled and reached out, his etiquette perfect and beyond reproach.
"Harry is a Wizard with great potential, though sometimes... a bit impulsive."
"Haha! That's Gryffindor for you. If you're not impulsive, can you even be called a young man?"
Sirius clapped Julian heartily on the shoulder. Having regained his freedom, he showed none of his previous lethargy.
"Enjoy the match."
After simple pleasantries, Julian led the sisters toward the top-level VIP box.
That was the territory of high-ranking Ministry of Magicofficials and ancient Pure-blood families.
The match itself was unremarkable.
Although Viktor Krum's Wronski Feint was indeed brilliant, in Julian's eyes, it was just a bunch of monkeys on broomsticks fighting over a golden walnut.
Even though he was a Chaser for Slytherin House, it was merely a title.
His gaze always drifted outside the field, staring at the undercurrents hidden beneath the cheers.
Night fell, and the revelry began.
With the Irish team's victory, the camp turned into a sea of green.
However, at the peak of this revelry, chaos arrived as scheduled.
"Boom—!"
Several loud bangs broke the silence of the night sky.
A group of Wizards wearing masks and Black robes suddenly appeared. They waved their wands, setting fire to tents and levitating several Muggle families in mid-air, toying with them at will.
Screams and cries instantly replaced the cheers.
"Ah! Those are Death Eaters!" Daphne grabbed Julian's arm in terror.
"Don't be afraid." Julian patted the back of her hand, his tone terrifyingly calm.
"Just a bunch of nostalgic old relics looking for some fun."
He turned his head and looked into the shadows.
There, a Black and white cat was silently moving through the chaotic crowd.
Blanche had already taken action.
At the other end of the camp, although Hermione hadn't come to watch the match with Harry because of Julian.
Harry was still protected in the middle by the Weasley family, being pulled toward the woods.
In the midst of this chaos, a figure wearing an invisibility cloak quietly approached Harry.
It was Barty Crouch Jr.
Under Blanche's cover, he easily slipped the holly wandfrom Harry's pocket.
"Morsmordre!"
Green light pierced the night sky.
A giant skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth, slowly took shape in the pitch-Black sky.
The dark mark.
The crowd grew even more panicked. Even those Death Eaters who had originally just wanted to cause some destruction were stunned and scattered in all directions.
A cold smile curled at the corner of Julian's mouth.
The show has begun.
Chapter 188: Double Agent
Julian had Daphne take Astoria back to the tent first, while he walked alone into the pitch-black woods.
Deep in the woods, the shadows of the trees swayed.
An old man in a Ministry of Magic uniform was stumbling along, his eyes hollow, clutching his wand tightly as he muttered illogical phrases.
Barty Crouch.
This iron-fisted figure, who once had the potential to become the Minister for Magic, was now like a shell with its soul hollowed out.
The erosion of the Imperio curse, combined with the guilt of personally sending his son to Azkaban, was about to crush him.
Just then, a purple barrier blocked his path.
"Mr. Crouch, working overtime so late?"
Julian stepped out from behind a tree, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed.
"Move... I need to find... find that rebellious son..." Old Barty raised his wand mechanically, his voice hoarse.
"Your rebellious son has already gone to report back to his master."
Julian shook his head and gave a light flick of his finger.
"Expelliarmus."
The wand in Old Barty's hand flew out, and his whole body slumped to the ground as if his bones had been removed.
Julian walked up to him, knelt down, and looked directly into those cloudy eyes.
"Look at me."
Purple light swirled in his eyes.
Reality Magic activated.
This time, it wasn't about implanting new logic, but—cleansing.
Julian's vast mental power acted like a scalpel, precisely severing the chains of the Imperio curse that Lord Voldemort had placed in Old Barty's mind.
"Ah—!"
Old Barty let out a low growl of pain, his body twitching violently as if undergoing a rebirth of the soul.
A moment later, his eyes gradually cleared.
What followed was immense fear and despair.
"I... what have I done..." Old Barty covered his face, tears streaming down his aged cheeks.
"I let him go... I've become a sinner..."
"No, Mr. Crouch."
Julian handed him a clean white handkerchief, his tone as gentle as if he were comforting a child who had made a mistake.
"You didn't let him go; it was your great fatherly love that made your heart soften at the last moment."
"That is humanity, not a sin."
Old Barty looked up, staring in shock at the teenager before him.
"You are... the child from the House of Rosier?"
"Precisely." Julian stood up and looked down at him.
"The situation is clear now: Lord Voldemort is returning, and your son has returned to his side. If you turn yourself in now, not only will your reputation be ruined, but the entire Ministry of Magic will be thrown into turmoil because of your scandal."
"Then... then what should I do?" Old Barty asked tremblingly, completely at a loss.
"It's simple."
Julian reached out and pulled him up.
"Continue being the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. When Lord Voldemort or your son contacts you, pretend you are still under his control. Every piece of intelligence and every instruction your son sends back, tell me first."
Old Barty was stunned.
"You... you want me to be a double agent?"
"This is your only salvation, Mr. Crouch."
Julian leaned in close to his ear and whispered.
"Think about it. When you cooperate with me and we finally bury Lord Voldemort for good, you will no longer be the sinner who shielded a Death Eater son, but a hero who endured humiliation to infiltrate the enemy camp."
"And, I can guarantee that once it's done, I will give your son a decent... ending."
Old Barty looked into Julian's bottomless eyes, feeling as if he were making a deal with the devil.
But he had no choice.
"I... I promise you."
"A wise choice."
Julian patted his shoulder and helped him straighten his messy collar.
"Now, dry your tears and stand tall. The Ministry of MagicAurors will be here soon; you need to go and command them to arrest those troublemakers."
With that, Julian's figure gradually faded into the darkness, leaving only a faint sentence echoing in the woods.
"Remember, reality can be rewritten, as long as you stand on the side of the winner."
Watching the teenager's departing back, Old Barty took a deep breath.
He picked up his wand from the ground, his gaze turning cold and hard once more.
"I am Barty Crouch, official of the Ministry of Magic! Everyone, rally to me! Seal off the scene!"
His voice was loud and majestic, as if the iron-blooded department head who once made Death Eaters tremble with fear had returned.
As soon as Old Barty finished speaking, multiple spatial distortions appeared nearby.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A dozen Aurors Apparated to the scene almost simultaneously.
Red Stupefy spells and blue Binding Charms wove into a dense net in the woods, sealing off the area that had just been shrouded by the dark mark until not a drop could leak through.
Fudge was wearing his signature pinstriped cloak, clutching his lime-green bowler hat tightly, his face as pale as if he had just swallowed a slug.
He was gasping for breath, his forehead covered in cold sweat, and those eyes that usually held a fake smile were now filled with terror and unease.
"What happened? What on earth happened?"
Fudge's voice was sharp and trembling, sounding particularly piercing in the now-quiet woods.
"Who fired it? Have we caught anyone? Is it... is it that person?"
"Minister, we are searching."
Old Barty Crouch had resumed his cold, bureaucratic manner.
He strode up to Fudge; though his face was still a bit pale, his eyes were exceptionally firm.
"The scene only shows the use of one wand. Upon inspection, it belongs to... Mr. Harry Potter."
"What?!"
Fudge jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"Harry Potter? That's impossible! That boy is our chosen one! How could he possibly fire the dark mark?"
"Perhaps it was stolen, or perhaps he was being controlled."
A calm, elegant, and slightly lazy voice came from the shadows.
Julian walked out slowly.
The grey shirt he wore was still neat, with only a few inconspicuous specks of dust on the cuffs.
Daphne and Astoria followed closely behind him. Although the two sisters were somewhat frightened, they showed good breeding and composure while by Julian's side.
"Mr... Mr. Rosier?"
Chapter 189: Hints
When Fudge saw Julian, it was as if he had seen a lifeline, and he hurried forward to greet him.
Although Julian was only a student, the Rosier Familybehind him and his influence within pure-blood circles forced Fudge to take him seriously.
"Are you alright? This is truly terrible, for such a thing to happen at the World Cup final..."
"I'm fine, Minister."
Julian nodded slightly, his tone carrying a touch of well-placed reproach and regret.
"However, as one of the sponsors of this event and a student of Hogwarts, I am very disappointed with the security tonight."
"This... it was an accident..." Fudge wiped his sweat, attempting to defend himself.
"An accident?" Julian chuckled, a laugh devoid of any warmth.
"Mr. Minister, Harry Potter's wand was stolen in plain sight and then used to cast the dark mark."
"This is not just a lapse in security, but a... signal of sorts."
Julian stepped beside Fudge and lowered his voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear.
"Don't you find it strange? Why Harry Potter, of all people?"
"And as far as I know, Professor Dumbledore seems to have been very busy lately."
"He's frequently contacting his... old subordinates, and has even recalled some retired Aurors."
Fudge's pupils contracted sharply.
This was his deepest fear—that Dumbledore wanted to seize power.
"You mean... the Order of the Phoenix?" Fudge's voice trembled slightly.
"I'm just a student; I don't understand the politics of adults."
Julian shrugged, looking innocent.
"But what I see is that the Principal of Hogwarts seems to be putting more energy into building a private army than protecting his students."
"Look at tonight; if it weren't for Mr. Crouch's quick reaction, those Death Eaters might have caused even more casualties."
"And where was Dumbledore? Where was he?"
These words were like a sharp knife, precisely piercing Fudge's fragile nerves.
Yes, where was Dumbledore?
Why was it that every time something happened, that old man always arrived late, then cleaned up the mess like the chosen one, enjoying all the praise?
While he, the Minister of magic, was always kept in the dark like a fool?
"You're right, Mr. Rosier."
Fudge's eyes gradually turned sinister, a precursor to fear transforming into aggression.
"Hogwarts indeed needs a reorganization; we cannot allow certain people to turn the school into their private barracks."
"I think so too."
Julian smiled; the smile looked exceptionally charming under the moonlight, yet it sent a chill down one's spine.
"I think, in the future, the Ministry of Magic should have more of a say in the school, such as... appointing a High Inquisitor?"
"After all, only under the Ministry's supervision can the safety of the students be truly guaranteed, right?"
Fudge was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up.
"A High Inquisitor... that's a good idea! A very good idea!"
He excitedly grasped Julian's hand as if he had found a kindred spirit.
"Mr. Rosier, you are truly young and promising! I will seriously consider this suggestion!"
"For the stability of the wizarding world and for the future of the children, we must take action!"
"Naturally, Minister."
Julian calmly withdrew his hand and took a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it.
"Then, I won't disturb your work anymore."
"I think it's time I take these two startled young ladies back as well."
"Oh, of course, of course! Please go ahead!" Fudgenodded repeatedly, watching Julian leave.
At this moment, his mind was entirely occupied with how to use this incident to suppress Dumbledore, completely unaware that he had become a knife in the hands of this young man.
Returning to the Greengrass Family tent, Julian dismissed all the House-elves.
Daphne poured him a glass of mulled wine, while Astoriasat obediently on the rug, hugging the doll that was still screaming.
"This really has been a crazy night," Daphne remarked, a slight flush of post-excitement on her face.
"Those Death Eaters... were they really just having fun?"
"For them, yes."
Julian swirled his glass, watching the crimson liquid leave streaks on the sides.
"But for us, this is a grand opening ceremony."
"Opening ceremony?" Astoria looked up, blinking her large, curious eyes.
"For the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, and for... the new order."
Julian put down his glass and walked to the window, watching the distant fires slowly dying out.
"Fudge is already in the game. Next school year, Hogwarts will become very interesting."
"The Ministry's intervention, the shadow of Lord Voldemort, and Dumbledore's counterattack..."
"These three forces will turn the school into a massive vortex."
"And we," Julian turned around, spreading his arms as if embracing the entire world.
"Will stand at the center of the vortex, watching them tear at each other until they are exhausted."
"Then what should we do?" Daphne walked to his side and leaned into his arms.
"Wait."
Julian gently stroked her blonde hair, his eyes deep.
"Waiting for the goblet of fire to be lit, waiting for that name to appear."
"Then, give those self-righteous heroes the most fatal blow."
"..."
The remaining days of summer vacation flew by.
Julian didn't stay at the Greengrass Manor the entire time.
He took the time to visit Diagon Alley, checked the secret passage at Borgin and Burkes, and confirmed the progress Fenrir Greyback had made in integrating Knockturn Alley.
Those werewolves, after receiving sufficient food and the improved Wolfsbane Potion, had become exceptionally docile and efficient.
The security in Knockturn Alley was even better than in Diagon Alley—provided, of course, that you paid the "protection fee."
A week before the start of term, Hermione finally returned from her trip to France.
She met Julian at the Leaky Cauldron.
After a summer apart, the young Witch seemed to have grown a bit taller, and her skin had tanned to a healthy wheat color.
But the most striking thing was the confidence and sharpness that radiated from her very core.
"Here is what you wanted."
Hermione pulled a thick stack of Parchment from her small bag and handed it to Julian.
"My reverse engineering analysis of the goblet of fire's contract."
"Its core logic is based on the binding of the concept of a school."
"As long as we can blur the definition of a school, or at the moment the contract takes effect, use your Reality Weaving ability to plant the concept of a fake school..."
"We can make it spit out that name." Julian took the Parchment and scanned it quickly, a look of admiration in his eyes.
"Perfect work, Hermione. Your talent was practically made for breaking rules."
"It's for reshaping the rules," Hermione corrected, her gaze fanatical and determined.
"For that... absolutely rational world you described."
"Exactly." Julian took her hand, their fingers interlocking.
"For the new world."
Chapter 190: The Inner Circle
September 1st, King's Cross Station.
The hogwarts express puffed out white steam once again, preparing to depart.
This time, the atmosphere inside the carriages was noticeably more somber than in previous years.
The appearance of the dark mark had cast a shadow over everyone's hearts.
Even the Weasley twins, usually the most mischievous, appeared somewhat preoccupied now.
Julian was still sitting in the exclusive Slytherincompartment.
Outside the window, the rain fell harder and harder, but inside the compartment, the atmosphere was warm and quiet.
Powerful Silencing Charms and Undetectable Extension Charms had been cast here; the originally narrow compartment was now as spacious as a small lounge.
Deep green velvet curtains hung low, and the air was filled with the aroma of Earl Grey tea and expensive cigars.
Julian sat in a high-backed armchair in the center, holding a cup of steaming black tea.
His posture was casual and languid, long legs crossed, but those deep purple eyes exuded a pressure that made one dare not look directly at him.
Around him sat the current core power circle of SlytherinHouse.
Draco sat on his left, excitedly fiddling with a Galleon, his face full of anticipation for the upcoming event.
Theodore sat quietly in a corner, flipping through a thick ancient book on the Dark Arts, occasionally looking up with gloomy yet sharp eyes.
Blaise Zabini was adjusting his bowtie in front of a small mirror, his expression haughty.
Besides them, other core figures of Slytherin were also present—elites Julian had gradually won over through his Dueling Exchange Meetings.
The other girls, including Daphne, sat on Julian's left side.
Of course, among them sat a student who was not from Slytherin—the Ravenclaw girl prefect, Penelope Clearwater.
As a core member of the Magic Innovation and Researchgroup, she had long been won over by Julian's charisma and had become his agent in Ravenclaw.
"So, is that tournament really happening this year?"
Draco finally couldn't help but break the silence, his voice trembling with a hint of excitement.
"The Triwizard Tournament! My father said it's to strengthen international magical cooperation, but in reality, it's just to see which school is stronger, right?"
"Not just stronger, Draco."
Julian gently blew away the steam from his teacup, his voice steady and magnetic.
"This is war."
As soon as those words were spoken, the temperature in the compartment seemed to drop several degrees.
Nott closed his book, Zabini put down his mirror, and everyone's gaze focused on Julian.
"Hogwarts has been silent for too long."
Julian set down his teacup, the porcelain clinking sharply against the saucer.
"Dumbledore's so-called tolerance and love have made this ancient school weak and vulnerable.
Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons and Karkaroff of Durmstrang are coming across Europe with their respective elites, and it's certainly not just to have a cup of tea."
He stood up and walked to the rain-blurred window, his back to the others.
"They are here to make a show of force, to prove that their educational systems are superior to ours—that while their bloodlines may not be as pure as ours, their magic is more powerful."
"Then what should we do?" Penelope asked calmly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"As hosts, we need to show the proper grace."
Julian turned around, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"But this grace must be built upon a foundation of absolute superiority."
He walked up to Draco and patted the young Malfoy on the shoulder.
"Draco, I heard you're quite interested in Viktor Krum?"
"Oh, yes!" Draco's eyes lit up. "He's the best seeker in the world! My father says Karkaroff is also a man worthy of respect..."
"Krum is indeed an excellent athlete, but in the end, he is just an athlete."
There was a hint of disdain in Julian's voice.
"As for Karkaroff... what kind of respect does an opportunist deserve who only survived the witness stand by betraying his comrades?"
Draco was stunned, his expression stiffening; he seemed never to have considered the matter from this perspective.
"Listen, everyone."
Julian looked around, his gaze piercing.
"From the moment the people from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons set foot in Hogwarts, I want you to remember one thing:
We are the hosts, and they are the guests.
But this host-guest relationship is not one of equals."
He held up a finger and shook it gently.
"We must smile at them, give them the best hospitality, and let them feel the gentlemanly grace of British Wizards.
But deep down, we must make them understand that this school's history, heritage, and power are things they can never hope to reach."
"What if they provoke us?" Nott suddenly spoke, his voice raspy.
"Then use the most forceful way to slap them across the face."
Julian walked in front of everyone and pulled a thin booklet from his pocket.
"This is a collection of all the techniques and insights I've compiled regarding the Dark Arts curriculum.
If they want to cause trouble academically, Penelope, you know what to do."
Penelope took the booklet, a flicker of fanaticism shining in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Julian. Ravenclaw will let them know what true wisdom is."
"As for Slytherin..."
Julian looked at Draco and Zabini.
"I want you to show absolute dominance in social situations.
Don't be like those stupid lions of Gryffindor, who only know how to express their presence with loud voices and recklessness.
We will use the most appropriate language, the most luxurious displays, and the most nonchalant attitude to dismantle their confidence."
"For example?" Draco seemed to understand a bit, but still needed specific guidance.
"For example, when Krum shows off his flying skills, you can casually remark: 'Good technique, but a bit primitive, lacking in aesthetic.' I believe such words shouldn't be unfamiliar to you."
Julian imitated that specific aristocratic arrogance, making Daphne burst into laughter.
"Remember, true arrogance isn't sticking your nose in the air; it's the pity in your eyes when you look at them—the kind that says, 'You're trying hard, but that's all there is to it.'"
"We want to make Hogwarts their nightmare—a nightmare that they can only look up to, no matter how hard they try."
Julian sat back down in his chair, picked up his teacup, and raised it to everyone.
"For the glory of Slytherin, and for the supremacy of Hogwarts."
"For Slytherin."
"For Hogwarts."
Everyone raised their cups, and even Penelopeunhesitatingly joined this ambitious oath.
Chapter 191: The Premature Appearance of Umbridge
In the evening, the train finally arrived at HogsmeadeStation.
The wind and rain raged, bitingly cold.
But when Julian stepped out of the carriage, the surrounding rain seemed to meet an invisible barrier, sliding away to either side without a single drop touching his robes.
Hagrid, holding a massive lantern, bellowed on the platform, directing the first-years towards the boats.
Julian led his inner circle towards the carriages pulled by Thestrals.
Boarding the carriage and passing through the gates flanked by winged boar statues, the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts Castle loomed faintly through the curtain of rain.
The Great Hall remained warm and bright.
The four long tables were laden with golden plates and goblets, while thousands of candles floated beneath the enchanted ceiling.
Julian took his seat at the head of the Slytherin table, and his presence instantly hushed the surrounding area.
Even the older students instinctively nodded to him in greeting.
No prefect badge was needed, no loud commands—merely sitting there embodied a sense of order.
Dumbledore sat in the center of the staff table, his beard seeming whiter than before, a hint of barely perceptible weariness in his eyes.
And beside him sat several new faces...
Besides the somewhat twitchy, constantly whirring 'Mad-Eye' Moody, there was also a woman dressed in a pink cardigan who resembled a toad.
Dolores Umbridge.
She was surveying the students below with a scrutinizing, nauseating gaze, a small notebook in hand where she was recording something.
When her gaze swept over the Slytherin table, it lingered on Julian for a moment before she flashed a sickeningly sweet smile.
Julian politely raised his goblet in a distant toast to her.
Umbridge was clearly pleased; she gave a slight nod and drew a heavy checkmark in her notebook.
"It seems our new Inquisitor has taken a liking to you," Daphne murmured beside him, a touch of mockery in her tone.
"Naturally."
Julian cut into the steak on his plate, his movements as elegant as a surgeon performing an operation.
"After all, I am such a law-abiding, model student."
After the feast concluded, Dumbledore rose.
The Great Hall fell silent instantly.
"Now that you've all enjoyed this splendid meal, I have a few important announcements to make."
Dumbledore's voice remained booming, but Julian could detect a trace of heaviness within it.
"Firstly, allow me to introduce two new additions."
Dumbledore gestured towards the staff table.
"Professor Moody will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Scattered, sparse applause followed, most students intimidated by Moody's fearsome appearance.
Only Julian led the applause, his clapping clear and forceful, prompting the entire Slytherin table to join in.
Moody's magical eye whirled madly before finally fixing on Julian, his scarred face twisting into a distorted grin.
"And, Miss Dolores Umbridge, who will be joining Hogwarts as the Ministry of Magic's Senior Undersecretary and High Inquisitor."
This time, the applause was even sparser, tinged with awkwardness.
But Julian maintained perfect decorum, his applause even more enthusiastic than before.
Umbridge stood up, emitting a girlish giggle, and launched into her lengthy, bureaucratic speech.
Things like "progress for the sake of progress must be prohibited," and "preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected"...
The students below were lulled into drowsiness.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione frowned, her keen mind grasping the implications behind those words—the Ministry was interfering with Hogwarts' teaching.
She instinctively glanced towards the Slytherin table.
Julian was watching Umbridge with a smile.
Their gazes met across the hall.
Julian gave a slight, deliberate blink.
After Umbridge finished, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Finally, allow me to announce one last matter: this year's Quidditch Cup is canceled."
A chorus of groans erupted immediately, especially from the Gryffindor side.
"SILENCE!!!"
"Although the Quidditch Cup is canceled, our school will host a major event beginning in October and lasting the entire school year..."
Dumbledore paused, his eyes sweeping the room.
"I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts has been selected to host—the Triwizard Tournament!"
Although rumors had been circulating, when the news was officially confirmed, the Great Hall erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.
"Now, please allow me to introduce our guests!"
Dumbledore's voice echoed off the stone walls with an undeniable gravity.
As he spoke, the enchanted ceiling churned with ink-black clouds, occasional flashes of lightning momentarily overpowering the glow of the thousands of floating candles.
The doors to the Great Hall were flung open.
The first sight was a wisp of ethereal, dreamlike pale blue.
Students from Beauxbatons Academy of magic filed in, clad in delicate silk robes that seemed too thin for the chilly British rainy night, yet their innate French elegance remained undiminished.
Leading them was Madame Olympe Maxime.
Maxime's enormous frame nearly blocked half the doorway, every inch of her skin radiating the power of a half-Giant, yet she was draped in expensive black satin.
As they moved, the air seemed to fill with a faint scent, a blend of lilies and champagne.
It was the magic of the Veela vibrating in the air.
When the girl with the waterfall of silvery-blonde hair and azure-blue eyes—Fleur Delacour—passed the Ravenclaw table, every male creature in the hall seemed to stop breathing.
Ron's jaw hung open wide enough to fit a Troll's egg; Harry was also momentarily stunned.
The students who had been whispering moments before now seemed under an Imperio curse, their gazes locked onto that graceful figure.
Julian sat at the head of the Slytherin table, gently swirling the silver goblet of pumpkin juice in his left hand.
He did not make a spectacle of himself like the others; there wasn't even a flicker of excessive interest in his eyes.
He merely tilted his head slightly, studying Fleur with the detached appraisal one might give an antique.
Daphne and the others were no less beautiful than Fleur. In Julian's eyes, Fleur was merely a highly alluring yet dangerously unstable concentration of magical energy.
"Compose yourselves. You look like you've never seen anything before, Draco," Julian's voice, though not loud, pierced precisely into the ears of Malfoy, who was craning his neck.
Draco snapped back to attention, his face flushing, and hurriedly straightened his posture, attempting to adopt an air of 'I've seen it all' arrogance.
Led by Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students bowed gracefully towards the staff table.
Umbridge sat there, surveying Madame Maxime with the look one might give a heretic, a false smile plastered on her lips.
She was scribbling furiously in her notebook, jotting down phrases about 'half-breed threats.'
Julian noted this and gave Umbridge a slight nod. She immediately responded with a sickeningly sweet look.
Chapter 192: Commotion
Julian noticed this and gave Umbridge a slight nod, to which she immediately responded with a sickeningly sweet look.
Immediately after, the atmosphere in the Great Hallshifted abruptly.
If Beauxbatons was a spring breeze, then the next arrivals were a northern cold front.
Heavy, metallic footsteps echoed in the entrance hall.
The Durmstrang students were draped in heavy fur cloaks, carrying large wooden staves topped with skulls or strange runes.
With every step they took, the dull thud of their staves hitting the ground seemed to beat against everyone's hearts.
Igor Karkaroff led the way; his neatly trimmed, pointed beard and flamboyant furs made him look like a successful smuggler.
And behind him, as soon as the slightly hunched, hook-nosed boy with a somber gaze appeared, a commotion even more intense than before erupted in the Great Hall.
"Krum! It's Viktor Krum!"
"My god, he really came to Hogwarts!"
The Gryffindor side was practically boiling over, and even some of the younger students on the Slytherin side couldn't help but want to stand up.
Julian gave a cold snort. Though quiet, it was like a frigid slap to the face, instantly calming the restless Slytherins around him.
Karkaroff strode toward the high table with his students, his gaze sweeping across the Great Hall before lingering for a moment on the Slytherin table.
He saw Julian—the boy sitting in the central position who hadn't even raised an eyebrow in the face of a world-class star.
A sharp glint flashed in Karkaroff's eyes.
As a former Death Eater, he recognized the aura of a superior better than anyone.
After studying Julian with great interest for a long while, Karkaroff finally withdrew his gaze.
"Dumbledore!" Karkaroff laughed as he stepped forward, his voice raspy and jarring. He gave Dumbledore a hypocritical hug.
"Long time no see, my old friend! Look at your school; it's still so... vibrant."
"Welcome, Igor," Dumbledore replied with a smile, though his eyes sharply observed every Durmstrangstudent through his half-moon spectacles.
Students taught by a Death Eater were certainly no saints.
It was time to be seated.
Following Julian's prior instructions on the train, the Slytherins showed no signs of restlessness.
As Krum and his companions looked for seats, Draco, at Julian's hint, elegantly shifted his position to clear an excellent spot.
"Viktor, if you don't mind, there's a seat here," Draco said in a flat tone.
This attitude actually took Krum a bit by surprise.
Elsewhere, people either screamed like maniacs or fawned like servants, but these Slytherins gave him a sense of distance.
Krum nodded and sat down with several Durmstrangstudents.
Karkaroff was invited to the high table, sitting on the other side of Umbridge.
Julian turned his head to look at Krum, who was sitting across from him.
At close range, the seeker appeared even more taciturn; his skin was weathered from long-term outdoor training, and his fingers were covered in calluses.
"Julian Rosier," Julian said, taking the initiative to extend his hand. His tone was calm, devoid of any fanatical zeal, carrying only the equality of a social encounter.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Krum. I hope the Black Lakehere doesn't make your ship feel too crowded."
Krum paused for a moment before shaking Julian's hand.
That slender hand, however, possessed a sense of power that made his heart skip a beat.
"Viktor," Krum replied briefly, his voice deep. "Your school... is very large."
"Being oversized and impractical is a common ailment here," Julian said, withdrawing his hand and picking up a knife to cut a piece of roasted lamb chop.
"You will find many interesting things here."
Krum frowned; he couldn't grasp the deeper meaning behind the British boy's words, but he could feel the overwhelming confidence radiating from him.
This confidence even made him, a seeker fearless on the pitch, feel a hint of awkwardness.
At the high table, Umbridge was conversing with Karkaroff in her hair-raising voice.
"Principal Karkaroff, I hear that Durmstrang has always been a leader in the study of the Dark Arts?" Umbridgetook a sip of red wine, her eyes dark and sinister.
"Naturally, Ms. Umbridge," Karkaroff replied with a thin smile, knowing full well that this woman represented the will of the British Ministry of Magic.
"We believe that power itself has no good or evil; the key lies in who controls it."
"Very profound," Umbridge giggled, a sound that made Professor McGonagall beside her knit her brows.
"I think we'll have many common topics in the coming school year. After all, I also believe the current education system is far too... weak."
She turned her head toward Julian, who was sitting at the head of the Slytherin table, and said loudly, "Mr. Rosier, what do you think? As an outstanding representative of Slytherin, you must also crave greater power, don't you?"
For a moment, the eyes of the entire Great Hall were focused on Julian.
Julian set down his cutlery and elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Power is indeed fascinating, Madam Inquisitor. But in my view, compared to raw power, order is a more refined art."
He stood up, gave a slight bow to the high table, and then spoke, his voice carrying clearly to every corner:
"Durmstrang's pioneering spirit is admirable, and Beauxbatons' elegant heritage is enchanting, but Hogwarts—or rather, the true pure-blood legacy—seeks absolute control over reality."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Krum, then over Fleurin the distance, before finally resting on Umbridge's face with a perfect smile:
"I believe that under your supervision and guidance, this school year will mark the beginning of a reshaped order. As a student, I look forward to seeing how the will of the Ministry of Magic takes root here."
"Well said, Mr. Rosier!" Umbridge clapped excitedly; though her palms were short and pudgy, the sound was remarkably loud.
Dumbledore's eyes darkened as he looked at Julian, his azure eyes filled with concern.
He found himself increasingly unable to see through this student.
Julian was not only playing with magic; he was playing with hearts, with power, and even publicly instigating tension between the school and the government.
Chapter 193: Weaving
The dinner continued in a subtle and tense atmosphere.
Although Krum sat at the Slytherin table, he was clearly not accustomed to the intrigue here.
He spent most of his time eating with his head down, occasionally looking up at the ceiling of the Great Hall.
"That girl has been looking at you," Krum suddenly whispered to Julian, gesturing with his eyes toward the Gryffindor table.
Julian followed his gaze; Hermione was staring fixedly at them.
The plate in front of her was almost untouched, and her hand tightly gripped the notes on the reverse engineering of the goblet of fire.
"She's a smart girl," Julian replied indifferently. "Smart enough to know when to shut up and when to serve me."
Krum fell silent; he felt the boy before him was more dangerous than any Dark Wizard he had ever seen.
Dark Wizards often wore their malice on their faces, but Julian Rosier hid the abyss behind a perfect smile.
"Julian, did you notice that 'Mad-Eye'?" Daphne leaned in, her voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
Julian cast a subtle glance at Moody.
That blue magical eye was spinning wildly, almost jumping out of its socket.
It peered through the table, through clothes, attempting to pry into the secrets deep within Julian's soul.
"Of course he's watching me," Julian sneered; he knew it was Barty Crouch Jr.
That madman must be thinking right now what kind of thing this kid is, who has repeatedly ruined his master's plans.
"Let him watch," Julian raised his cup and gestured to Moody. "After all, I'm also looking forward to his next performance."
As the dinner neared its end, Dumbledore stood up again.
"Well, now that everyone has gotten to know each other, the most crucial part has arrived."
He waved his hand, and the floor in the center of the Great Hall slowly split open, revealing a large stone cup decorated with strange runes that rose up.
Pale blue flames flickered within the cup; it was the power of an ancient contract.
"The goblet of fire!" Dumbledore announced loudly.
"It will select three champions to represent their respective schools in the tournament. The selection process will take place on the eve of Halloween. However, I must reiterate that due to the danger of the competition, the Ministry of Magic has decided that only students aged seventeen or older are eligible to enter."
A chorus of protests immediately broke out. The Weasleytwins were already discussing how to use an Aging Potion.
Julian looked at the blue flames, feeling the power of the contract within that could forcibly bind a soul.
He could feel that although the power was great, it was rigid to a certain extent.
It relied on the two pivot points of'school' and 'name'.
"What if the pivot points are shifted?" Julian calculated silently in his heart.
He looked at Hermione, who happened to be looking at him as well.
The two exchanged a look that only they understood.
Hermione had nearly finished analyzing the contract logic of the goblet of fire; next, Julian only needed to gently pluck the strings of fate at that critical moment.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
His name was destined to appear in those flames, but this time, he wouldn't be the only victim, nor the only 'fourth person'.
The dinner ended.
Students left the Great Hall in small groups.
The Beauxbatons students returned to their giant carriage, while the Durmstrang students went back to the ghost ship moored in the Black Lake.
Julian walked at the front of the Slytherin line.
"Julian!"
A voice with a thick French accent called out to him.
Julian stopped and turned around.
Fleur Delacour was standing under the corridor lights, her long silver hair shimmering in the night.
Her proud chin was slightly raised, and her eyes held a hint of provocation and curiosity.
"Are you that Rosier?" Fleur stepped closer, the scent of a Veela instantly enveloping Julian.
The surrounding Slytherin boys, including Draco, all showed looks of intoxication.
"I don't think there's a second Rosier at Hogwarts," Julianresponded calmly, his magic running steadily through his body, completely resisting the charm.
"What you said in the Great Hall just now was very interesting," Fleur said, looking him over with a captivating smile. "'The Art of Order'? I prefer to call it the 'Desire for Conquest'. I hope your magic is as brilliant as your eloquence on the field."
"You'll see, Miss Delacour," Julian bowed slightly, performing a standard international etiquette.
"But before that, I suggest you wear more clothes. Scotland's winter isn't as warm as your Veela charms."
After saying that, Julian walked toward the dungeons without looking back, leaving Fleur standing alone, stomping her feet in anger.
"He actually... he actually told me to wear more clothes?!" Fleur looked at Julian's back in disbelief, her proud confidence cracking for the first time.
Back in the Slytherin Common Room.
The fire in the fireplace burned brightly, reflecting off the silver and green tapestries and the heavy stone arches.
Julian sat on his leather sofa, with Draco, Nott, and Zabinisitting around him.
"Julian, your attitude toward that Fleur just now..." Daphne spoke hesitantly. "She's a Veela."
"True, but she's just a Veela," Julian looked at her and smiled slightly.
Daphne nodded thoughtfully.
"Starting tomorrow, act according to the plan." Julianstood up, preparing to return to his dormitory.
"Draco, you're responsible for gathering all the movements of the Durmstrang students, especially Krum. I want to know what time he wakes up every day and what time he goes for a walk by the Black Lake."
"Theodore, go to the Library to help Penelope; she needs some obscure information about the historical contracts of the goblet of fire."
"As for me..." Julian looked out at the dark lake water. "I'll build a good relationship with our new Inquisitor. I think she must be in dire need of some helpers outside of Dumbledore's system right now."
With that, Julian led the Greengrass sisters out of the common room.
Throughout Hogwarts, under Julian's will, the web had already begun to be woven...
Chapter 194: Immunity
Late at night.
Most of the portraits on the walls had already fallen into a deep sleep, with only a few wary eyes watching from the shadows as a figure walked unhurriedly toward the third-floor office.
Julian's footsteps were extremely light, not even startling a black cat that passed by.
He stopped before a dark oak door, from which a scent so sweet it was almost putrid wafted through the crack, mixed with the smell of some cheap dried flowers.
"Knock, knock."
Two short, rhythmic knocks.
"Come in."
The voice from behind the door sounded like sandpaper soaked in honey, carrying an unsettling, girlish affectation.
Julian pushed the door open and entered; the sight before him was enough to cause anyone with normal aesthetic sensibilities a physical sense of dizziness.
Umbridge's office had been decorated in a hellish shade of pink.
The walls were covered with gold-rimmed plates, each featuring various kittens wearing bows, which let out a discordant chorus of meows as Julian entered.
Umbridge herself was sitting behind a desk piled with lace cushions, wearing a similarly pink cardigan and holding a delicate porcelain teacup painted with daisies.
"Oh, Mr. Rosier," she said, putting down her teacup, her bulging, toad-like eyes gleaming with a greedy yet benevolent light.
"It is so late; is there some urgent matter that requires troubling a newly arrived Inquisitor like myself?"
"I am very sorry to disturb your rest, Madam Inquisitor." Julian bowed elegantly, not showing the slightest flinch like an ordinary student would.
He naturally took a seat in the lace-covered chair opposite her, his movements calm and composed.
"But I believe there are certain 'hidden dangers' regarding the school's healthy development that must be reported immediately to an official with your keen insight."
Umbridge leaned forward slightly, her short, stubby fingers interlaced, her nails painted a garish pink.
"I am all ears, dear child. The Ministry of Magic is always happy to hear... loyal and insightful suggestions."
"This is a record I obtained through some private channels—from certain friends within the Board of Governors, of course."
Julian pulled a roll of wax-sealed Parchment from his robes and slid it gently across the desk. "Regarding the flow of Hogwarts' Special Education Funds over the past three years."
"If you compare them carefully, you will find several large sums of money that were officially spent under the guise of 'Maintenance of Ancient Magical Ruins,' but their actual destination is quite vague."
Umbridge impatiently broke the wax seal, her short hands moving rapidly across the paper.
As she read further, a twisted sense of excitement appeared on her heavily powdered face.
"Unaccounted for..." she whispered, her lips curling into a cruel arc.
"Albus, Albus... you actually dared to pull these little stunts right under Cornelius's nose. I suspect this money has been flowing into those unofficial, illegal organizations, hasn't it?"
"I wouldn't dare to speculate, Madam." Julian's voice was as calm as water, yet it carried a guiding temptation.
"But as a student, I am more concerned about our school environment."
"For instance, that Mr. Rubeus Hagrid... he seems to have been breeding some extremely dangerous monsters at the edge of the Forbidden Forest recently, none of which are registered with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think this is a very rude and unsafe hazard for our distinguished guests from other schools."
"Hagrid..." Umbridge let out a contemptuous sneer.
"That Half-giant. I knew Dumbledore's taste was always abysmal."
"Biological compliance... that is a perfect entry point. Mr. Rosier, you not only possess noble blood, but also a political wisdom to match it."
"It is my honor to share your burdens." Julian smiled slightly, a hint of cold shrewdness in his eyes.
"However, since we are to reshape the order of the school, we will inevitably encounter some resistance from those who do not understand during the execution process."
"I hope that, to ensure Slytherin House and my like-minded friends can better cooperate with your work, we will need a little... flexible immunity."
Umbridge stopped her movements, her gaze becoming sharp. "Immunity? That is a heavy word."
"Merely an exemption for the sake of maintaining order." Julian looked her straight in the eye, without flinching.
"For example, when investigating certain disciplinary infractions, my team might need a degree of freedom beyond that of ordinary students. In exchange, I will take responsibility for completely smoothing over any resistance from the Board of Governors. Minister Fudgewill hear some supportive voices at next month's Board meeting."
The air in the office fell into a brief stagnation. Only the cats on the plates on the wall were uneasily scratching at the porcelain surfaces.
After a long while, Umbridge let out that signature, blood-curdling giggle.
"Deal, Mr. Rosier." She pulled a special warrant of appointment stamped with the Inquisitor's seal from a drawer and quickly scribbled a few words on it.
"From tomorrow, you and your Core Squad will have the privilege of assisting the Inquisitor in handling school disciplinary incidents. As long as it is for the sake of order, the Ministry of Magic is your backer."
"A wise choice, Madam." Julian stood up and took the sweet-scented slip of paper.
"Then, I wish you a pleasant evening. I think Mr. Hagrid's greenhouse will be very lively tomorrow."
Walking out of the office, Julian closed the door behind him.
That pink sweetness vanished instantly, replaced by the cool air of the corridor.
He coldly wiped the cuff that Umbridge had just touched.
He didn't need Umbridge's appreciation; he simply needed a legal shell.
And Dumbledore's so-called Order of the Phoenix funds were actually logical loopholes he had forged through some means—three parts truth and seven parts falsehood.
But in the eyes of a paranoid person like Umbridge, that was the most lethal of evidence.
The next morning, an unusual restlessness filled the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
The Beauxbatons girls were gracefully tearing into French croissants, while the Durmstrang boys were gulping down rye porridge.
Julian sat at the Slytherin table, unhurriedly peeling a hard-boiled egg.
"Julian, look at that." Daphne lightly touched his arm.
The doors of the Great Hall were thrown open, and Umbridge, wearing a conspicuous pink suit and followed by two serious-looking Ministry Aurors, marched aggressively toward the staff table.
As she passed the Gryffindor table, her gaze lingered for a moment on the laughing Harry and Ron, and she let out a loud, cold snort.
"Is Mr. Rubeus Hagrid here?" Umbridge's shrill voice interrupted Dumbledore's breakfast.
Dumbledore put down his silver spoon, his gaze through his half-moon spectacles appearing somewhat grave.
"Dolores, Hagrid should be at the edge of the Forbidden Forest preparing for his class. Is there something urgent?"
"I believe the Ministry has received some very serious reports regarding his 'course content'." Umbridgebrandished a small notebook, a triumphant smirk on her face.
"Illegal breeding of high-risk creatures, and violation of the Ban on Experimental Breeding. Headmaster Dumbledore, I trust you won't mind if we conduct a routine inspection on-site?"